Lesson Learned

Note to self: staying up til 3:30 AM Christmas Eve, no matter how noble the reason, makes Christmas day just a bit less merry.

Leaving Keys

The very first phrase we learned in French class:

"J'ai laissé mes clés."
which translates as
"I left my keys."

Not the most immediately useful phrase, but it was taught to us in order to learn the vowel sound that is found in every syllable of the sentence. In his typical humor, our professor said that now when a French person tried talking to us, we could simply respond by saying the only phrase we knew, "I left my keys."

Six months later, it was the morning of the kid's birthday party, just a few days after my wife and newborn had returned home. I ran down to our storage unit in the basement to retrieve a few things. Details aside, Erica's key ring had the key to get into the main door, my key ring had the key to open the lock on our unit, and so I marched down with two sets of keys. When I opened our door, I set both sets down and began searching. I said to myself, "That's stupid, don't forget to pick them up on your way out." Attention obviously elsewhere, I got what I needed, locked up, left, and went back upstairs, and as I went to open our apartment door I realized.

Every key in our possession, locked behind two doors in the basement. Already running late to set up for the party happening at our school, too early to ask a neighbor for help, no longer able to drive all of the things we needed to the party, and unable to leave our apartment or our building without having absolutely no way to get back in...this was quite the predicament.

I waited a little while until someone was more likely to be awake, then listened outside of my nice neighbors' door for some noise. When I heard some, I gulped down the cowardice and knocked. When it opened, I gave a greeting, then proudly used the phrase with perfect pronunciation: J'ai laissé mes clés...

I got what I needed, but that only opened the first door. Thankfully I laid the keys close inside the second, which had wooden slats with narrow openings between each. With my trusty broom handle, I flipped the box toward the door, and the keys came sliding right to the entrance at the bottom opening. All things told, the predicament was worked out fairly easily. Not the best way to start birthday party day, but could have been worse.

Now here we are another six months later, and I cannot find the key to the first basement door. Nowhere to be found. It was loose in my pocket, and assuming it fell out somewhere when I pulled out the others. It's a key I've been meaning to copy since the last incident.

And it's a problem because, well, it just may have been the choice hiding spot for a few Christmas presents this year. And when an elf locks everyone out of Santa's workshop 2 days before the big event.......it just kind of puts a damper on the festivities, no?

Time to quit telling you about it and find a solution, I suppose.

Turned my back for a second...

Walked into the living room to find the Christmas tree leaning at a 60 degree angle with the bottom strand of lights turned to their hyper-flash mode.

Asked the kid what he knew about it. Nothing.

Darn cat.

Advent 21: Wonder

Remember the way Christmas lights looked when you were a kid?

After a delayed daytime nap led to a delayed bedtime, the kid and I took a night walk to see the lights in town.

I tried to get him to turn around for a picture. He was too busy staring.

Worth Remembering

I don't remember consciously making the decision to stop listening to Mates of State. But it happened, and I'm still not sure why, though it might have had something to do with the cover of Bring it Back. Watching this video made me regret stopping. Worth remembering, worth listening.

My first introduction to them was shortly after their debut album when we hosted them at Taylor. It was one of the first legit concerts the year I joined the team that put those things on. And they were great.

What's so instantly likeable? The rhythm? The tonality of their voices? The simplicity? The way they stare at each other each time they play? The sound of a sunny day? The fulfilled hope that real and playful love could actually exist in a marriage and produce something as joyful and wonderful as this music?

Not to mention the likeability of these Tiny Desk concerts....

Advent 20: Smart Oxen

Where there are mangers, there are usually animals. That's the simple logical deduction that has created all sorts of tradition around the animals that welcomed Jesus at his birth.

And if there were in fact animals present to greet their Lord, I love what it does to the very first thing Isaiah has to tell us:

Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth;
for the LORD has spoken:
"Children have I reared and brought up,
but they have rebelled against me.
The ox knows its owner,
and the donkey its master’s crib,
but Israel does not know,
my people do not understand."
Isaiah 1:2-3

His being born into manger not only allows oxen and donkeys to be the first to recognize him, but it serves as the sign for those with eyes to see to recognize him as well, in contrast to Israel's ignorance.

And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.
Luke 2:12

He's a man born differently, humbly. He enters the world among the most poor, and his first visitors are the only ones poor and smelly enough to feel comfortable visiting a baby that's laying in a manger. The upside-down kingdom gets it start on the very first day.

And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger....and the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Luke 2:16, 20

The (not as) New Guy, 6

I celebrated the completion of language school by going to the huge book store and asking a very French looking man who was a complete stranger for help in finding some titles of some classic children's books using the conditional verb tense with a soutenu subject-verb inversion for extra politesse. He couldn't give all that much help but seemed eager nonetheless and never once asked me to repeat myself. The success of talking to a complete stranger made up for the disappointment of walking out only with a few flimsy paperbacks from the Madame Monsieur series.

Advent 19: On Knowing a Baby, On Knowing the World

There are 7 billion people in our world, we've been told. A quick Google search tells me somewhere around 490 thousand babies are born each day. I'm not about to begin trying to figure out how statisticians know. Suffice it to say, that's a lot people.

My wife and I had a baby this year. In those moments after his arrival, I swear I was the proudest man on earth. "My son has arrived!" I wanted everyone to know, I assumed everyone already knew. For several hours the entire hospital revolved around me and my news. From the head sage-femme to the janitor emptying the trash out the back basement door, from the woman in the labor room next door to boy in the ER with a broken pinky, I was convinced everyone knew and was just as happy as I was.

It didn't take long to realize the dad in the room next to me was thinking the same thing about his son. To the maternity ward staff, we were just another day's work, out the door five days later. And to the boy leaving with a splint and a prescription for Tylenol, well, he didn't even know we existed. Despite my pride, we were just one in 490 thousand, one in 7 billion.

Then there was that baby in the cattle shed, even more unnoticed than we were. Mary and Joseph had every reason and right to believe their baby was special. If anyone could make the claim, it was them. But why weren't people noticing? Why were they all alone with the animals? The shepherds came to recognize the significance and share in the joy, and that brought relief. (I know all too well the desire and need to share that joy with someone, anyone.) But for quite some time, it appeared as though this baby might get forgotten with all the others, known to his parents but lost in a crowd.

Interesting, this talk of numbers, because that's what brought Jesus' parents to the Bethlehem stable in the first place. Luke 2:1 tells us Caesar Augustus makes the announcement: He's going to do a census to count the entire world. An audacious undertaking, especially at the time.

But here it is, an attempt to get some sort of grasp on just who exists and how many of them are there. An attempt to know the world. But in the end, it's just numbers. Sure we might collect names and information, but all the same, just numbers.

And among those people being counted in Bethlehem is a newborn baby. To Caesar Augustus, just one of millions, but in reality this newborn baby is a king infinitely more powerful, already knowing the world. He knows the world not just in numbers, but in each and every individual. And intimately so. Without counting, without the logistical nightmare of an audacious census, he already knows every detail of every human being. Years later he would explain to his followers, "But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows."

And because he knows us, because we are of value to him, the all-knowing king lays aside his glory to become one of us, lost in the crowd, a descendant reporting to Bethlehem, one of 490 thousand, one of 7 billion, one of the counted.

But of course, he wouldn't stay that way. He very soon would grow up to be Jesus the One and Only.

[Credit where credit is due: this was very much inspired by the Lutheran pastor who spoke in our chapel service at school today. He has now given two of the most profound Christmas meditations that I have heard in recent memory, in 10 minutes each, both of which have made me want to find his church and attend for a little while. I am just happy I can finally understand him after a year and appreciate all he has to say...I am sure his meditations at the beginning of the year were equally as profound, but I had absolutely no way of knowing...]

Light

Nearly a year at our new home, and we finally got in for the first time to see the tower at night. A clearing sky with the full moon lighting the clouds. What took us so long?

Advent 18: Never The Chance to Say

John 1:5 The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.

Advent 17: We Need a Place to Hide!

Isaiah 2:
Their land is filled with idols;
they bow down to the work of their hands,
to what their own fingers have made.
So man is humbled,
and each one is brought low—
do not forgive them!
Enter into the rock
and hide in the dust
from before the terror of the LORD,
and from the splendor of his majesty.
The haughty looks of man shall be brought low,
and the lofty pride of men shall be humbled,
and the LORD alone will be exalted in that day.
And the idols shall utterly pass away.
And people shall enter the caves of the rocks
and the holes of the ground,
from before the terror of the LORD,
and from the splendor of his majesty,
when he rises to terrify the earth.
In that day mankind will cast away
their idols of silver and their idols of gold,
which they made for themselves to worship,
to the moles and to the bats,
to enter the caverns of the rocks
and the clefts of the cliffs,
from before the terror of the LORD,
and from the splendor of his majesty,
when he rises to terrify the earth.

Revelation 6:15-17
Then the kings of the earth and the great ones and the generals and the rich and the powerful, and everyone, slave and free, hid themselves in the caves and among the rocks of the mountains, calling to the mountains and rocks, "Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who is seated on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb, for the great day of their wrath has come, and who can stand?"

--
We have made much of ourselves. This cannot be overstated.

The greatness of the majesty and holiness of God, his perfection in judgment and righteousness in wrath, is beyond our comprehension, and terrifyingly so. Neither can this be overstated.

And if we were to face that day where this is laid bare for all to see, we literally must run for the hills, finding rocks in which to hide ourselves. We need a place to hide.

But then a baby comes, and the people in darkness have seen a great light. In the clarity of this Light, we see ourselves for who we truly are, and we see God for who he truly is. It's absolutely devastating (he is full of truth)...until we realize this baby will become our hiding place (he is full of grace)...
--

Colossians 3:3-4
For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.


Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
let me hide myself in thee;
let the water and the blood
from thy wounded side which flowed
be of sin the double cure,
save from wrath and make me pure.

Mix Tape: Enchantment

There's a pretty hip little alternative-music-culture center down the street from us. Feels a little unusual for a town like ours, but it seems to enjoy some success. I've wanted to visit for a good 11 months or so, but have always had a reason not to: not quite my genre certain nights, or another obligation, or otherwise exhausted.

But when the new season launched in September, I read about bands doing shows for kids and of course I was immediately interested. I think it only happens four times this year. I listened to one long enough to realize it wouldn't be a waste of money, and one day the kid and I walked over to buy our tickets.

Turns out this band, Moriarty, is actually quite popular around here. Popular enough to have two gold records in France and to play all the largest clubs in Paris with some amount of regularity. Turns out the show later that night was sold out pretty quickly. Turns out this 4PM kids show also ended up being sold out. Not a bad gig to get in on, then.

Now, don't be confused, this isn't kids music. It's your average folk-rock-alt-country-(in-all-the-good-ways)-with-some-strong-grooves-telling-you-they-probably-listen-to-some-funk-and-soul-in-their-spare-time that would normally be listened to by adults. The only trick is that it's super easy to listen to, even if you're a kid, and so why not share it with them too?

And if this were to be done in the States, we'd introduce each of the band members, they'd say some goofy stuff, we'd introduce the instruments, throw around some music jargon, and take advantage of the teaching moment. Most times I believe it'd be a sort of very open, transparent, sometimes silly learning environment. That's not bad, but that's not France.

We've heard from quite a few sources that "seduction" is a key element to the French culture. We Americans instantly get nervous with the word, but it really doesn't have an implicit sexual meaning like it does for us. So try and erase that definition for the moment. Instead it's simply making things aesthetically pleasing in an attractive sort of way that captures and keeps the attention. Perhaps "enchanting" is a better word for our American minds.

And that's exactly what this production was.

An actress came out first, a sort of prop for holding attention spans when the music would inevitably begin to fail. She was named Isabella. When she had discovered the band was late, she tucked herself in and went to sleep on the front of the stage. The band tiptoed out, took their places, and whispered, "Let's try not to wake her." And with that, they slyly slipped into their first song "Isabella."

From then on, never once did any of them break character or interrupt the show, with enough curious visual elements and instrument changes (and a few animal masks, balloons, and bubbles along the way) to keep things interesting. The kid had been insisting that afternoon that he didn't want to go, and he spent 15 minutes of waiting before the show with his hands over his ears insisting it was too loud. But as soon as the music started, the hands dropped and his eyes were fixed. I caught him tapping his feet, and toward the end he joined in clapping when each song finished. I think he was enchanted, too.

To introduce my favorite song of the afternoon, the singer explained, "This is a song about a friendship between a mermaid and a tiger. You know what a mermaid is?" Ouiiiiiiiii. "And a tiger?" Ouiiiiiiiiiiii. "Where does a mermaid live?" l'océan! "And where does a tiger live?" la jungle! "And so everybody might say that a friendship between a mermaid and a tiger is impossible. But, it is possible."

This is Moriarty, "Beasty Jane" from The Missing Room

Advent 16: A Better Santa

Now that we're parents, my wife and I realize more all the time just how downright creepy the song "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" is.

He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good so be good for goodness sake, better watch out, better not cry, better not pout...

Big brother is always watching. An underhanded ploy for behavior modification set to such a jolly and innocent tune, this is downright twisted, the stuff communist regimes are made of. (OK, maybe that's a distasteful exaggeration...but...)

It's no secret that there is some strange, uncanny, and disturbing resemblance between Santa and God. Most obviously, it's in the all-knowing ever-present part. Before we're tempted to go further, I'd like to suggest that the resemblance stops there.

Because this part about being good in order to get presents...this part bothers me. It's too easy to believe God works that way too. You earn your gifts, you get what you deserve. The better you are, the better the gift. But if you've been bad, nothing but coal.

And the nagging question remains, just what is good? Who sets the standard? How good is good enough? What tips the scale in my favor? Is it not doing anything bad, like punching my classmate? Isn't it also making sure we don't neglect to do everything good, like giving my coat to the person who doesn't have one? All of a sudden, the month of December is a lot more dreary and even more exhausting, trying to keep up with these demands, what has become an unmanageable burden.

(And there's also the curious fact that we've never known the naughty kids to really get coal...they get toys like the rest of us...so what does that mean?)

But this is not the way God works through sending Jesus to us. He defines "good" and sets the standard high: perfection. But he knows we are unable to be good enough, giving us Jesus who meets the demand on our behalf. It's the message of grace, and with it comes freedom, joy, peace.

But we still have such a hard time understanding grace in our world. This message of grace is not one of "Do what you want and get away with it." Instead, it's something like "His desire and love for you has absolutely no correlation with your behavior or your merit. They are unrelated, separate issues, for he wants you as you are, good, bad, or somewhere in between." This is a foreign concept. Approval and behavior are always related in our merit-based society, and therein lies the confusion.

Bonhoeffer puts it this way: "But it is the grace of the Gospel, which is so hard for the pious to understand, that confronts us with the truth and says: You are a sinner, a great, desperate sinner; now come, as the sinner that you are, to God who loves you. He wants you as you are; He does not want anything from you, a sacrifice, a work; He wants you alone...Be glad!" (from Life Together)

Is this not an infinitely better message than that of twisted behavior modification?

Not only that, but he gives better presents too.

This is Serious...but not that serious.

Just did a Google search for a "collapsed lung."

Sounds like it could be the correct explanation for this stabbing pain in my right lung that happens each time I cough.

But causes include:
Smoking weed
Gunshot wounds
Knife wounds
Scuba diving
High altitude hiking
Being tall and thin

Yes, I lead a crazy life here in France, but mom, I promise that I only fall into one of these categories.

Now...time to figure out how to say "collapsed lung" in French, and how to promise I haven't been involved in any gang activity. Nope, rien que grand et maigre, c'est tout, je vous assure.

Advent is Here

With two Thanksgiving celebrations behind us, Advent officially starts tonight. With it came Sufjan Stevens, the making of an Advent chain, and plugging in the French Christmas lights we found the other day. (Selection of Christmas lights in this country is sadly just as bad as the selection of turkeys...)

As we wrapped up (no pun intended, actually...but there was a little bit of wrapping going on, too) there was another mention of Christmastime, and the kid's ears perked up.

"It's Christmas time? Where is it?"

We explained that technically Christmas time started tonight with this little celebration, but that Christmas itself was still 30 days away.

Without explaining, he walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked out. After a few moments, he confirmed, "No, it's not here yet. Wanna look with me? No. It's not there. I don't see any snow."

He's been talking about snow for months. Snow is almost as rare around here as good Christmas lights and affordable turkeys. We're afraid he could end up disappointed.

A Different Way of Learning

We read an article in our text books about a phenomenon that is apparently somewhat common in several cities across France. Le Troc des Savoirs, roughly translated as The Exchange of Skills. We all have something we're good at, why not learn from one another? It just so happens that you know how to fix a toilet and I know how to play the ukulele. And it just so happens that I need to learn how to fix a toilet and you want to learn how to play the ukulele. So let's spend some time together, teach one another, free of charge.

I love this idea, a means to meet people and learn from one another on a personal level. No need to read a textbook or register at the university when you've got someone in the building next to you who has all the know-how you need. It seems like a much more rich, valuable experience.

And this is the way it used to be, isn't it? Before universities and academia became the norm, we were apprentices, learning a job by experience one day at a time. Not only that, we usually didn't choose the job, but it chose us, perhaps because it was the family business or someone within our circle of friends. But the fact of the matter is, if the blacksmith didn't find his apprentice, then eventually the town would no longer have a blacksmith. In a certain sense, this personal one-on-one teaching, free of charge, was the back-bone of society.

Today it's sort of the contrary. Relatively speaking, one must take an incredible amount of initiative to get much of anywhere. We choose the field of study to pursue, decide how to pursue it, apply, pay, and typically go on to listen in a lecture hall among dozens of others like us. This is how we learn. And no matter what the field, you must cram all the theory into your head before the practical. The rare opportunity to work alongside a professional is by begging your way into an internship of sorts, after proving you've already come to understand enough of the theory. I could go on, but you get the idea.

The reason all of this captures my attention is because of its impact on the church. We've followed the trends of our culture, and our pattern of making disciples doesn't look much different. Someone hears some sort of message that may spark their interest, and they must take the initiative to choose a church, find the church, attend, and break through social circles to meet someone. They sit among crowds, listening in services or Bible studies or Sunday school classes, getting all the theory they can handle. If someone says they want to learn more, we recommend a book or a podcast. If someone really wants to learn, we recommend the nearest Bible school. And the rare opportunity to learn directly from someone typically only comes after they ask specifically and intentionally, and even then it's such an unusual suggestion that the person being asked isn't really sure what to do with them.

I'm not saying that teaching in services and Bible studies and Sunday schools and Bible colleges and whathaveyou is bad, wrong, or worthless. If you know me, you know that's the furthest thing from I mean. What I'm saying is that this way of making disciples seems to be quite foreign from the picture I see in the New Testament. In my mind it resembles much more of a Western-20th-century-upper-middle-class-strong-work-ethic-pick-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps-and-prove-your-worth-because-that's-what-I-did type of mentality.

In my mind, discipleship resembles something much closer to this Troc des Savoirs. It's the pursuit of people and the exchange of ideas in a one-on-one setting. It's the space to ask questions, sometimes quite personal. It's the ability to try out some things with direct feedback. It's real-life, day-to-day learning. It's observing the example of someone who has a bit more experience. It's watching, listening, sharing, discussing. It's living life together.

I was talking to someone about mentorship recently, and to be honest I still am not quite sure what the difference is between mentorship inside the church and discipleship. There's a lot of people who like to split hairs over semantics like this, but usually those are the people who aren't doing either because they're too worried about defining them first. But I said to this person that in my mind, mentorship often doesn't happen because the Mentors are waiting for Mentees to take initiative and ask, while the Mentees are waiting for the Mentors to take initiative and ask, and so we sit in our corners waiting and never exchange with one another.

I've spent a lot of my life being one of those Mentees waiting to be asked. I've been told I'm in the wrong--that if I want a mentor I need to take initiative and speak up. OK, sure, I get it, and I can agree that the road goes both ways. But I maintain that there are a lot of people sitting in our churches who are insecure or who lack self-confidence or who don't seem any amount of potential in themselves, and they need to be pursued. Mentors can't just sit around and not engage anyone just because it appears like no one's showing initiative. And sure, Mentees need to be willing and interested and desirous in such a relationship, but sometimes simply being asked ("Who me? Wow, thanks for asking...") is all they need to spark that desire.

As I've been mulling all of this over in recent weeks, Christ's example struck me in a fresh way. He walks up to twelve men, he goes directly to them. They aren't the most obvious choices, not the men who have taken initiative or who are the most qualified. He doesn't mince words, he has one simple command: "Follow me." It's not an offer, not a question, it's a direct command. Generally, these men show no prior interest, they don't ask, don't sign up, don't inquire, don't apply. Just the opposite, Jesus sees them, knows them, chooses them, recruits them, and commences with the one-on-one side-by-side day-to-day on-the-job training.

This is our first and prime example of discipleship, and I think we could learn a few things.

Advent 15: For His Papa

As I read again the story of the crucifixion with the kid recently, I asked him with curiosity for his response: "Why did Jesus die?"

And curiously enough, he responded without a moment's hesitation, "For his Papa!"

I was stunned. It was not the answer I was thinking of. But I couldn't have agreed more.

Even in talking about the death of Christ we have a hard time getting away from our self-focused tendencies, and so our response to the same question is all too often, "For us! Because he loves us! To give us life and freedom and hope!"

That's not a wrong answer, not at all. But I agree with the three year old theologian in this house: it's not the final answer. Jesus died first and foremost for his Papa. Maybe it's oversimplifying, but I guess that's what three year olds tend to do.

Yet, the kid has good reason for saying such things, and I have good reason to agree with him:

John 6:38 says he's come to do the will of his Papa. "For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me."

In the garden the night before his death, he concludes his anguishing prayer with the desire to glorify his Papa. John 12:27-28 "Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? 'Father, save me from this hour'? But for this purpose I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name."

Philippians 2 says Christ humbled himself, came to earth in human form, died on a cross, and then was exalted, so that every tongue on earth will confess that he is Lord, all "to the glory of God the Father." (v. 11)

And so, if you need something to chew on during Advent, ask yourself this question and search the scriptures for answers: "Why did Jesus come to Earth?" Don't settle too quickly, because the answers are numerous and each one is always rewarding.

But when it comes time to rest in a final answer, it will be tempting to say that in the end it's "for us." I tend to believe, however, that every answer you will find, including that one, ultimately points instead to the glory of the Father. The final answer is "For his Papa."

John 1:14, 18 (paraphrase mine, of course)
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from his Papa, full of grace and truth...No one has ever seen God, but God the One and Only has made his Papa known.

The Clarinet is Back

As previously promised, here's a post devoted to the licorice stick.

When I think of a clarinet, I can't help but think of my days playing in the band. If you were choosing a woodwind, the girls chose the flute and the cool kids chose the saxophone. The clarinet section? I guess it was mostly for the kids who weren't sure where they fit. Excuse the stereotypes.

It was an awkward instrument. I immediately picture furrowed eyebrows, unavoidable buck teeth, sounds full of air and saliva, and blushing faces after the loudest ear-piercing of squeaks. If you were in the band, you know exactly what I'm talking about, and you're probably giggling with me right now. (Unless you were in the clarinet section...I've probably just made you cry, haven't I?)

While I don't regret not choosing it back then, I regret not being able to play now. Because when you can actually play the clarinet, man is it good. So moody and mysterious and soulful and deep.

And now that the saxophone players have lost their popularity with the lamentable death of Ska, the clarinets are getting their revenge with an understated, reflective, mature presence in indie circles. Here are a few of my favorite examples. If you know of others, don't be shy, pass them along.


Doesn't hurt to add a horn and a pump organ...good grief this is beautiful...

Trying desperately to think more than one day in advance.

This entire year has been a blur, mostly because it's felt as though we only have enough energy and forethought to look one day ahead. 10PM comes and it's time to make a few decisions about tomorrow......if we have enough energy left.

Right now it's Thanksgiving. Turkeys and the like are hard to find around here. Improvisation will be necessary. And it's only a week away. That takes about all the forethought we've got.

But then there's Advent. The book is one thing, the blog posts another, and just the general frame of mind I hope to maintain still another. But all of a sudden I'm thinking about my perceptive 3-year old. How do I make December not just about Christmas Day, but about waiting for a Savior?

I've always loved the idea of an Advent calendar, and this year there are plenty to choose from including a Lego Star Wars model and a few choices from PlayMobil and numerous chocolate options here in France. These aren't what I'm looking for in an Advent calendar.

I drew a rough sketch a couple of years back of a big calendar I wanted to make myself. It was going to be awesome. I've lost the sketch, but can still picture it, and I described it to Erica the other day. I don't think she was catching my vision. It was a winter scene, with the shepherds off in the hill, Rudolf grazing among their sheep and the abominable snowman lurking in the trees. The Peanuts gang were in the foreground around their pathetic tree. Santa was flying through the sky next to the bright, shining star which was over the Nativity scene. I think the Grinch and Frosty the Snowman were somewhere in there too. And around the scene were little doors for each day of Advent, with a passage of scripture to read that I promise would be more contemplative than the way this calendar sounds.

Ok, maybe the aesthetic is bizarre, but you must admit it's better than Lego Star Wars. (And if there are any artists/graphic designers out there that are on the same page and want to help, let's talk.)

All this to say, I just looked at the calendar, and did you know Advent is only a week and a half away? I mean, I knew November 27th would get here eventually, but a week and a half? That's not enough time to bring this amazing calendar to fruition. We might have to resort to a paper chain at 10PM the night before. What are we going to do?!

The mind of a 3-year old is a tricky thing to try and figure out...and while some of my readers wouldn't dare to get close to one, if others of you have some handy ideas that don't take too much energy to produce, I'm listening.

But if you're an adult, there's this book I know about...

Hail to the Chief

My worst fear in life has always been becoming the President of the United States of America. I've taken comfort in the fact that it seems to only happen willingly, in all the countless complicated steps leading up to election day. But I just had a dream (nightmare) in which it actually happened to me. I was elected. And I was a nervous wreck. I found out you have to work Saturdays. And while there was an end in sight, four years just seemed like an eternity. I woke up petrified and went to CNN to make sure I hadn't made the headlines.

But seriously guys, stop voting for me, it's just a bad idea and it's definitely not funny.

E, on the other hand, has always talked about wanting to be president. Unfortunately for her, my second biggest fear in life has always been being husband to the President.

Mix Tape: Honest Songwriting

If I'm picking a song off this new Josh Garrels album, it's 'Farther Along,' only because something about it grabs me and draws me in from the opening chord progression on the organ.

But it's almost embarrassing, because at certain points it sounds a bit like the CCM I listened to in middle school. I don't listen to much of that 'Jesus-y' music anymore these days, and I suppose in the end I distanced myself from that arena of music mainly because it lacked one thing: authenticity.

While I want to be careful not to lump it all into one bag deserving of the garbage can, it often sounded like certain artists were singing about Jesus for one of two reasons: A) success was easier in the Christian market or B) an executive paid them to do so. In the end, that doesn't seem too much different than the other artists singing about sex just to sell records in their arena.

What makes Garrels different, besides some extra poetic prowess and a comparatively larger vocabulary, is that we can very easily discern there's only one reason he's singing about Jesus. It's simply because he wants to. Because he can't begin to imagine singing about anything else. It's as though his life depends on it, and it does. Sure, maybe he'd have a wider audience if he could tone things down a bit, be a bit more vague or esoteric, or find other things to sing about. But if you were to get rid of the focus of his music, there simply would be no music left to be made. No reason to sing. No desire to create. The Creator has put a song in his heart, and the song must be given back to Him.

This authenticity is only further proven when you take a peek at how he creates his records: involving friends, handcrafting the packaging, leaps of faith for financing, never signing to a label, and then giving it all away for free.

There is an integrity here. And it sounds good.

Josh Garrels, "Farther Along" from Love and War and the Sea in Between

Why Advent?

Every year we say the same thing, hear the same thing. It resembles a New Year’s resolution one month early. “This year I really want to focus on the true reason for the season. You know, not get so caught up in the commercialism of it all. I’m going to finish the shopping and the wrapping and the baking and the preparing early, so I have time to slow down and enjoy it all and remember what its really all about.”

But the 9 to 5 churns on til the 24th, traffic is thick, lines are long, parties are plentiful, and every year the gift list grows. Those good intentions often get dropped as quickly as the treadmill walking does just after the first of January.

I guess it dawned on me a few years back that this advent thing we halfway do in Evangelical churches was meant to be more than lighting a new candle each week before the Christmas sermon. Traditionally, it’s meant to be a season, a whole month, and one meant for reflections of eager expectation.

And so when we express those good intentions, we're actually looking for Advent, something to keep us balanced and grounded amidst the rest of the hectic festivities. Something to help our souls magnify the Lord the way Mary's did that first Advent season.

My first year of trying to make this a more intentional exercise consisted of scripture-based reflections on our need for this Savior-baby. (You can find most of those here, by the way.) It proved worthwhile. All of a sudden I was worshipping while singing Christmas carols rather than rehearsing the to-do list while mouthing familiar words. Shopping was done with new perspective. Parties had a new depth. Family celebrations came with a sense of deep gratitude. My soul was magnifying the Lord, making God big.

Subsequent years have differed in approach and intensity, but I am convinced we need something to capture our attention in a season of distraction.

So, here's the deal. Advent is about 25 days away, and its observation takes a little bit of forethought. I can't guarantee our little book will help you magnify the Lord (in part because I have yet to lay my hands on an actual copy! Mine arrives in the suitcase of a friend this weekend!), but it might not be a bad place to start. I want to encourage you to do something that will help you focus your thoughts and intentionally celebrate the season. And if our book can help you do that, the twelve of us will be delighted.

So, at the risk of making these genuine thoughts look like just a sneaky advertisement, here's another reminder: Our Savior Come is available now on Amazon.

Mix Tape: On Real Love

By now just about everyone has heard of Mumford and Sons. Sold out shows all over the world and Grammy nominations to say the very least. Who knows, by now maybe everyone is over Mumford and Sons.

Not me. It was about this time last year that I finally gave up on streaming their album from their Myspace page and the CD was delivered to my door. You know a band doesn't owe their success to gimmicks when the CD is still probably the most played disc in the house and the car still a year later. It's all here. The music, the lyrics, the harmonies, the mood, the energy, the brotherhood. Everyone seems to connect. And as I type I'm realizing just how hard it is to articulate what it is about this band and their music that is so downright powerful.

How many times have I tried to pick a favorite song? There is not a bad song on the disc. The favorites seem to come in waves. I find one and stick to it until another captures my attention. So many beautiful and strong lyrics, for different reasons, for different days.

But I seem to always come back to the opener. Probably not the best, but my favorite, the one I can't get past.

Because it's here, as their smash-hit album begins, that they set the tone for what kind of band they want to be and what their music is all about, setting the record straight right from the start. While they are no less popular than every other act in pop music in the past half-century, they seem to be sending a message that is adamantly and defiantly opposite of the one that sells.

"Love will not betray you, dismay or enslave you! It will set you free! Be more like the man you were made to be!"

For all these years we've heard the pop stars sing about love. It's all we need, of course, and yet it's a dead end street that never ends well. It betrays and dismays, with stabbed backs and broken hearts. We're enslaved by the quest for it, or if we have something that appears to be love, it's probably just slavery dressed up nicely on the exterior, fakery left over from the fifties.

Here come Mumford and Sons boldly saying, "No! That's not it at all! Just the opposite! Love will set you free! It will give you the liberty to be as you were originally designed! And if it doesn't do that, than it isn't love at all!"

"There is a design, an alignment, a cry of my heart to see the beauty of love as it was made to be."

That's what we've been singing about all these years, that's why we're singing about love. But in our search to find it as it was made to be, we've settled for counterfeits and are always left disappointed.

So what's the difference between this real love and the love of pop music? I have no idea the spiritual leanings of the band, and while I don't want to put words in their mouths, they seem to give some pretty strong clues as to where this love is found. In admitting that "my heart was never pure," confessing that "man is a giddy thing," saying "I'm sorry," and going on to "serve God," realizing that this life "is not the end."

Could it be that Mumford and Sons is so popular because of this transcendent nature of their music? It's resonating in hearts of image-bearers, confessing Christians or not.

Pop music has always revealed the image of God. Even when the message is warped and misguided, it serves as a mirror showing us our search for love. We know there's something out there, it's written in our hearts, and though it's a messy story of stumbling and fumbling, it's all a part of our search. And that's exactly why pop music is popular.

Mumford and Sons is equally as popular because they're singing about this same search, but instead of complaining about the cheating girlfriend, bragging about the illicit sex, avoiding a stifling marriage, or hoping for some fluffy version of us all just getting along, they're pointing to something much more transcendent. We thought we wanted the girlfriend, the sex, the bachelorhood, but with it comes betrayal, distress, and enslavement. Here comes something real. Something good and true and beautiful and liberating. And that's what we want. And it's as exhilarating as the music to which the message is set.

It all sounds like something else I've recently read:
"Nobody can give anyone else the kind or amount of love they're starved for. In the end we're all alike, groping for true love and incapable of fully giving it. What we need is someone to love us who doesn't need us at all. Someone who loves us radically, unconditionally, vulnerably, just for our sake. If we received that kind of love, that would so assure us of our value, it would so fill us up, that maybe we could start to give love like that too...when you begin to get [this love], when you begin to experience it, the fakery and manipulativeness of your own love starts to wash away, and you've got the patience and security to reach out and start giving a truer love to other people." -Timothy Keller, King's Cross

Mumford and Sons, "Sigh No More" from Sigh No More

Paying Dues

Again, I'm appreciating the bit I was able to understand at church this morning. From Luke 20, important people trying to trap Jesus with trick questions, like "Should we pay our taxes?"

If he says yes, he's in trouble with the Jews. If he says no, he's in trouble with the Roman empire.

"But he perceived their craftiness, and said to them, 'Show me a denarius. Whose likeness and inscription does it have?' They said, 'Caesar’s.' He said to them, 'Then render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.' And they were not able in the presence of the people to catch him in what he said, but marveling at his answer they became silent."

He beats the trap, but his answer deserves pause. A quick read makes it seem like Caesar and God split things 50/50, each with their own fair share. "Some for you, some for me," and everyone goes home happy. But that's not the case at all.

No, not at all. Where you see Caesar's inscription and likeness, give it back to him. Where you see God's inscription and likeness, give it back to him.

If Caesar puts his face on a coin, then give him his coins. He can take all he wants. In the end, they are worthless.

But where do you see God's likeness? Look around you. Mountains and oceans, stars and skies, animals and humans. Color. Sound. Tastes. Smells. Order and Goodness and Truth and Beauty. From the infinite grandeur of the whirling planets down to the infinitesimal inner workings of the tiniest cell. Where you see God, give it back to him.

Give him all the praise and glory and honor he is due.

Give Caesar his silly coins. And then give God everything, everything, everything else. All of it.

And an answer like that, for people who have a hard time paying our measly taxes let alone giving ourselves as living sacrifices to our Creator, throws our trivial self-centered questions out the window and leaves us marveling in silence.

From him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever.

You know you're back from spending a week in the country when

you get really excited to empty another cardboard carton, only to realize you no longer have a fire on which to throw it.

Instruments I Regretfully Didn't Play

Music for Teachers was the college class that was a complete joke but I secretly loved. I loved the auto-harp unit perhaps most of all. It brought back warm memories of Wednesday morning chapel in elementary school when the principal would lead us in singing "This is My Father's World" while strumming her magical instrument. Such a lovely, full, string-y sound, slightly out of tune twang just enough to be charming, and all with the simple push of a button. I had high ambitions to sneak into that Music for Teachers classroom some Friday night and record some hymns with the auto-harps. Never happened. Still upset about it. (0:56)

Rewind a few years. The saxophones sat behind the two people that played the big, low clarinets. Always jealous. Still am. So wood-y with its low buzz. Clarinets are making a huge comeback lately, so much so that I'm collecting songs for a clarinet tribute post, making me think again I picked the wrong woodwind. (4:49)

Then there was the season when our orchestra director recruited seniors to learn how to play a stringed instrument. Always ready to learn a new instrument, I chose cello. He gave us a lesson once a week. I didn't practice because it was too hard to take the thing home. After several lessons and no practicing, we were informed that we would join the 3rd graders for their concert. Here we were, the big kids sitting next to the little kids, trying to play Hot Cross Buns or something equally as simple with them, and failing miserably. And I wish I were in the audience instead, sure to save myself the humiliation, but moreso because this scene had to be so hilarious to observe. I had a dream the other day about being able to sit down and play something fancy on the cello. It didn't come true. Such a relaxing and sophisticated instrument. (5:16)

These are the reasons, among others, I like this video.

My Brightest Diamond & yMusic | A Take Away Show | Part 01 from La Blogotheque

Wow...There's a book for sale on Amazon with my name on it.

I and several others are pleased to announce that Our Savior Come: An Advent Companion is now available for purchase on Amazon. Here for the paperback, and here for the e-book.

Of course, as this has been an independent operation, if your interest is piqued please pass on the news to your friends. If you read it, post a review to Amazon or whatever other social networks you prefer to frequent. Or, why not tell people about it in real life too? Like, perhaps, sharing it with your church or small group.

If you live in the Harrisburg area, or have been wanting to make a road trip to Harrisburg (it's the capital of Pennsylvania, you know), there will be a book release party at Midtown Scholar, which I've heard is quite an amazing place. November 6th, 4PM. I'll be there...in spirit.

I am happy to announce a sequel...

(Norwegians still don't like snails.)
Now with subtitles!

E2cargots from LtgMedia.

Rags to Riches

"Seigneur, je ne suis pas saint. Je suis misérable." Lord, I'm not holy. I'm wretched. So began the prayer of an elder before communion. He turned to us and said, "Brothers and sisters, if you wait until you're holy before eating this bread and drinking this wine, you'll never come."

The week prior in French class, we listened to a poem called "La Grasse Matinée" by Jacques Prevert. You could probably care less about a poem in a foreign language, but stick with me. It's a poem narrated by a starving man in the city, the kind of homeless beggar that everyone sees and no one sees. We feel and hear his stomach growling as though it was our own. We see him standing in front of a grocery store window full of every type of food imaginable, all within arm's reach and yet out of reach with endless barricades between. And all of it only makes the hunger worse. We stand with him outside a café and smell the coffee, the croissants, the beef dishes, the wine, all of which only smell stronger because of the hunger. We're driven to anger with him in the face of this injustice between the haves and have-nots, this stark juxtaposition, the same world and worlds apart, and all of a sudden,

a murder. An esteemed man killed, pockets cleaned out, 2 francs for a coffee, 70 cents for buttered crackers, and 25 cents for tip. A life exchanged for breakfast.

That afternoon, I happened to be leading a little Bible study in class on Psalm 113. And as I walked to school that afternoon to share, it hit me, a smile and a chill, as I saw both "La Grasse Matinée" and Psalm 113 in a new light.

The Psalm says,
"Il arrache à la poussière l'homme misérable,
il relève l'indigent et le tire de la boue
pour le faire asseoir parmi les notables,
les notables de son peuple."

He pulls from the dust the wretched man,
he takes the pauper and pulls him from the mud,
to make him sit among the noteworthy citizens of his society.

Psalm 113 uses the same stark juxtaposition Prevert does. Homeless beggars in the dust and mud compared to princes in their power and popularity. But the conclusions couldn't be any more different. Whereas in our broken world this irreconcilable division ends in murder, in God's kingdom, the vagabond is invited to the café table, seated next to the man who is esteemed in his neighborhood, and they drink their café-crème and eat their butter croissants together as equals.

Again there is a murder involved, in which the only truly estimable man willingly lays down his life for the have-nots, and this time once for all, providing for much more than one small breakfast for one hungry man. This time, a life exchanged for an eternal feast.

"Come, he who has no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price!"

And it's this image that came to mind again that Sunday morning during communion, when we misérables were invited to eat and drink at the table again, seated with a Prince.

Sufficiency 2

The writer of Hebrews is addressing a certain crowd. Believers in Jesus, but with a long religious background. And in the midst of persecution, tempted to give up and go back, the writer gives them one reason after another as to why Jesus is superior and why they should hold fast and press on. The reasons come to a peak in chapter 10.

Remember the old way of doing things?
The same sacrifices,
continually offered,
every year,
never ceasing,
a priest standing daily at his service,
offering repeatedly,
the same sacrifices.

As if that wasn't tiring enough?
It was just a shadow of better things to come,
it can never make you perfect,
impossible for these sacrifices to take away sins,
they can never take away sins.

As I read these descriptions, I feel the weight piling on, a cumbersome burden, and with it the hopelessness grows. An endless cycle, never finished, never enough.

I've never been a lamb-sacrificing-Jew, but I carried this burden in my high school years all the same. I felt the pressure to work, to maintain a high standard, in order to please God and earn his love. It was indeed tiring, hopeless, heavy, never enough, and ultimately my consistent failure became depressing.

But Christ came to fulfill this way of living and replace it with a new and better covenant. "We have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all...But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God...For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified."

A single sacrifice,
offered once,
lasting for all time,
making us perfect and holy.

As his death closes in, Christ declares that "It is finished." The work is done. And with that, he sits down at the right hand of the Father. Seated, because another sacrifice never needs to be made. This one removes sin completely and lasts eternally. There is nothing left for him to do, nothing left for us to do. "Where there is forgiveness, there is no longer any offering for sin." It's for that reason we can call this sacrifice truly sufficient.

And this is what makes Christianity different from every other religion in the world. Every other system prescribes certain behaviors and standards in order to please God or transcend to a certain existence. It leads to a life of fear, always asking and never sure: Am I good enough? Have I done enough? But when God has already met the standard through the single sacrifice of his Son, valuable for all time, justifying us and freeing us, there is a peace, hope, joy, rest that is found nowhere else.

When the word sufficient holds all of that meaning, I use it and feel a burdened lifted. A cosmic exhale, a sigh of relief. And when a word is that loaded, I want to make sure I find its appropriate counterpart in my new language.

I led the song 'Nothing But the Blood of Jesus' the other day, whose words I like considerably more in French than in English. 'Precious blood of the lamb, which gives me a new heart, there is no other, I want nothing more, nothing but the blood of Jesus.' As we sang the last line, I opened my eyes and saw a girl in the front row with a huge, beaming smile. For all I know she could have been laughing at my pronunciation, but it seemed to me that she was bursting with the joy that comes in realizing the sufficient sacrifice of Jesus Christ. She was a picture of exactly what I mean when I use the word suffisant. I think she understands.

Sufficiency 1

In our weekly Biblical French class, I tried translating the phrase "sufficient sacrifice." I was told it didn't really work, we don't say it in French. Without trying to be too contrary, I pushed back. Why not? Is it that we don't say it or can't say it? What's a better word? OK, we don't say it, but should we say it? I didn't really get any satisfying answers from several professors.

It's a tricky linguistic line to walk; wanting to express and be understood, trying to learn the rules, desiring to adapt and contextualize. At the end of the day, we can say anything, there's a certain amount of liberty. But as outsiders, we have absolutely no understanding of the expansive web of connotations and contexts and the general rules for playing inside it. That is to say, in wanting to be understood, there are limits and boundaries to that linguistic liberty, but as an outsider we don't know where they are or how they work. This turns into a significant exercise of trust in the people telling you what you should and shouldn't say, what you could say and can't say, especially because each individual has a different take on language and its use.

I continued with this word though, suffisant, because no one could give me a better synonym and few words are more important to me when it comes to the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. I was obsessed with the pursuit for a couple of days, and felt kind of silly for getting so hung up on a single tiny word, but that only served to confirm how important I felt the idea was.

I turned in my French Bible to Hebrews 9 and 10, as I can think of no better place for an explanation. It gave the description, but no single word. And so I turned it into a reflection to share with the school, explaining what I meant and why it was so important. Thankfully, a prof doing theological studies confirmed that we can use the word. That gave some relief to my worries that I was committing an obstinate, arrogant, American, Anglophone, beginner's mistake. . .

les couchers du soleil chez nous

sunsets from our home

Autumnal

After two weeks of weather warmer than most of what we had all summer, temperatures have changed suddenly as they often do this time of year, and fall seems to be officially here. With the clouds and the wind and the chill, today's the kind of day that makes you want to put on a sweater, curl up in a corner, and read a book while a record plays. I can't wait to do things like that again in 18 years. For now, I'm stuck with doing leaf rubbings, which, let's be honest, isn't really all that bad.
I think it was my lifelong friend Dan who once referred to my taste in music as autumnal. There are exceptions, of course, but I loved that he knew me and my music well enough to label it with such a precise adjective. I can't disagree.

What in the world does it mean though? Calmer than the party music of summer, more reflective. And just as autumn is a period of transition between seasons, maybe it's another way of saying what I've begun to conclude about my musical tastes recently: a tension between melancholy and joy, wistfulness and hope. A soundtrack for Already-Not-Yet.

If I'm forced to pick a quintessential piece of autumnal music, it probably has to be this one, which might be too obvious as it's written specifically to depict the start of autumn. It's the often overlooked band Early Day Miners, whose album Let Us Garlands Bring was a vinyl record that was often found on my turntable back when I had one in functioning order, one that was often played this time of year, but really all year round, as it's about as autumnal as an album can get, and I'm an autumnal kind of guy, apparently. Here's their song "Autumn Wake."

But then there's also The Album Leaf, "Streamside," one of my favorite songs ever, I think.

new pet

I am happy to report that the kid has named his fish, and I quote,

"Larry Polo Boy To The Rescue Fish."

And it has not yet grown old; I still laugh every single time he says, "Papa? I need to feed Larry Polo Boy To the Rescue Fish!"

How can I not?

Advent 14: Leaving Home

Advent has been on the mind early this year, primarily because of my participation in the Advent guide Our Savior Come, but also because this year's life events have been pointing us consistently towards the incarnation. This was written about a month ago in light of one of those life events, and it didn't quite get to the guide in time. So here it is, a few months early, reminding us that the incarnation is worth pondering all year long.

---

To say the least, a cross-cultural transition comes with bumps in the road. Sure, there are the highs of discovering yet another immense and breathtaking park or garden. Or the moments when you remind yourself, for real this time, that “Oh yeah, I am living in Paris. I am LIVING in PARIS.” The moments when you are driving down the French autoroute and you all of a sudden realize it feels every bit as familiar as I-78 through the Lehigh Valley.

But there are lows too, and most of ours have come in missing our “old home” with family and friends. Having a three-year-old can be helpful, because he’s not refined enough to filter his thoughts and words. He can do nothing but spit out whatever comes to mind. And in so doing he becomes a sort of mouthpiece for us, putting our feelings into words and saying what we often feel is too blunt to express.

There are moments where we feel mad, lost, or confused in this little plan of God’s. When the three-year-old says, “Can’t like God!” we know enough of the story to ultimately disagree, but yet can often empathize with and echo the sentiment.

One of these breakdowns, for lack of a better word, happened one Sunday as we were already stressfully running late to get to church. It was significant enough and affecting all of us that the executive decision was made to have church as a family in the living room.

I took the kid’s storybook Bible and turned to the story of someone else moving from his old home. The story of a man leaving the glories of heaven and the perfect, loving fellowship of the trinity to become a helpless baby lying in a smelly cattle shed. The Christmas Story.

My friend Pastor Carl is usually pretty tactful and sensitive to the people in the congregation around him, not usually stepping on toes, but I love when he is bold enough to lament the common Sunday school Christmas celebration of giving baby Jesus a happy birthday cake. For this poor baby leaving that home for this one, there is nothing happy about this birthday. There is something much more serious about this event than just a cute and cuddly little infant being born. This isn’t really the stuff of icing and candles and streamers and party hats.

No, this is laying aside the rights of heaven and being stuck cold and lonely in the back streets of Bethlehem, to a live a life of obscurity ending in a seemingly premature death on a cross. In any other case we’d hear: “Don’t you have any idea who I am?! Or where I’ve come from?! Or what I’ve left behind?!”

So, I told my kid the story about this kid, leaving his old home that was infinitely better than Hellertown for a new home that was considerably worse than France, and doing it all for us, the people he loves.

And I wonder just how often Jesus missed that old home. Every day? Every moment? We don’t think of that too often, as though he was pleased and happy to hang out with all of us here on this broken planet, and sorry when time was cut short.

There are many moments I believe his missing home is evident, but one is the most poignant. So we turned the pages that morning in the living room to the garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus cries more and with more intensity than we have ever cried for our old home. I hear him saying, “I’m weary, and I really don’t want to do this, Dad. Get me out of here. Let this pass.” It sounds familiar, like a three year old wailing, “Can’t like this!”

But, to our benefit, he didn’t get his wish. Instead, when he gets it off his chest he can conclude, “Not my will…but yours.”

And this is the Christmas story. A grand act of obedience. An act of leaving an old home for a new one, crummy albeit temporary, for love, for justice, for ransom, for rescue, for us, the people he loves.

“Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

We can thank God for the plan of sending his son and thank Jesus for his obedience at more cost than we can comprehend. And we must also realize there are real implications for us who say we are following him, including a willingness to leave behind old homes. At the very least, we no longer find our residence and citizenship on this earth, but as aliens and strangers we wander, looking forward to a city whose architect is the Lord. For people missing home and weary sojourners, be they three year olds or their parents, this is just one more way in which Jesus sympathizes with our weakness.

It's not a bad gig.

American Toast

One year ago we were in middle-of-nowhere-North-Carolina to learn about what exactly it was we were getting ourselves into.

They recommended starting traditions to navigate transitions.

We settled on French Toast for Sunday night dinners. It stuck in NC but disappeared shortly thereafter.

We're starting it back up tonight, and it is smelling wonderful. Strawberries and cream will be served on top. Smells wonderful enough for the tradition to stick again.

But seeing as how we've lived in France for 9 months and have yet to see why we call this toast French, I'm feeling like we need to change the name.

French fries? They're everywhere, makes sense. But French toast? Je n'ai aucune idée.

Found, left in the search bar of our Internet browser:

"My 3-month old doesn't sleep."

Yes, help us Google, please do something.

The (not as) New Guy, 5

Today at the grocery store I had the same relatively young cashier that I always do and today he finally got up the nerve to ask in slow and hesitated English: "Where are you from?"

I responded: "Etats-Unis. Vous voulez pratiquer votre Anglais?"
(United States. You want to practice your English?)

And in that quick response, I surprised the both of us in succeeding to do the seemingly impossible. Me, who is usually the tongue-tied one giving mute, blank stares, I left a Frenchman speechless.

He hesitated more, stuttered, seemed to be embarrassed and finally answered: "Eeuuuhh, pas toute de suite, non."
(Uhhh...Not right now, no.)

He recovered by bragging about going to England this weekend, where he will have plenty of time to practice. "C'est bien," I encouraged, "très bien."

Mix Tape: Puzzles, Teamwork

Plenty of thoughts swirling these days, some more tumultuous than others, so again I turn to music to get at least some of this expressive urgency off my chest.

It was February 2006, I ran away from my miserable job one night with my friend Nate to Atlantic City to see Sigur Ros play in a casino. Four women took the stage, but I thought for sure Sigur Ros was four men. With no announcement, they started quietly playing their odd array of instruments and toys. I don't want to use the word "chemistry" but I'm not sure how else to describe the way they worked together. Professional, like they knew what they were doing, and not a single one fighting for the spotlight, but graciously letting each one take their turn as they shifted from one instrument to the next. It was more like a gracious conversation, an even-handed dialogue, a dance of sorts. A decrescendo led to the final note and they left the stage, again with no announcement, and all of us were left wondering who they were and where they were from and where they went and why they had to leave so soon. To call them "mesmerizing" or "enchanting" would be fitting.

I fell in love that night with the musical saw and the desk bells, both of which I now own (thanks to my wife and Nate, respectively).

Some internet research after the fact confirmed they were known as Amiina, aka the girls who play the stringed instruments for Sigur Ros. From Iceland also, with only one hard-to-find EP to their name at that point in time, with shortly after a new album called Kurr.

I was excited to recently discover a new album, and smiled at the thought of it being called Puzzle. I can think of no better way to describe their music. Not because it's puzzling, but because of the magical way a puzzle unfolds when we agree to work together. So many of their songs begin with each one tinkering their way into a theme in their own corner. As pieces connect, those individual themes take shape. Look across the table and see how one theme relate to another, how they come together, how they fit. The song comes alive, and all in one moment, a burst of energy, each one connects and the full picture becomes visible as we race to end with excitement.

Personally, puzzles drive me crazy, but I've always found them easier and more fun when others are helping. And that, with the air these ladies have about them, seems to be exactly what Amiina is about. It's a lovely ode to community, teamwork, unity, inclusiveness, or whatever you want to call it. "You've got a bizarre instrument to play? Then join in. You can make this song even better. Just take some time to find your place and see where you fit. Come on in when the moment's clear."

And of course, that which seems to be the common theme in most of what I listen to is often here too. If I have to try and describe it, it's the tension between melancholy and joy, wistfulness and hope, a beautiful and precarious balance that seems to reflect this life we're living in.

As I type this, I realize this is all the stuff I want to start a church with.

To my ears, this song "Mambo" is the highlight of this new album. I love the little melody, a reworking of this previous boisterous song with a much different feel but equally as fun. Listen for the moment the puzzle comes together at 3:00.

Amiina, "Mambo" from Puzzle

Do it Yourself, Do it Together

This is an interesting age of saturation and inundation. Absolutely everyone, it seems, is cutting a CD, writing a book, filming a movie. The options for creating and dispersing are endless, not to mention relatively easy and inexpensive. On one hand, this is exciting as it levels the playing field, democratizes the process, and allows just about anyone to offer their voice and perspective. On the other hand, it feels a bit hopeless and seems incredibly hard to get noticed or go anywhere. A guy like me asks, “Why bother?”

But something else interesting happens. The art gets more honest. It becomes art for art’s sake, in a sense. People go to the trouble to record, write, film, and distribute not so much to get noticed and hit it big, but simply because there is something else more sincere pushing them to do it. For some it’s a creative urge that isn’t satisfied until expressed. For others it’s a message or a more concrete purpose. The focus becomes personal or local, a humble offering for anyone interested, and thus a bit more communal as well. Indie bands quit wasting their time sending demos to big labels and choose instead to tour the country on their own playing in living rooms. It’s not about being rich and famous, but about sharing and connecting. It may not impact the universe or be talked about in art history courses years later, but it has great potential to be beautiful in its own right and influence the immediate community. I believe that’s no waste.

The arena of writing only expounds these complicated issues. In the age of texts and tweets, who wants to read a book anymore? And when Amazon posts so many thousands of new books each year, who can even choose a book anymore? Again--that's the place a guy like me gives up. But the same counterpoint applies: if someone is writing and publishing, they must have good reason to do so, even if the reason is just for the fun or the beauty of the thing.

I’ve got two friends with good reasons dabbling in the fascinating world of independent publishing, considerably different, but both of whom I am proud.

Kyle Page is carving out his niche in the Valley with his bookstore that seems to double more generally as an art center. His little press has seen several releases already, and of course I am partial to the handmade binding process. Nothing like feeling traces of tender loving elbow grease on the cover of your book.

Dan Schmidt is toying around with things I still don’t understand yet, newfangled gadgets like SmashWords and CreateSpace and FontSquirrel and whatnot. This has become a platform for his own work, and I love that he has this year opened the door to a humble little community of writers, most of whom have not yet been published anywhere except their own blogs. I'm referring to the advent guide I mentioned a few weeks back, which now has its own blog-in-progress, on which (as of today) I have a little post introducing myself.

The DIY ethic seems to be alive and well, stronger than ever. And yet it seems to be morphing these days into more of a do-it-together ethic. All the better.

inquietude

God's been teaching me about my problem with anxiety.

The kid is at his first day of preschool, in another language, just barely potty-trained.

Thought #736

Blaise Pascal was a pretty interesting dude, French genius mathematician, inventor of the calculator for one, and a Christian, philosopher, theologian in his later years. On my to do list is to get to know him a bit better.

Also on my to do list is to read his work Pensées in French. If I understand correctly, it's a compilation of "thoughts," mostly written on scraps of paper, each one numbered. Sort of like a 17th century blog, I guess. Left unfinished for editors to piece together and make sense of.

Well, I'm still stuck reading a juvenile fiction book called Petit Nicolas meant for 10 year olds, so I'd say I'm a little ways off from this goal. I cheated today, getting a head start in English. Only read a few quick pages, but found this gem.

"By His grace, I await death in peace, in the hope of being eternally united to Him. Yet I live with joy, whether in the prosperity which it pleases Him to bestow upon me, or in the adversity which He sends for my good, and which he has taught me to bear by His example."

Save the Queen

Just got back from England. Hearing and reading English was nice and all, but the few impressions of British culture I got were just a bit too stuffy for me. Too regal, maybe. Crowns and lions and British flags everywhere. Fun to pretend you're on the set of Harry Potter or Narnia, I will give them that. E did most of the driving since I'm too high strung, and in the one short trip I took I forgot which side of the road to be on only once when making a left-hand turn. Quick swerve and no harm done.

But I'm trying to say that I like France better. I felt more uncomfortable there than I do here, and that was surprising. And I guess it's a good thing.

How Marvelous

This place seems to be quickly becoming a music blog these days, and I hope that isn't alienating any of my three readers. I guess music is easier and faster to think about than most anything else in these hectic days.

But I noticed recently that the 'recordings' tag over there on the right looked a little pathetic with a meager (1) sitting behind it. And then I noticed the link on that lonely 1 recording wasn't even working. So I fixed that, then set out to find old, unfinished recordings to add to the collection, since time and space to record is hard to come by these days.

This version of "How Marvelous" was recorded in the dining room (listen for the clank of a dish coming from the kitchen at the start of the second verse) of our beloved Bethlehem apartment in September 2007 and was finished being edited and mixed last night. I guess that means it's almost exactly four years old.

You can stream it here or download by clicking the little down arrow on the right. Free of course...take your $0.99 to 7-11 and drink a slurpee in our honor, telling them we'll return someday soon.
How Marvelous by nshorb

Men and Old Dandelions

I found her in the bathroom, cutting her hair again.

N: "Is this therapy?"
E: "No, just trying to look like less of a man."

I looked at myself in the mirror and winced.

E: "You need a touch-up too?"
N: "No, just wishing I looked like less of an old dandelion going to seed."
E: "Maybe we should start getting professional haircuts."

Et toi, tu es

It's a blessed Sabbath when I can understand the sermon in French. I'd say it happens about 40% of the time. This is my loose short-form interpretation and expansion of yesterday's.

"But who do you say that I am?" Simon Peter replied, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God." And Jesus answered him, "Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church..." Matthew 16:15-18

Simon Bar-Jonah confesses that Jesus is the Christ, the anointed one, the Messiah. As God the Father has revealed it to him, he proclaims the true identity of Christ. "You are the Christ."

Curiously enough, Jesus returns the gesture, immediately turning around and proclaiming the true identity of Simon Bar-Jonah. "Yes, and you, you are Pierre...and you are une pierre, a rock. In me and because of me, you will be solid, firm, and steadfast, a leader in building my church."

"You are the Christ." Tu es le Christ.
"And you, you are..." Et toi, tu es...

When we come to confess that Jesus is Lord, we too like Peter receive a new identity, our true identity in Him. He calls us by name, our new name, with a purpose and a place. A name lovingly given, chosen before the beginning of time. Abram becomes Abraham the father of many nations. Jacob becomes Israel the one who wrestled with God and prevailed. Simon becomes Peter a foundational rock in the start of the church. And you?

The old you has passed away, the new has come. As you confess Jesus is Lord, hear him say to you, "Yes, and you are..."

"If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come." 1 Cor 5:17

"But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine." Isaiah 43:1

And we now bear his name, his family name, adopted as his secure, loved, and cherished children.

"See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" 1 John 3:1

"Bring my sons from afar
and my daughters from the ends of the earth—
everyone who is called by my name,
whom I created for my glory,
whom I formed and made.” Isaiah 43:7-8

"For he chose us in him before the creation of the world...In love he predestined us for adoption through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will—to the praise of his glorious grace..." Eph 1:4-6

And like Peter, this new identity in the family of God is always meant for bringing him glory, unifying and edifying the body, and growing the church. After all, we have brothers and sisters in this new family.

"For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully." Romans 12:4-8

And you, you are...