Anansi

I’d like to think that my heart is for people in the gutter, but I have just been reminded of a time when I was completely oblivious to a gutter around me. I’ve told the story of my friend Anansi, my former next door neighbor who ended up killing his mother, at least a hundred times. Today, after getting a few things done and before starting on my review of The Gutter, I looked at a blog I follow called The Church of No People and responded to a question asking what the stupidest thing I’d ever done was. I began to tell the story of Anansi, and how he had left me high and dry in Sugarland, a suburb of Houston.

I had given him a ride home from our college, about five hours away. He had promised me gas money, which he had shown me the night before. Like the stupid freshman kid that I was, I took off with very little money, without telling anyone where I went, just to prove that I could make a long trip and to do something for my friend. When we got to Sugarland, Anansi didn’t know the way to his house, and when we stopped to fill my car up, he only had 6 dollars for me, because apparently he “had fun” the night before. He promised me money when we got to his house, but it took us about an hour to find it. When we finally did, there was an eviction notice on the door and the locks were changed. I left him there with his clothes under the awning of the house, angry and worrying about how I was going to get home.

The story of how I got home is one for another time and place. Anansi was found walking down the street on December 29th, with blood on his shirt and a bloody knife in his hand, and when confronted by police he immediately confessed to murdering his mother. I got the news that night, as my friend Marvin called me and told me to turn on the news, just in time to see the house I’d dropped Anansi off at, and a picture of his mother before she was slain. I considered this the end of the story for a long time, and after a while I treated it as my trump card story in any conversational situation, saved for the special occasions but shared countless times nonetheless.

I was in the process of telling this story in a comment on The Church of No People when I went searching for the story from the newspaper in 2002, the one with Anansi’s mug shot. Instead I found this story from 2008, catching up with him and his high school coach, and telling his story. Anansi had a life I couldn’t imagine, a life I had never asked about. We knew him, talked to him every day and hung out with him constantly, and yet we didn’t know that he spent two and a half years alone in an apartment that his mother and stepdad paid for, after he got out of Juvenile Detention. He told me, on the way to the place I dropped him off at (which apparently was never his home), that his mother didn’t want him, that he was going there because he thought he should, not because anyone particularly missed him. He told me about his religious meanderings and what his parents believed. He told me about not seeing his dad, about the relatives…

He told me so much of this, and all I remembered was the part about him leaving me nearly stranded, and the part about him killing his mother. I never tried to keep up with him, and never tried to stand up for him when his name was dragged through the mud, especially because most of the time it was me doing the dragging.

We need to be about loving the Anansi’s of this world. I don't know what to do right now... I think one way I can apply this to my life is to reconnect with this young man, though I don’t have the first clue as to how. I am going to email the writer of the article. I think also that I can listen to those around me, because there are those in my life right now that are hard to listen to, hard to want to be with, who need someone to shine a light into their darkness. I don’t know who the next Anansi will be in my life, or how long I will have with him before it’s too late.

*Picture is from this article by Ken Sherrington

Lead Servant

My grandpa, before he retired, was a foreman for a rancher in South Texas. He was the head ranch hand, the #2 guy for a man named Stanley. He worked hard, and was trusted so much that for years after his retirement, Stanley would ask him to come back and run a combine for the harvest.

After retiring, he has kept busy, working with his hands to help his family, both earthly and spiritual. He did a lot of work getting a house ready for my mom and stepdad to move in to (if only the stepdad's character had been half as solid as my grandfather's handiwork), and I am always hearing about something he is working on. He is 72 and can still work harder and smarter than men half his age.

That trusted man, that lead servant... I don't know that they are ever truly recognized for their importance and their contributions. There is an old saying, that "it's hard to find good help." This is a common saying because it is true. Whatever we do, we do it for ourselves, trying to get the money we need, or the recognition or the accolades to quench our ever-thirsting egos. Too often we work just hard enough to get by, to be average, or perhaps just a little bit above average. It is almost always less than we are capable of, and then we wonder why we can't find a job more fulfilling?

This applies to our spiritual lives as well... trying to find that line that we shouldn't cross, some taboo that we want to inch ever closer to without ever broaching. We do enough to feel like a "normal" christian, like an "average" kind of guy or an "above average" type of girl. The only problem is, we were made, each of us, for the extraordinary. Our self-doubts and fears constantly try to silence our spirits, but still we hear them faintly calling out for more life, more effort, more fulfillment... life, to the full.

What would happen if all of our restlessness turned into action? What if our boredom produced movement? What if we got up from our "average" lives and reached for the extraordinary, despite the limits that our doubts and fears insist we adhere to?

What could God do with an army of lead servants, of trusted men and women who could storm the gates of hell with super-soakers full of love and peace and grace and truth, the WMD's of the spiritual realm?

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men... It is the Lord Christ you are serving" -Colossians 3:23-24

It starts with integrity, and it starts with each individual act from this point on. Whatever you are doing... with all of your heart. That is what being a lead servant is all about. If you strive to be a leader for Christ, this is especially important. We are not called to simply lead, as those in the world are. The leaders that the world looks up to answer to no one. We, as Christians, are called to constantly remember that we are accountable to another, that what we work with and nurture is not ours to boast in. We must constantly remember that it is Christ who is the leader, and no matter how many people are below us, it is always our duty to serve.

The lead servant is one who has a leader's ability and a servant's heart.
The lead servant is the one who can be trusted to know both what he's doing, and who he's doing it for.
The best leader is the lead servant.

Escapism- San Diego @ Night

All of our plans were falling through.

We were supposed to hang out. I was off the next day, and she didn't have to work until 10. Everything we tried to plan just wasn't working. In humorous frustration, she texted me:

What if we drove to Cali tonight to play in the ocean and then came back?

It had been a long few weeks, and I'd been wanting to do something completely random for a while. Usually I would want to know all of the details before agreeing to something like this, but not this time. I texted back:

I'm down.

We stopped and got an audiobook by David Sedaris to listen to (not my choice, but funny in a "wow, that's wrong" kind of way) while driving on I-8 headed toward Yuma. There are very few radio stations between Phoenix and Yuma. We were headed to San Diego, on account of Los Angeles having no soul.

It was a beautiful drive once we got past El Centro. It was my first time in California, and winding through the big hills silhouetted against the light of the moonlit sky was a bit thrilling. I needed to get away. We needed to get away.

I think we all need to get away sometimes. Life gets more and more complicated and intricate as we get older, mostly because we suck at life and tend to make it that way. We get caught in a rut, and we need a fresh perspective, and so we go for a walk, or a run, or a ride, or a drive... something to take us away from the mundane, from the same old thing. It's called "Escapism", the wanting to get away from it all, to put distance between yourself and whatever it is that weighs you down.

As we get older, I think we convince ourselves that escaping is impractical. Heck, I didn't think I had that random trip in me anymore. But driving into San Diego under the cover of darkness, putting feet to the ocean and listening to the sheer massive power of it's waves, is cathartic to the soul. Really, the beauty of any new place is usually enough to bring our problems into perspective.

Escapism is healthy, as long as it ends. We were back in Mesa by 730 the next morning, with the same old struggles not looking quite as big as they once did. I had a feeling that everything would be alright. Then I crashed on my girlfriend's family couch.

Here's wishing you a Great Escape, a San Diego of your very own.

Coffee is the Center of the Universe

Coffee is amazing. I'm pretty sure that no longer experience drowsiness, simply withdrawl symptoms. I am also pretty sure that God placed coffee on this earth to make me awesome. Before my first two cups of the nazarene narcotic, I am usually quite useless. I mean, sure, maybe most people running on consecutive days of less-than-ideal sleep would be just as sluggish, but in today's fast paced world, I need a quick fix more than a blissful 9 hours of slumber.

I even have a special press that I make my coffee in. I actually asked for it for Christmas, since I would only be able to take one thing back with me from Texas to Arizona on the plane. I am pretty much known as the fancy coffee guy in our church offices (it's like a normal office building, with about 40 people around at any given time, so that's saying something). I offer my caffienated goodness to all who ask, because of course I have extra... grounds, that is. As in, I could make more. I wouldn't dream of not having my full 32 ounces of hardcore jittery bliss.

I've been making better music since I succumbed to the bean. I don't drink it when I have to sing, but at all other times... my fingers fly across the fretboard or keyboard, as my mind pushes forward confidently whether I know what I'm doing or not.

Good music doesn't depend on perfection. It depends on confidence. Unless you suck.

Anyway, I am officially declaring Coffee the "Center of the Universe". On the first day, God created the heavens and the earth...

but first, He had His coffee.

Ever The Critic

I've learned a lot in these past two years about many facets of musical performance and worship leading. I am totally stoked that I am becoming better at what I love. I just wish I wasn't such a jerk because of it.

See, lately I've found myself being a critic of everything musical. I've been taught to analyze myself and find my own weaknesses, but instead I've been finding fault in others. In fact, criticism is inherent in the music culture, and it is often quite useful. It just makes it really hard to be a fan of local music, to be a supportive and attentive listener.

Instead I am listening to a running dialogue in my head, outlining everything wrong with this band/concert/church service. I outwardly cringe when harmonies don't quite work and singers get pitchy. I comment on how this band would be good "if only..."

I've become that really annoying person, the one you hate to listen to music with or see a show with. It sucks, because I even annoy myself.

This is why I've decided to turn back the clock, to learn once again to enjoy the pure simple bliss of a live local show. I must find some way to turn off my inner critic, make myself a little tone deaf, a little more forgiving... and just enjoy good music again, even when it gets a little pitchy and the mix isn't just right.

Resolved: To stop annoying myself at concerts.

Father's Day Song - Better Man

Father's Day always hits me differently. My dad left when I was four, and I've only seen him occasionally since then. I realize that he wasn't a bad man, just a weak man, and I've forgiven him, but I am reminded every Father's Day about the years without a father and the pain that lingers.

I'll record a rough version soon

I don’t want you thinking I’m fine

I still bear the scars

But I know now that I won’t be defined

By what you weren’t when

I needed you

You let me down

But you were simply a

weaker man than me

I’ll be a stronger man than you

I’ll be a better dad than you

I’ll sing it out until it’s true

I’ll be a better man than you

Healing has taken some time

I still need more some times

But I know now that I won’t be confined

To who you were when

You put me down

And let me cry

But you were simply a

Smaller man than me

I’ll be a stronger man than you

I’ll be a better dad than you

I’ll sing it out until it’s true

I’ll be a better man than you

You could learn a lot from me

I’ve become more than you thought I’d ever be

No thanks to you

Belonging

When I first got to Arizona, I realized how much I had been surrounded by friends, all throughout Texas. Even in Dallas, there were friends to hang out with and do things with, but my first month in Arizona seemed to drag on endlessly. I found myself sitting alone at a bar eating pizza and watching a football game, wishing desperately that the bunch of black athletes behind me were my friends, that I could crack a joke and make them laugh, or say something about one of them and have everyone join in on the playful diss. I wanted to be cool again, because in all honesty I felt like a big dork.

Fast forward to tonight. I promised two friends that I would be at their birthday party, and I went. I didn't know anyone else there, and this wasn't one of those groups you could easily socialize with. They were closed, and their conversations were inwardly directed. I felt like a complete outsider, to the point that I left after about an hour, having made an extended appearance while still having an excuse to leave.

I went from there to the home of a dear friend, hanging out with people who have become close and important to me. I made silly jokes and everyone laughed. I was made fun of, and I poked right back. We had a great time, and I felt like I belonged. I thank God for that, because I realize how much that means.

At the end of this year, my residency ends, and most likely I will be in a new place, looking for a new group of friends. I most likely will find myself eating alone, or driving the streets alone, or doing something else rather lonely. Friends will call and say they miss me, but they will feel so far away, and I'll just be more lonely. But there are always people who are willing to become your new family, if you'd just take the steps towards them.

Treasure the places that you belong. Invite people in, because there is always someone feeling like an outsider around you, one person who needs to be included... and they might just be really really fun :).