Life at 3 miles an Hour

I wrote a letter the other day.  When I say that "I wrote a letter", I mean I actually wrote it ... with a pen and actual paper.  I'll have to admit that it was a unique experience.  It wasn't a post it or a memo, it was an actual letter with a beginning, middle, and ending ... on paper ... in ink ... with questionable penmanship.   It was void of all the usual trappings that I have become accustomed to.  There was no spell check, and I couldn't just backspace to get rid of my spelling shortcomings.  There was none of that annoying blue underline grammar check begging the question "are you sure you want to construct this phrase this way?".  I tend to ignore those anyway. Possibly more of a challenge though was my entering in to this letter without a clear vision of where I was headed.  There wasn't even a blinking cursor to follow across the pages.  Actually, this lack of direction delayed its writing for several days.  All I had...

I've never been known for my optimism.  People might even be quick to label me a pessimist, but I would have to disagree.  I consider myself a realist.  In my definition of these terms, and since I'm writing, I get to define them, a pessimist is someone who often or always thinks the worst based on nothing in particular.  A realist is someone who thinks the worst based on past history.  See the difference? For example, I happen to be someone who is very time sensitive.  Some might say anal I suppose ... whatever ... the point is that I live amongst a people who aren't ... time sensitive I mean.  A pessimist would assume that everyone would be late for everything.  I only assume this of people who have proven this to be so.  For the others I cling to my optimism and try not to look at the clock.  It seems to me, in my corner of the world, that we as a culture are far more pessimistic than I remember us being.  What's more alarming...

As someone who has been given a certain mechanical aptitude along with the accompanying joy of building things, living in this neighborhood can sometimes be a virtual playground for my imagination.  In the midst of the expected annoyance of noise, dust, and traffic diversions rises a sense of wonder and amazement of watching buildings from 7 to 40 stories high rise on nearly every corner of my neighborhood ... many at the same time.  Living here and daily walking these streets I have had the privilege of watching these steel and glass giants rise from deep holes formed by concrete and rebar.  Like a time-lapse video, this process spans the course of months until, before you realize what you're really seeing, the finishing touches are being put on and those who have crawled over, under, and inside these structures pack their lunch and tool boxes and move on to another corner and another reclamation of abandoned space.  In recent days, a...

So it's Monday, and as easy as it might be to stand here as if in a hole looking up at at some insurmountable summit, I'd like to see this day instead as the beginning of a new journey.  Even as these words appear on my screen, I cannot believe that they have originated from my fingers ... Or better yet, from my mind to my fingers.  I've been programmed to curse Monday ... to see it as an interruption in the recreational pursuits of a weekend ... or the abrupt return to reality.  We act as if we ourselves were the recipients of the first walking papers that ushered Adam and Eve out of paradise and into the world of toil and unreasonable bosses.  We put our heads down and trudge up Sisyphus' hill ... knowing it's only a matter of time before the rock we are pushing flattens us.   So I ask myself, probably because no one else cares to wonder about such things, where did this all originate? Who was the first to climb out of a warm comfy bed and mutter "ugh, Monday...

We are moving again this week.  It was only a year ago that I said "not again".  It was only a year before that that I said "not again".  We haven't even moved our boxes yet and I am once again saying "not again".  And yet I know this is probably not true.  We did go 11 years in the same house a few years back before our nomadic tendencies have kicked back in.  It seems to be getting worse instead of better.  Last year we moved one block.  This year we moved one building.  Next year I anticipate taking over our next door neighbors I guess.  Walking down through my neighborhood this morning it all hit me square in between the eyes.  Passing new apartment complexes rising right before my eyes, I thought back to these past few months.  Here is the summation of our recent experiences.  We signed on to move into a bigger unit with some much desired outdoor space.  Our faith community is looking for new space in anticipati...

This past weekend I had the privilege of being present for a memorial service honoring a fine lady who passed away recently.  She lived into her 90's and I have had the joy of knowing her these past 15.  Hers wasn't a traumatic death, it wasn't unexpected, and if anyone knew what promise lay before her in the afterlife, she certainly did.  Let's just say that I wasn't attending her service expecting to experience anything particularly profound... And yet I did. For many years my wife and I shared this community of faith where she brought people together for one last occasion.  As I sat there, watching pictures of her life float by, high above the service, and heard stories of her life,  being close to so many who shared life and faith with her, I felt a voice.  Not the big booming, James Earl Jones voice of God ... Rather the still small voice of the Spirit ... I think. I'd love to say after so long in the pastoral arts that I can recognize it, but I'm sti...

If you haven't gained this from any previous posts, you should know that I live in an area of constant transition.  Literally nothing has stayed the same for more than a month at a time on any block in my neighborhood.  It's a constant state of flowing into or out of existence.  I can guarantee you that Google earth will be of little value here.  Less than a year ago we were excited about a partnership with a local non-profit that gave us our first home here as we try to set roots down for a new faith community.  We might as well be trying to settle in to quicksand.  The sign to left here gives you an indication on how long lasting that development was.  Don't get me wrong, I knew this area well enough to know that this was going to be temporary.  It's just that temporary gets so much shorter in this part of the world.  So once again, we look for a foothold to grab onto. It does seem illustrative of the nature of what we are ultimately try...