Self Heating Meals...

This isn't a deep one, merely a random outtake from my life. So today, I had a meeting with the Executive Director of the Champions of Hope mentoring program- Carly Pickens. We were meeting to talk about possible marketing initiatives for CoH and ways to turn that into fundraising opportunities. In all, a great meeting with a cool person I met because of a bad-ass church, The Village (yes I called my church bad ass- you should check it out at www.thevillagechurch.net). CoH offices out of a church in one of Dallas' more underprivileged communities, Cornerstone Baptist Church. Occasionally (ok, regularly) Cornerstone will get donations of some of the most random stuff imaginable. A few days ago it was a 6 foot baby grand piano. Today- foodstuffs.

Now, I am hesitant to refer to it under the stricter guideline of "food" because it had a rather ominous label on it which indicated that it had a 3 year shelf life. How any real food could have that long of a shelf life is beyond me, save an overwhelming amount of preservatives and processing to the point that you fear a certain amount of glowing light may emanate from the packaging when the lights are turned off. My assumption is that this food was designed for the military, and when even they didn't want it, the remnants were pushed off on the unsuspecting public. Now, the extended shelf life isn't what made this so unique or blog worthy, it was instead the "self-heating" properties so boldly advertised on the packaging. That's right folks, no microwave needed here. Just open the bag, pour in the water (supplied of course) insert the foil lined, vacuum sealed food pouch, and watch as the chemical reaction takes place, making a seemingly innocuous element in the bag heat with enough intensity to heat an entire meal (in our case it was chicken and dumplings) to a "just right" temperature. It's really quite ingenious. That is, except for the ungodly smell created by the heating element, and subsequently the food once the pouch was breached. It was so bad in fact, that we had to hurriedly cast it out of the room in the hopes that we could exorcise it of the awful aroma.

Needless to say, we didn't eat any of it.

I'm sure this seemed like a brilliant idea to someone on paper and posed a lot of great potential. In actuality, however, it proved to be a tad bit...well, awful. The worst part though, is that somebody along the way had to know how bad this would bomb and how terrible it smelled- but no one stopped production. It instead trudged along through production and delivery, where it was destined to languish in misery upon store shelves until mercifully being withdrawn, recalled, or outright given away. This makes me think about my own life and that of those around me. How often do we start down a path that looks promising and, instead of aborting the plan when it becomes apparent that we were wrong, we continue on doing the same things, even as our actions and lifestyles reek of bad decisions and missed callings and opportunities? Even more daunting is when those of us around people who are following down a destructive path don't speak up, even though they know the actions will just leave the person stagnated and on the shelf for years. Why?

Why don't we speak up, change our course of action and see where better decisions take us? I'll tell you why. Because complacency and comfortability is often more acceptable than difficulty and work. Sure chopping carrots, cleaning chicken, and stewing dumplings is hard work. But in the end, the payoff is something people can actually use. Think about it. Ok, I lied, maybe it was a little deep.

Pursue. Original

todaygrace.blogspot.com

Ok, so I have the privilege of announcing a brand new blog, Grace for Today. Over the course of the past several years, I have had the privilege of being introduced to some of the most provocative thinkers, brilliant and hilarious people, and touching Christians I have ever known. A few of these people have banded together and started a multi-author blog that is all about the constant search for Grace and Faith in "unexpected places." Ultimately it's about each of our journeys through life and how we confront and meet God along the way. It's got no censor, no regular framework. Ultimately, we'll just write about life and see what happens from there. I encourage you to check it out and subscribe when you get a chance. Thanks to Kelbert McFarland, Brittany Loose, Russell Hall, Din Tolbert, and Laura Cooke for allowing me to be a part of this awesome experience.

Pursue. Original.
todaygrace.blogspot.com

Grace

Grace sneaks
Like the tiniest of butterflies
Flitting by unannounced
Breaking through our vision
Grace speaks
In the tiniest of voices
And we, listening close
Strain to hear what we don't deserve
And to tell its story to the world

The Midst

At 1:00 in the morning, I find myself still awake. I'm sitting here, under the amber glow of a light poolside at my apartment, looking around at the rows of neatly distributed domiciles, each with their own set of lives unfolding inside. These are people who, living in such relative and real proximity to each other, still know next to nothing about the goings on behind door #...fill in the blank. As I sit, the generous aroma of a well seasoned and (obviously) lovingly prepared meal wafts to me from across the expanse, and I watch as an apartment still abuzz with activity opens its doors to a seemingly endless parade of late night revelers. They aren't loud, not boisterous, but each seem to pass through the doors of this particular space with a sense of familiarity that only comes to family, or those who would be called family. And it's in this moment that I realize that I miss that.

I miss the idea of late night dinners that begin well after the prescribed or healthy eating times as defined by some "expert" somewhere. I miss the sense that the open door is in fact just that, a portal into a place where you know that you are welcome, and beyond that- family. I had it once. We were all in our early 20s (well, except for Rocky but that's what made him so cool), all relatively fresh out of college, and all muddling through this life thing as best we could. We lived in what was lovingly called the "House of Deception," for the uncanny way in which its residents could get you to believe, collectively, most anything that came out of any individual's mouth, no matter how far fetched. More often than not, it was just called "The House." It was great. The house was a ramshackle place with a foundation that had so badly shifted that the front door barely closed, and never locked. The carpet that lay everywhere (yes, including the kitchen and bathroom) was all that stood between us and the drafty breeze of a floor with more cracks in it than any of us dared to count. It was a welcoming place; the kind of place where you never knew who could walk through the door at any moment, completely unnanounced, and absolutely without knocking (let's not even try to count the number of mad, towel-clad dashes to the bathroom were attempted). Sitting in a corner sat a much too out of tune upright piano and a far too often used (at all ungodly hours of the night) foosball table. It was in many ways the quintissential bachelor pad, and it was awesome. Those that regularly found themselves inside its sagging, sloping, paint peeled walls were affectionately referred to (by each other) as "the family." We were a motley crew of musicians, actors, lovers of music, tone deaf business people, and slightly neurotic divas. We were in every way a family, as hodgepodge as we might be.

This is the place where I experienced God in ways previously unimagined. This is where spontaneous worship happened as one or several people would randomly begin strumming a guitar and singing songs that may have started out as nonsense, but soon morphed into the most beautiful melody lifted to a beautiful Lord. This is where, in the absence of a drum, time was kept on whatever we could find- a trashcan, pot, table or the floor. This is where we prayed because we wanted to. Where we saw tears shed and hearts mended and broken. This is where life happened. This is where life began.

Why do I bring all this up? Because we've lost that. Let me not be so grandiose in my statements- I've lost that. The sense of wonder that comes from sitting on a back porch with a friend, wrestling through life with a beer and a cigar, or the pain of a love that's unrequited while the joy of someone else's newfound beau takes centerstage. The idea that we really aren't alone in all this because the people around us, quite literally around us, are as different and as beautiful as any tapestry woven by a master. These ideas are almost foreign to me now, so far removed from them am I. But, still God is so close.

He's as close as the reminder that family exists in late night romps in moldy public fountains where we ran from the police, as close as stars that seem to shine brightly in the midst of turmoil, as close as whisps of smoke that rose from the end of embers as if trailing prayers to heaven, as close as the smell of dinners carried on the winds of dawn's impending arrival. God is as close as our embracing each other and every moment that comes our way. For it is in those moments, where two or three are gathered, that He is in the midst. May we- may I- find Him there and may I always be searching for the moments that all too often escape me.