Here’s my list of things that, when it comes to the whole baby thing, nobody told me about…

1. Nobody told me that baby poop comes out sounding like a big squirt gun.
2. Nobody told me that newborn diapers don’t always fit newborns.
3. Nobody told me that full term babies could potentially need preemie size clothing.
4. Nobody told me that my wife would not be able to drive for 2 weeks.
5. Nobody told me that I shouldn’t leave my wife alone for almost 2-4 weeks.
6. Nobody told me that babies can cluster feed.
7. Nobody told me that breastfeeding is a two (or more) person job.
8. Nobody told me that babies can develop asymmetrically based on the way they turn while sleeping.
9. Nobody told me that there’s a million shots the baby is recommended to take, almost immediately.
10. Nobody told me that babies come out with hair all over their body.
11. Nobody told me that babies don’t get interested in toys for a while.
12. Nobody told me that they don’t wait for the dad to come back from lunch to start pushing.
13. Nobody told me that every nurse and doctor has a different opinion.
14. Nobody told me that there is no going by the book.
15. Nobody told me that you have to think about life insurance, wills, and future guardians.
16. Nobody told me that it’s insane trying to save money for college.
17. Nobody told me that my baby’s skin would peel off.
18. Nobody told me that I’d cry every time I pray for this little guy.
19. Nobody told me that it was all going to be such a pleasant surprise it all is.

So remember this thing about the NBA referee gambling? How insane is that? Now, it’s hard enough to be a ref as it is. I’ve been the field judge for countless long jump and triple jump events and umped a softball game in a pinch once. It’s not fun. You always hear about the bad calls. You always get the heckling. And never, ever, do you get the “nice game” or “very professional” from people. Talk about thankless. Yet, it’s not really about thanks. In fact, the fact that people focus on the ref shows a problem with the ref or the ref’s role or the way that people view the ref. And this is what I mean…

If a ref makes bad calls, it effects a game which is supposed to be played between the constraints of rules, a standard that’s mutually agreed upon. Bad calls that don’t reflect that, change the results of the game. Also, if a ref decides to step into the action of a game when it should have played itself out, it defeats the purpose of sport. But either of these can be forgiven (to some extent) if a ref has integrity. If you view the ref with skepticism that they are truly unbiased, then you’ll question everything they do. How can you trust that that ref is calling what they see and not what they want to see? At that point, their effectiveness as an arbitrator is spent. Once you lose the trust of players, coaches, fans, etc. you’re word is worthless.

So the key question in this whole thing is why? That is, why is integrity a big deal? It’s because, it is. People say that it really doesn’t matter and that one should separate one aspect of life from another. The famous Bill Clinton defense was that his private life was his private life and that he was still able to be effective in his job despite that. How about this new thing about Senator Larry Craig? How can you take a stand against homosexuality and participate in homosexual activities? It just doesn’t add up. It’s the simple clique of talking the talk and walking the walk. You just can’t take someone seriously who says one thing, and does something completely contradictory. That’s the definition of hypocrisy. And who likes a hypocrite?

So why is this a big deal? I could rant for a while, but I’ll say respond in this fashion. Politicians, organizational leaders, role models, and those who have any authority over others ought to consider that integrity is one of the requirements to good leadership. Don’t tell me you’re against teen age drinking, but have beer mug icons on your Facebook account. That’s hypocritical. Don’t tell me that as a parent, I have the ultimate choice and tell me that we can’t feed our child one way or another. That’s hypocritical. Don’t tell me that you represent me and know me when you don’t even talk to me. That’s hypocritical. Do I need people to be harsh in this world? Absolutely not. We’ve got plenty of that. However, it’d be so refreshing to have people say what they mean, mean what they say, be the same in public as they are in private, and above all, get real. There’s one thing to be tactful, kind, and respectful. But living in a world without integrity only leads to the skepticism of any authority that people see which undermines the fabric of truth, reason, and sensibility.

If it was only about an NBA ref, I suppose that’s one thing. But really, hypocrisy is something that no one can seem to escape the temptation of; but also something that we can all defeat by having integrity ourselves.

This morning, our doorbell rang early. 815a or so. It was Homer Construction coming to finish installing the downspouts. I get that they’ve been busy with other houses and the torrential rain over the last few weeks set back their schedule a lot. However, if there’s nothing to say, don’t ring the doorbell. Regardless, I didn’t get the door after I peeked outside. A beat later, I realized now that it was 815a and I still hadn’t let the dogs out for the morning. Crap! That means, no easy romp in the back yard. It was going to have to be a a walk–with 3 dogs.

I quickly, yet reluctantly, strapped the dogs into their leashes and headed out the garage door. Now, normally, this is not big deal. However, with the focus being so concentrated on the baby, I can see that the dogs were getting neglected. And if the dogs get too neglected, they can get destructive. We don’t want that. We want everyone, including the dogs, to feel comfortable and relaxed here at home. So, I struck out for a small, but legitimate walk. And at that point, I knew I was in trouble. Everything that you can imaging going wrong did.

Victor has this bad habit of marking absolutely everywhere he goes. Well, sometimes he doesn’t look where he’s marking–even if there are other dogs around. When there’s two of us, we can avoid this, but not today. Sofie was sniffing around this rock; Victor lifted his leg; and Sofie got a mini-shower on her snout. Gross.

Then Jake was walking along a touch behind me and the other two. I called for him to catch up, but he was caught up in his leash. He’s not very aware of his leash and doesn’t get himself out of getting tied up easily. I usually have to help him. This time, he walked over his leash getting it wrapped right underneath his body. I looked back, called him, but he was taking a leak. A moment passed before I realized that he was leaking right on his leash. Gross!

Well, I was getting fed up, so I was cutting the short walk down to a really short walk. On the way back, an elderly man was walking down the sidewalk, so I decided to walk on the grass of the other side of the street to avoid any bad confrontations that I may not be able to prevent. So, as we were walking, Victor found a spot on the ground to sniff. It looked kinda muddy, but probably a combination of wet, poo, and something smelly. I was about to pull him away as I saw the man pass when he just went down for a roll in the grass and poo. VICTOR! I was so disgusted.

We went back inside. I was so defeated. I put all the leashes in the wash and locked Victor in the bathroom for his forthcoming bath. I wiped Sofie’s face and Jake’s butt off with baby wipes before returning my attention to Victor. I gave Victor a good bath in the tub, dried him off, and brushed him.

Cristine said that Micah did pretty well in his last feeding session, so he’s in the crib and she’s taking a well deserved nap. Meanwhile, I’m writing this blog and wondering how we’re going to keep our sanity through it all.

So my brother yesterday asked me how it was now being a father. My brother Jay’s wife Mary gave birth to their daughter in January. I told him that everything so far is as I expected it to be like. Changing diapers, waking up at night, carrying him around to soothe him, helping with the feedings (bottle and breast), and looking out for him around every step. What I did not expect was the emotional aspect of it all.

I didn’t scream, cry, shout, or freak out when the hair, head, and fully body came out. I didn’t react shockingly when the baby was handed to me. I wasn’t shell-shocked when I handed the baby over to Cristine. But when the nurses and doctors left the room, leaving us three, the new Bautista family, alone for the first time. We prayed. Even writing this, I think about it and my eyes well up. It wasn’t until we brought our thanks to God, that I was overcome with tears. This is our son, our amazing, newest gift from God. This is my wife, who endured the pains of pregnancy and delivery and recover, that God has given me. And what did I do? I snarfed down a small bowl of rice from the cafeteria as the pushing began for my lunch. Are you kidding me? I didn’t do squat! God brought this child into being and I paid nothing for it. That’s a gift that I can’t even fathom. Yet, God poured down His presence at that moment before Him.

My prayer since Micah’s birth is that God would truly protect him. There’s no way I’m qualified to take care of this baby. He’s so fragile and needy. He has a language all his own. He’s not even aware of his own body at this point. Breathing is labor intensive for him. I’m constantly afraid I’m going to step and trip on something while holding him. I fear for his life every moment I’m awake (which are many more moments than I’m asleep).

So to respond to my brother’s question about how is it to be a father, I guess my only significant response is helplessness. I think I can handle changing diapers, swaddling, soothing him to sleep, supporting my wife as she feeds, and the sleep deprivation. All that comes with the territory, and I’ve been warned. It’s when I look past the practical into the emotional and see that I’m so inadequate to be his father and that I’m going to need all the help I can get from God for wisdom and direction.

All that said, I guess fatherhood is just another way for me to get another glimpse as to how God works in my life as my Father. Sounds clique if you said it to me before August 22, but nothing is more profound than this to me since Micah has become my son.

Cristine and I want to praise God and take a moment to announce to you the birth of Micah Youngkwang Bautista. He was born on Wednesday, August 22, 2007, at 1:45p. He is 6 lbs 1.1 oz and 19 in.

Mama and Micah are doing very well. We’ll be posting pictures on our Flickr page and Baby Blog page during our stay in the hospital.

http://babybautista.blogspot.com
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jermball30/sets/72157601272453343/

Lord willing, we’ll be home on Friday. We hope to see you all soon!

-Jeremy, Cristine, and Micah

I know you shouldn’t cry over spilled milk, but how about spilled soy sauce on a white shirt?

1. To kill bugs
2. To reach up to high cabinets and shelves
3. To pick up dog poo
4. To charge the cell phones
5. To refill the dog food
6. To cut the grass
7. To make sure the computers work
8. To make sure the Internet is running
9. To make the wedding video
10. To rod the plumbing
11. To move furniture
12. To build furniture
13. To bring the groceries upstairs
14. To fetch ice and water
15. To grill
16. To put up blinds
17. To geek up the house
18. To upload pictures
19. To do yard work
20. To make holes in the drywall
21. To fix holes in the drywall

It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. Uh-oh… Cristine just got back home. Can’t be blogging… not on the list!

Considering that they people doing the siding on my house and I haven’t been parking in the garage for about a week, I realized that I could actually get access to my bike. So, yesterday, I took the bike down from its hooks, dusted it off, pumped up the tires, tested the brakes, and gave it a quick ride down the street. The gears shifted fine, the brakes responded normally, and I was hyped. Tuesday morning, I was going to ride!

Tuesday morning (45 minutes ago) finally came. I got up, changed clothes, worked (and reworked) the iPod and earbuds just right, got my keys in a sports pouch, and walked into the garage. I opened the garage, mounted my bike, and rolled out down the driveway.

Ah! The cool air… The sun slowly rising… The feel of rolling down the driveway onto the street… And then I took my first right turn towards the park…

Blub… Blub… Blub…

You’ve got to be kidding me… I had a flat on my rear wheel. I got off my bike, walked the bike back up the driveway, closed the garage, and came inside to let the dogs out.

Sad. Back to normal life. But I tried!

Are you nuts? You don’t eat sushi. You savor sushi. It’s too dang expensive to chow down on a couple rolls? And the good ones? Dang! You better be on a big date to do that more than a couple times a month. But even so, ah… what does go down better than a perfectly blended spicy tuna roll. Oh! And how about a good spider roll with soft shell crab. Ah! Then, the wasabi hit! BANG!

But my thoughts drift… A couple weeks ago, I wrote about hot dog eating contests. Man, and I give them credit. But something odd came to mind while at Matsuya on Tuesday with Cristine. Is there such a thing as a sushi eating contest? What a travesty if it were so!

Well, I searched Major League Eating‘s website for sushi, and nothing was found. God bless those people. Now there’s a respectable organization! So I went to the Internet and did a search on sushi eating contests and I found this video [ MetaCafe ]. How sad.

You know, I get that after the 7th White Castle slyder, it starts losing it’s kick. I get that after about 4 hot dogs, it’s like mush. I get that you can only eat so many hard boiled eggs before you start losing your mind. But a foot’s worth of wasabi? Twenty feet of rice, seaweed, and something? That’s just not right.

It’s just not right.

A quick Google search on the subject shows that there is a legitimate debate out there regarding the topic. Well, here’s my addition to the topic. My wife’s co-worker’s husband quipped one time about podiatrists not being real doctors. Himself, he’s an anesthesiologist. Unverifiable to me, but apparently it’s spoken of that podiatrists go to podiatry school, not medical school. Interesting.

Well, I went to a podiatrist earlier this year and it was okay. He indicated to me the problem I suspected that I had in the first place: flat feet. He fitted me with orthodics, and I was on my way. The orthodics were very hard on the heel, but gave me the support I was looking for. It also cost hundreds of dollars to get. At the time, I asked if it was okay for me to use it during sports or heavy activity. He said that it should be fine. Months later, now into my church softball season, my left heel begins to sting with pain.

This time, as my wife and discuss the options, I opted for an orthopedic doctor. I visited the surgeon who reconstructed my ACL back in 2003, Dr. Haythem Shadid. He’s with Genesis Orthopedics. Since they did such a great job for me then, I knew he’d give me good care now. Besides, he’s a sports medicine doctor and pro-sports minded. So my appointment was set for yesterday afternoon.

Upon entry, while having to wait a long time, I did take note that almost everyone in that office (this wasn’t his regular office, but one he stations at once a week) was there to see him. That’s a good sign in terms of business. When I did come in, I eventually was relieved to know that what I had was something he could take care of–with a cortisone shot and orthodics. I pointed out my current set to which he said, “but not those.” I needed something softer, but not as soft as those you can buy in the store. He asked me my shoe size and it fit like a glove.

Wait a second here, a podiatrist checked me out, fitted me, then made me spend hundreds of dollars (the actual cost was more than the baby crib), and it was too hard? He hit me with a shot, stuck the new orthodics in my shoes, and I was out the door with brief instructions: see him again as needed; probably shouldn’t go hard until the pain subsides; wait 2-3 days for the cortisone to kick in. I got in my car and drove home.

Are you kidding me? That’s it?

I’m not denying that podiatrists don’t work hard. However, I’m not so inclined to go with one the next time I have a foot problem. It just doesn’t seem worth the trouble.

I think I know why. Now, I’m not writing this to try to excuse how long people have been waiting. I can’t excuse stupid reasons, but I think I have some other things going on here. I think it’s really hard to find good music. Every song I try has to be edited down to get the good beats. It never used to be like that. And then the footage is, well, not so good. There’s a lot of garbage that I have to sort through. Some of it is my own fault (turn off the camera while carrying it) but there’s a lot of waste when others took the camera too. Thirdly, my computer has not been the most cooperative. For some reason (probably because the project is too large), it won’t let me scrub through footage easily and quickly. I have to go frame by frame. That’s not helping when I have 30-45 minutes of footage to parse per meet. Sigh. But, all that said, I don’t think that’s what’s keeping me from finishing more quickly. I think the real reason is me.

I think I’ve tapped out on creative juice. All season, I envisioned the opening sequence. I saw that and made it. However, I didn’t have inspiration for the rest of the year. On top of it, I used so many new techniques in that opening sequence that I pretty much ran out of cool things to do with the video. Now of course, I could put up crap, but I always end up changing it in the end because I can’t stand the sight of my name attached to crap–especially videos. So far, I’m happy with what I have–it’s just takes so much longer to make it: find the music; edit the music; find the clips; cut the clips; get the pattern; find more clips; change the angles; mark the time; drop in the hook; where’s the segue way to the next sequence? It’s so much harder than the way it used to be.

Again, I apologize to the Tracksters who’ve been waiting for this year’s video. I did make a dent today. But, I need sleep before tomorrow comes. Whoops, it’s already here.

Before continuing, I will note that I was raised as a Roman Catholic and have no fight to pick with Catholics. Today, I consider myself a follower of Jesus Christ and follow the teachings of the Holy Bible. I am not a theologian nor a Bible scholar. However, I do feel like I have to speak my peace regarding the Pope’s statements. Finally, I realize, even from the time that I was going to old Notre Dame Church in Clarendon Hills, IL, that many people didn’t buy all that Catholicism had to offer and teach. I doubt that all Catholics will line up directly behind the Pope on this issue. However, again, my remarks are only a response to the statements, not blanket arguments against a group of people. With that said, if I haven’t lost you yet, please take these statements as simply that–my response to this article and the Pope’s comments; not an attack on Catholics as a whole.

(are the PC police happy now? =) )

So the Pope said that if you call yourself a Christian, but don’t go to a Roman Catholic church, you can’t really call that church of yours a church at all. They are “ecclesial communities and therefore did not have the ‘means of salvation.’”

The other communities “cannot be called ‘churches’ in the proper sense” because they do not have apostolic succession — the ability to trace their bishops back to Christ’s original apostles — and therefore their priestly ordinations are not valid, it said.

You mean to say that unless you go through a Roman Catholic bishop that has some connection to the original apostles, you’re have no means to salvation? If I read my Bible, it says this:

What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

“For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. -Romans 8:31-39

Nothing comes between me and Jesus. Who has the right to say that someone has no access to salvation because their overseer is not traced back through history? It is only Jesus who judges. It is only Jesus who has the right because the punishment for the sin that would keep us out of a holy Heaven and away from a holy God was paid for in Jesus’ blood. So He alone has the key–not a Catholic bishop. Furthermore:

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. -Ephesians 2:8-9

Everyone has the freedom to believe what they want to believe. And, if everyone has freedom in their minds to believe what they want, then that means everyone (Jew, Christian, Muslim, Atheist, Buddhist, Agnostic, etc.) has access to becoming a believer and access to salvation in Jesus Christ. Again, a church nor bishops nor people truly have the power to save. Only Jesus.

Again, I’m not really offended that the Pope says that my church is not a legitimate church. See, because frankly, my hope is not in my church. My hope is in my faith in Jesus Christ–the one that didn’t let anything, even death, come between Him and me.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jermball30/collections/72157600738785521/

Also, I wanted to explain why and why now? Well, the quick answer is “why not?” However, the personal answer comes from a realization I had recently while talking with Cristine. So at the risk of sounding dorky, I’ll continue.

The Great Commission calls all Christians to play an active role in missions work around the world to bring people from every tribe, tongue, and nation into fellowship and worship of Jesus Christ. When I hear this, I usually allow the familiarity of the verse (Matthew 28:16-20) to hinder my actual interest. So, recently, Cristine and I have been trying to encourage our interest in missions by going to missions meetings at church, serving at the missions table after service, and meeting with the missions pastor. However, nothing has really built up to “critical mass” for me. Even our trip to Ecuador in 2006 was hugely significant in terms of developing practical next steps for us, I’m still missing something, not so much in my heart, but in my interest. Don’t get me wrong, of course. It’s not that I’m not interested in missions, but it’s that my feeling is so flat about it. This is where Ethiopia comes in.

Pastor Reggie Ramos, the leader of our team, gave me and others a DVD of all the pictures he had from our month in Ethiopia. I began to upload these pictures to my Flickr site a while ago for archival purposes, but stopped. For some reason, I started looking at those pictures again, and realized that I could just upload them while I was at work or sleeping at night. So I did. Then, as I began to scroll through the pictures, I began to remember the stories. I went downstairs and got my journal from the trip and remembered that I always wanted to transcribe the entries into my blog. I never got that far. However, now, I’m interested to match the stories with the pictures. And so it began again… that is, my renewed, sincere interest in that trip.

At the time, of course it was powerful, blessing, life changing. It still holds to that description. But something was lost since then. Even as I read my testimony, I remember saying to my friends that even in that short period of time I was back, Ethiopia faded quickly into the background while work, home, any my personal life took hold of my immediate attention. Today, I’m hoping to turn that around.

All that said, this is the bottom line: There is really no need in my life, one that has been blessed by God to have received such an experience at Faith Alliance Bible Church, in Ethiopia, in Ecuador, at Moody Church, and at WMBI-AM, to artificially well up interest in missions. God has already been trying to show me his heart for the world all through my life, and especially now. The cross-cultural experiences continue to prove to me that there is more to this world than America and that God’s heart extends far beyond this land. Today, this reset attention I’m placing on Ethiopia is my first step to just take what God is giving and doing and going with it.

Between my softball game in Clarendon Park (Montrose and Clarendon) and my Noon appointment at the Hotel Allegro (Randolph and Clark), I passed a huge line that stretched around the corner of Randolph onto the sidewalk of Clark. I thought that it could well have been the line for a matinée show at the Cadillac Theater (next door to the hotel), but then I realized that the theater was on the next block. As I passed the line, I saw the sign: City Hall. Yes, all those people were standing in line at Chicago’s City Hall to get a marriage license on 7.7.7.

Wow.

Two situations recently highlighted a sole question to me:

When you take a stand, how long should it last?

For the last few years, I’ve been volunteering for an alcohol/drug/tobacco prevention program at the District I work at. These days, I’m conscious about the kind of programs I get involved with. This one has earned my respect enough for me to spend my time on it. However, recently, I heard about an incident that if true, would be an amazing shock and disappointment to me. Yet, in saying that, is it surprising? Besides that fact that if someone is under 21, they are breaking the law by drinking anything alcoholic, for anyone to have made a commitment to not drink so as not to be hypocritical during the program, shouldn’t be so eager to drink after the program finishes. By one account, this was a month after the big retreat. Illegal, yes. Hypocritical, possibly. Sad, definitely.

There were people coming away from that retreat who vow NEVER to touch another drink. There were people who’s lives were changed to the extent where they were going down a path to trouble and were turned around for good. I claimed these as victories. It’s not that people didn’t drink for a weekend or that people were away from home to get away. No. That’s not victory. It’s that through that, lives were saved. I don’t take that lightly. Lives were saved. If I played any part in it, I am honored beyond imagination because if someone saved my life, I’d honor them. So then to hear that some people have considered their commitment to not drink as ending after the retreat ended is more than troubling. To me, it’s downright pathetic.

All that said, I do also want to point out that the student commitment was technically only for the duration of the program. Basically, this is saying that once the the retreat is done, everyone is free to make their own choices. The commitment ended as agreed upon. So what could I really expect, especially out of high school kids?

Unfortunately, I just expected more.

The second situation was a conversation I had over dinner which related to my time this weekend at UIUC celebrating the 10th Anniversary of the Asian American Studies program. Honestly, I appreciated the challenge of my friend’s questions to me because it really dug to the deep question in my heart–what’s my issue? That is, where do I see myself in this world of 10 years ago, all grown up into what I see today at UIUC.

My answer is that my heart wants to act. My head says, be smart. That is, there is still a need. I can’t fully put my finger on that need, but it’s there. It’s the kind of need that begs me to get involved (often to my detriment, but always to my satisfaction). It’s the kind of help I want to give kids at Snowball. It’s the kind of help I want to give to those struggling with budgeting. It’s the kind of help I want to give at a soup kitchen. When I see a need, and I actually have the skills to help them, I want to be there for them. In this case, with the struggles of organizations back on campus, I want to bring my experience to help.

The connection between the two is that both situations are on opposite sides of the same thing. Both have the core of validity, legitimacy, and need. However, one situation pushes me while the other pulls me.

(again note at this point that I wrote the above text on 3/8/07 and am finishing it 7/4/07; the following statements will be made with the advantage of 4 months of time passing)

However, neither can even stand a chance to truly effect my life the way my new baby will (and is already). It breaks my heart that kids (as well as adults) can be so fickle about their convictions. It stirs my soul that the work for equal dignity for people is not yet finished. And while these forces push and pull me, I see and understand so much better now, 4 months after the frustration that drove me to start this blog in March, that I can only do so much.

Cristine and I met with one of our pastors this Sunday and he described the struggle he had in ministry (among other things) when he and his wife began to have children. He first had to cut out things from his life–good things. When they had another child, he then had to cut great things out of his life so he could spend time with his wife and kids. Today, he’s finishing up classes, working part-time as a pastor, and caring for yet another child at home. Despite the push and pull these good and great things have in his life, he chose to not be swayed from the things that really matter.

Does teenage drinking upset me? Absolutely. Does racism stir me? You bet. Will my passion for those things ever be greater than my love for my family? I’m going to do every thing I can to make sure it doesn’t–so help me God!

So, to answer my own question that I asked 4 months ago: When you take a stand, how long should it last? I think I need to consider not just the commitment of standing, but the value of that stand itself in my life. I think in March, I was becoming consumed with the push and pull, particularly of these two issues. Today in July, I see more clearly that God has different plans for me and those battles can and will be fought by those He ordains to fight them directly. So God bless them in their efforts. I will be seeking God’s blessing on my journey too. How long should it last? Until God says otherwise. I think that’s just the way it is. For me, I believe God told me “otherwise.”

1. I remember in college, while visiting my friends at Illinois State University, finding it a little odd that my White (*note, I’m not going to get PC here and deal with “proper titles”–it’s not the point of this blog) friends had a rice cooker. That was cool. Then she said out loud but to herself, “Hmmmm… Soy sauce or teriyaki sauce?” I asked for clarification on her dilemma. She said, “I really like having rice and teriyaki sauce, but I had that last night.” I shuddered at the thought of either choice being at all appetizing.

2. This article: http://www.chowhound.com/topics/322508 (note the food theme of my last few blogs. =) )

3. Cristine went into the International Mall in Westmont to get herself a small snack on Monday. She saw a bunch of White teenagers taking their meals to their table. Turns out that at least one kid was carrying rice with only soy sauce to top it. And that there was that person’s meal–their entire meal.

And, the anecdote…

1. Recently at a formal dinner, a White young man from a southern border state (I want to say Texas, but I’m not sure) was telling me about how the Mexican food in Chicago is just not really authentic. He said, “Lalo’s does it right, but most places are just not real Mexican food.” Meanwhile, across the table from me, a guy born south of the border is sitting there speaking Spanish to his wife. I know the Latino guy, so I know he knows what’s up. I was becoming increasingly uneasy as I could just feel tension growing in me. I thought to myself, “Is this guy seriously To top it off, a Mexican was sitting across the table? By the way, Chicago has more Mexicans living here than Houston. You don’t need someone non-Mexican to determine what’s authentic and what’s not.” Because of my uneasiness, I stopped engaging in that topic and moved quickly to something else to ease my tension.

I suppose that I could have responses like those found in the Chow Hound article. It’s a cultural thing. Yeah, there’s truth to that. However, I think Cristine hit the real issue for us. It’s not disgust for the difference in culture (as some in the Chow Hound article may have you believe). It’s frustration that well meaning people are missing out on really good Chinese food (or Korean food or Filipino food or good food in general) when they (White, Black, Blue, Purple, or whatever color God gave you) are eating rice and soy sauce (or teriyaki sauce for that matter) and thinking that that’s a legitimate meal. It’s just not.

Don’t get me wrong in this, if you like rice and soy sauce, eat up. However, I won’t be the last to say to you to consider opening your horizons to the amazing variety and joy of Asian food.

That said, and to honor my favorite news show, Anderson Cooper 360, I would like to take a look at it from a different perspective. While the above is true, I will not (nor should anyone else) quickly claim that they know what authentic ______ food really is.

I simply do not understand how people can call ANYTHING authentic in terms of food. Be it as it may, I know better than to go into Panda Express thinking that the Orange Flavored Chicken is the real deal. Puleezzzee! Or, if I really thought that Chipotle represented true Mexican cuisine, I should slapped out of my senses. However, even when you go into a well respected (or maybe not even so respected) restaurant, people in there will rave about how authentic the food is. Are you kidding me? We live in America. We live in the land of taste testing and market research. We live in the land of illusion and impressions. We live in a place where drinking sugar water (cola) seems just as legitimate as drinking regular water–if there is such a thing anymore. What’s authentic? Who has the right to establish that standard on any food here? I surely can’t.

Now please understand that I’m not so much insulted (not personally of course, but more intellectually if at all), but I’m more amazed that people think they know what the real deal is… especially when they’re American… like me (regardless of White, Black, Blue, Purple, or whatever color God gave you). We grew up on virtual this and pseudo that. It’s hard to just get something that really is WYSIWYG. So how do you know what’s truly authentic? Further, I will finally say that this is not to say that there is absolutely no one who knows what authentic something is. There are. However, I’m not so quick to believe just anyone who’s eaten a lot of (let’s just say, Mexican) food, particularly an American (like me), when they say, “Yeah, that’s authentic (Mexican, for example)!” Most of the time (but not always), it just doesn’t have any credibility.

I’ll frame it one final way. When I visited Ethiopia with my former church in 2004, the first two villages that we stayed in offered us a goat to eat (this was a great honor and highly sacrificial gift they offered). This wasn’t goat pieces under plastic; it was a live goat they they dragged over and laid over a rock. Then they handed one of us a knife to slaughter the animal. Both times, I had full cognition that the goat I saw was the goat we ate [ pix1 | pix2 (don't click if you'll get grossed out)]. Even to this day, I still will not claim to know what’s authentic Ethiopian and what’s not, but at least I know, without a doubt, that I ate goat (and it was really good). Can we as Americans say that much about food here? And if we can’t, who are we to call out what’s authentic and what’s not?

On my way home for lunch, I noticed that oncoming traffic was at a dead stop on 63rd St. The car to my left slowed down, so I did too. Between the stopped cars was a perfectly straight line of geese making their way across 4 lanes of traffic.

What can you say about that?

So yesterday when I came home for lunch, I turned on ESPN and caught a re-broadcast of the 2006 Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest. I guess the big news this week is that Takeru Kobayashi, the reigning, 6 time defending champion is complaining about an injury to his jaw. They liken it to a sports stars who injure that Achilles Heel part of their body, so crucial to their specific sport–that is, if you can call hot dog eating a sport. that said, it is on ESPN (just like the Spelling Bee | video)

But really, I barely could finish 9.5 White Castle sliders during my good eating years in high school. And now, you’re telling me that someone’s inhaling almost 60 hot dogs (with buns) in 12 minutes? That’s 5 per minute. That’s a hot dog every 12 seconds–without breaks–for 12 minutes.

I’m sorry for how stupid this sounds, but this is fascinating! It must be to others also. Look at this Mastercard commercial.

I think the quote that got me was one guy being interviewed last year said, “Yes, I’m a professional eater.” You know, it’s one thing to get riled up about cooking. It’s another thing to get into presentation. It’s yet another thing to be into preparing the atmosphere in the room. All those things, I can see in the competitive arena. However, eating… And to be PAID to eat? Apparently, this is no joke. Take a look at the IFOCE website.

I tried to kick it away from him and then jam the bug between the deck planks. He went right back to it, licked it out, and crunch… crunch… crunch…

Nice.

Then Friday, I took pictures from the second floor of the school:

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know how parking is at the school. We are desperate for parking there. However, part of me does honestly empathize with these kids. I mean, I’m a Manning School alumnae. That is, I went to Central School which was renamed Manning in 1985, my 5th grade year. Yeah, that tree was there and saw me through those early 1980s. I’m sure I touched that tree countless times during recess. I’m sure I enjoyed its shade many a day. Yet, I honestly can’t say that I really recall it specifically. Believe me, I get that our world is short on respect for the past and historical memory. However, sometimes we have to let go to gain.

With that said, the song Big Yellow Taxi runs through my mind (I just purchased the Counting Crows/Vanessa Carlton version on iTunes). So of course, the lyrics of interest are:

Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you got till it’s gone
They paved paradise and put up a parking’ lot

Well, is that what they’ve done here? I don’t know… I’m a little torn.

I will say this much though. We really needed the parking space and I just love listening to Vanessa Carlton sing.

Ever since little “Billy” has grown large enough to be seen by all, it’s been interesting. See, because that meant that Cristine has had to sleep on her side. And so, that means that to bring the most comfort for her, we needed to get her a big body pillow–you know, the 6 foot long pillows that she can hang on to and stay on her side. It’s become the running joke in our house that it’s a third person in the bed. And, it really is. Often, by the time I get to bed (after blogging or working or what not), there’s just a slice of real estate that’s left after accounting for Cristine and the “third person”, her body pillow. In fact, it’s often hard to see her past the pillow. It’s been kind of a “barrier” or “wall” between us… sadly.

And then, there was another.

See, the 5 foot body pillow we bought didn’t really fit the 6 foot body pillow case. Admittedly, it was a little strange and tough to get comfortable with (I tested that out for myself). So, I did what any other good husband would do. I agreed to buy an actual 6 foot body pillow. However, we did not get rid of the 5 foot body pillow.

And then there were “four people” in the bed.

Now, it’s just grab a space wherever I can. I’m sure there’s a better way. I’m sure we could have found a simpler solution. But, you know what, it’s okay. Why?

It’s all for the comfort of the mother of my child. It’s all for the comfort of the woman I love. It’s all for the comfort of my best friend (after Jesus) in this life. It’s all to take care of her whom God has gifted me so wonderfully with.

I’ll put up with 4 “people” on the bed. In the end, Lord willing, we’ll have 3 happier people in our family. And I already thank God for that.

Tonight I just filled out a short survey for Blue Cross/Blue Shield regarding an incident that happened that put me in the hospital. I couldn’t remember what exactly put me there, but it was on May 15, 2006. What happened? Softball? Track? Then Cristine reminded me that I had to go to Northwestern Hospital. I remember that. I did hurt my ankle, but from what?

May 14, 2006 was a Sunday. We were supposed to go out to dinner with Ama and Apa (my parents-in-law) but they were at church (and didn’t tell us). So, we met Joe and Yaejung (with Nathaniel, their 4 year old at th time) in Vernon Hills at the Kim house–but, no Ama and Apa. They wanted to get their house ready to go on the market, so we were all taking out our stuff and what we wanted. Joe was cleaning out the aquarium while Nathaniel and I took Jake out to the back yard to play. We knew that Jake’s life in the Kim house was dull, boring, and mostly inside. However, the backyard was far from prepared for showing. The grass was up to my knees–even taller than Nathaniel. I bolted to the corner of the yard with Jake and Nathaniel chasing me. Jake was so happy. His 80 pounds of joy galloped awkwardly towards me. For a moment, I lost sight of him in the tall grass. I looked forward and then down and then SWOOP!

Jake cut me off from left to right directly in front of me. I was totally caught off guard and he flipped me on my back, twisting my ankle. I rolled around on the ground (which probably was not… cleaned of dog doo in a while…) writhing in pain calling out to my wife (inside) for ice. Nathaniel finally caught up to me, shook his head, and said, “you have to be careful.” Wise. Truly, wise. I literally dragged myself over to the patio and called out for ice again. Eventually, I limped inside, and then back out to the car for dinner. While eating at this Japanese restaurant, I iced my ankle on another chair.

I didn’t think it was a big deal, but when the next day didn’t bring further relief, my wife took me to Northwestern Hospital in Chicago to get it checked out. This is now May 15, 2006.

I’m convinced that the baby and dogs will never, under any circumstance, to be alone together, unsupervised. Who knows what will happen. I just know that if Jake can flip me over unexpectedly, what would happen if it was me that Jake is excited to see…

Tall and tan and young and lovely,
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes
each one she passes goes “a-a-ah!”

When she walks she’s like a samba that,
Swings so cool and sways so gentle,
That when she passes
each one she passes goes “a-a-ah!”

Oh, but I watch her so sadly,
How can I tell her I love her?
Yes, I would give my heart gladly
But each day when she walks to the sea,
She looks straight ahead not at me
Tall and tan and young and lovely,
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes
I smile, but she doesn’t see,

She just doesn’t see,
No she doesn’t see

Olha que coisa mais linda, Mais cheia de graça,
É ela menina, Que vem que passa
Num doce balanço, caminho do mar

Moça do corpo dourado, Do sol de Ipanema,
O seu balançado é mais que um poema
É a coisa mais linda que eu já vi passar

Ah,porque estou tão sozinho,
Ah, porque tudo é tão triste,
Ah, a beleza que existe
A beleza que não é só minha,
Que também passa sozinha

Ah, se ela soubesse, Que quando ela passa,
O mundo sorrindo se enche de graça
E fica mais lindo, Por causa do amor

There was a day a bunch of my friends and I were either Karakoke singing or singing by the piano or something and my friend Tricia went up and sang this song. Now understand that Tricia is a rather prolific singer with a broad range of exposure. However, while singing the song, she interjected the statment “Oh my gosh! This is so sad!” (or something to that effect). I guess I never really listened to the lyrics myself. When I actually did, I agreed. Dang, this was really sad!

Years pass and around the time that Lou Rawls that passed away, one radio show was playing his music in a tribute format. They played his version of the song, and I just about fell apart. I’d never heard it with such sadness and longing before. By far, the best version of that song I’d heard–and the most touching (note to self: I really should find that version and download it or something).

Then, last year, my brother shares with me the Getz/Gilberto version, and now I’m hooked. The way the lyrics say…

When she walks she’s like a samba that,
Swings so cool and sways so gentle,
That when she passes
each one she passes goes “a-a-ah!”

the bossanova groove makes you even feel that samba like your watching this scene for yourself. It really does lull you into a late summer afternoon with the water lapping and people just people watching. Then…

I guess this is the joy of the song. To feel the samba, and feel the joy, and to feel the accompanying unrequited love. And the magic of it is what makes me enjoy music so much.

I guess I’ve listened to so much talk radio over the last few years that I’ve forgotten how much I truly love music. Lyrics, especially, but also I miss the groove, the beat, the harmonies, the patterns, and the sheer joy of music.

Thanks Jay for the song. Thanks Cristine for the iPod. Thank God for music.

Today, my softball team, the YMYF Mustard Seeds (YMYF = Your Marriage, Your Family Adult Bible Fellowship @ Moody Church) had our first scrimmage game with another team. We pulled a couple guys off the street (literally) to join us, so we almost went 9 on 9. I tried stretching out. I did my skipping. I did my tapiokas. I did my kariokas. I did my paper cutters. I did some basic stretching. However, by the 4th or 5th inning, I knew that something not good was going on between my knees and ankles. My calf muscles were both about to pop. I could feel it while patrolling the outfield for an inning (I’m normally a shortstop). I couldn’t wait to get back on the bench, rest, and stretch. But, who was up–me. Drat!

I tried to stretch a little before stepping into the box, but time had run out. I hit a tame fly ball into left field. I started for first when my right calf muscle gave up (pushed off it coming out of the batters box). I basically hit the ground in pain. The guys helped me down and stretch. Not pretty.

I’m still hurting now, at home. I’ve been icing and putting on a bandage, but I re-learned my lesson. Stretch out. Stretch out even more! I’m an old man. Get the heck in shape, Jeremy.

That’s all I gotta say about that.

http://babybautista.blogspot.com

Ten years ago, I was so green, I didn’t even question my position as a special education aide. I didn’t know the first thing about autism. I didn’t know anything about physical therapy. I didn’t know anything about adaptive technology. Accupressure. Routines. MDCs. It was all lumped into my job. My job paid $10,000 a year. I did whatever they told me to do, and I didn’t think twice that I was ill prepared or ill trained. I didn’t realize how difficult my situation was until I had trouble getting a substitute for my job. I even bribed a girl with dinner to sub for me.

As I went on, I aided two more years and eventually worked in the growing IT department for two more years. I learned a lot about what really ran the District. The politics, the backroom deals, the damage control, the mind games. Meanwhile, I was itching for the chance to teach. I had just finished my Masters Degree and really wrestled with wanting to be a teacher, but not having a place for me. So again, the District found something for me.

I began to work 50% as a teacher and 50% as an IT staff person. At the time, this looked to be the best deal. I could teach my computer stuff with full control of the curriculum. Meanwhile, I had the resources of being an IT staff so I could set up my lab any way I wanted. What was supposed to be a 50/50 job turned out to be 100% x 2. It was impossible to get anything going in a reasonable amount of time. It took too long to fix things and technology preps took too long to prepare. It utlimately killed me. So, I decided to go full time into teaching while a consulting firm took my spot as IT staff. However, the school gave me 5 preps for 7 classes our to 9 periods (this includes an overton). I was so swamped with lesson planning and grading that by May, I simply resigned. It was at this point when I began to appreciate the class of 2007 again.

At the end of 2005, I began to tell the sophomores on the Track team about my decision to resign. It really killed me to not be able to see this class graduate, but the reality was that I had run my course at District 201 and there was no where else to go. I told the other people important to me at work, and they were supportive. And in the last breaths of my life at District 201, even in the middle of me trying to get a job at Northwestern University and Robert Half Technology, the District rehired me into my old job as IT staff. I was back in, much to my surprise and relief.

I’ve been in this position for two years now as IT staff, with my office at the High School, but also with the great privilage to coach some of my favorite people in the Class of 2007 during Track and Field season. My relationship has grown much more appreciative of these young people in these last two years. Partly, it’s because they were graduating and I wanted to get to know them better as they were on the cusp of leaving me. But also, I’m drawn to them because they represent to me the growing pains of my life in the District. They were never the cause of my pain and trouble, but they were always the smiling faces and the hope of better as I searched for it through these years. Mind you, it’s not always been easy nor pleasant, but nothing ever is purely pleasant when it comes to people who have become dear and close to you.

It’s once been said that the polar opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. There’s been classes that I’ve been indifferent about. Strangely enough, I’ve never been indifferent to this group of people.

Today, I honor and thank the Class of 2007. God brought me through 10 tough years at District 201. He also gave me the Class of 2007 to be a great source of joy through it all. Congratulations to you, Class of 2007. Godspeed to you as you head towards your future. Come visit every once in a while.

I love that feeling of coming into the stadium onto the track, and everyone in the place is cheering since it’s the first event.

I comented back, “Why do you think I coach?” I explained it like this: Coach Kaplan had gone back to her room and I stayed downstairs with Coach Wolf and Coach Fischer to chew the fat a little. The topic came up as to how best focus our athletes on the task at hand when so many distractions are apparent. One good point was that we look at it from an adult point of view and they’re not there yet. Another point is that from a teenager’s point of view, things we take for granted and can set aside, can be huge to them–as it probably was to us when we were younger. My point took off from there. I think the fact that we are even concerned about this topic is probably because as high school athletes, none of us in our small circle ever made it to this privilaged of a situation–to run for a State Championship. Honestly, I think that for me, I relive (and grieve) my past and play out my dreams every year I go to the State Meet.

So I guess my thoughts are all caught up in the reality of my past–being denied such an opportunity as to jump (I was a long jumper)–my present–the real joy it is to see these kids get the chance of a lifetime–and my future–to be able to leave a legacy that somehow redeems and makes up for my past through coaching and investing in these and other athletes like them. I know that as one who’s prefers to be considered a “purist” in most things, I realize that it’s hypocritical to say this because I should enjoy coaching simply because it benefits the kids. That’s certainly true for me. However, I’ve come to also accept the fact that there’s more to it than that.

I would love to see my long jumpers break the school record. Why? Because… well, I used to hold the Westmont High School Long Jump Record. It was broken 3 years after I set it. I the kids I coach break that record, yes, it’s his name up there, but really, I know I played a part. I know it sounds selfish, but I honestly have vested interest. When my long jumper made it to State this year, you gotta believe that I was proud–proud like a parent. Honestly, a big part of me was on that runway with him.

All this to say that it used to be simple for me; and it’s not so much any more. I coach because I love to work with kids. That’s still true. However, I confess that I coach also because I too love to hear the roar of the crowd at the start of the first event on the track because when they cheer for my guys and girls, there’s a part of me that feels it too.

So, I was.

In some ways, I was a little sad because as I reflected on the notecards, I felt like I had somethings to say to and about these guys from my heart that I hadn’t been given the platform to share. However, it’s not my privilege to do that as the assistant coach. The following is what I would have said, had I taken the platform that night.

—

First of all, on behalf of the Boys Track program, I want to thank the Boosters for feeding us and taking time to honor these Senior Athletes. If you don’t know who I am, I’m Jeremy Bautista, assistant coach to Rainy Kaplan who we expect to arrive at any time, but sent me honor these men for their efforts in the case of her absence. We also want to extend our thanks to the many parents who not only attended, but pitched in to help our meets run along. Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to run our meets as efficiently as we do. We also thank Bonnie Wanner who took care of much of our travel logistics and the administration: Mr. Carr, Mrs. B-T, and Mr. McCord for their support of our program. As an assistant coach, now in my 7th year, I have said before, but continue to believe, that I will not coach for another group of coaches. Rainy Kaplan as our Boys/Sprints coach, Steve Wolf as our Girls/Distance coach, and my fellow assistants, Sarah Jakalski (pole vault), Jerry Fischer (throws), John Hartmann (high jump), and Chris Bailey (distance). We are a very complete and specifically skilled in our disciplines which we believe was part of the success of this year.

However, we’re not here to talk about adults. We’re here to honor the larger reason we’ve had so much success this year–our Senior Athletes. As I look at this group to my left, I remember thinking–no, feeling, sensing–that they wanted more. That is, after an amazing Cross Country season, there was fire that needed to run its course through Track and Field. Even before the first indoor meet, these guys were talking about the Illinois Prep Top Times meet, a meet that took invitations from all around the state of Illinois. It was an early season goal to run at that meet, and they did. It was the first time we went, but even there, they were already in mid-season form. That fire did not subside through the outdoor season. We won all our dual meets, won the Ridgewood and Chicago Christian Invitationals and place highly at Yorkville and Nalley losing only to 2 Class A schools the entire season. In our first year in the Interstate 8 Conference, we handily took first by 35 points looking forward to Sectionals where we finally defeated Walther Lutheran by about 12 points qualifying athletes to the IHSA State Meet in 14 of the 18 events. This is unprecedented. Why? It’s in large part due to the men you see standing here.

I’ve often seen seniors who take senioritis so seriously, that it effects their performance on the track. Not so with these men. These men all stood up and took leadership of the team, drawing the best out of the rest of the team whether in practice or in competition. There’s fire and passion in everything these men do, and the dividends are paying off. Each gentleman you see here has qualified in at least two events for the State Meet this weekend. Their season is far from finished. Their work is not complete.

Individually, let’s begin with Matt Heimann. Matt will never be mistaken for apathetic when it comes to throws. As the season progressed, the terms “beastly” and “monstrous” were more and more exemplified through his throwing. Towards the end of his season, he thought that his discus began to suffer while his shot put success grew. In the end, however, he leveled out his success at the Sectional meet becoming the first Westmont athlete to double in Shot Put and Discus, qualifying in both for the State Meet. Amazing work, Matt.

Continuing on to Adam Vorha. Adam really is a distance runner. He trains with them. He strides like them. He scores with them. However, Adam is also well aware of the team and was willing to help the team out, especially half-way through the season when we really needed help in our 4×200 relay–our other sprint relay. In the end, Adam had the fastest split of the group helping us shore up points and keeping the competition on their toes. That said, Adam qualified in the 4×800 for State and is conference champion in the 4×800. His leadership in on and off the track speak of his heart and the heart of this team. Adam Vorha.

Next, Chris Habib. To fully appreciate Chris’ accomplishments, you have to understand somehow grasp the distance of half a mile. Then, you have to picture order of events at a meet. The first event, Chris runs a half mile–all out. At exactly the middle of the meet (about 60 minutes later), he’s asked to run another half mile–all out. Then, for the final event, he’s asked to run a quarter mile–all out. While given less opportunity to run events, he made the most of it by usually helping win all three of these events (4×800, 800, 4×400). He’s conference champ in all three, sectional champ in all three, and will be running at State in all three of these events. Chris Habib is a top notch athlete. Chris Habib.

Then, there’s Dan Benton. Dan could be running after soccer balls, but after being convinced by someone, he ran down the backs of other sprinters. If you’ve ever seen him run, you’ll notice in a 100, he’s faster at the end that at the beginning. He’s improved that tremendously through this season. He broke 4 indoor records, came in 5th at the Indoor Classic meet, went on to win Conference in his 4 events, take home a Sectional Championship in 3 events, but qualifying in 4 events for the IHSA State Meet for the second year in a row. His speed is rivaled only by his class, friendship, and quiet leadership. Dan Benton.

Finally, Fadi Bakhos. Fadi started off as a hurdler, then a distance runner, and then a sprinter. This year, he just about did it all. Fadi ended up dropping his hurdle events passing the torch on to younger runners while taking on the task of the 4×800, 4×100, 1600, and 4×400. Now if you’re familiar with Track at all, you would probably stop us here to comment that this meant that Fadi was running two events, the 4×800 and the 4×100 back to back. That is, Fadi’s a distance AND a sprinter? Our answer would be, “darn right he is; and a darn good one in fact!” And Fadi was amazing. At Chicago Christian, the coaches noted his amazing diversity and honored him with Male Athlete of the Meet. He went on to win Conference in all 4 events. He then won two Sectional Championships, and qualified on all 4 of his events, second to accomplish this to Dan Benton.

Together, Chris, Dan, and Fadi scored 91 first places this year. Their leadership on the Track as point scorers, along with their infectious passion for Track, drawing the best out of the team, earned them a each a share of this year’s MVP for Boys Track.

For these men, there is still one more weekend to battle. I congratulate them on a great year, a great run (so far), and personally say that I can’t wait to see what we do at State this weekend.

Thank you.

While the plumber rodded out the line between our inside drain (in our utility room) out to the main drainage pipe (leading out to the street), he said that this wasn’t the main problem. The cause of the clog was not stuff from inside the house, per se. There was a break in the terracotta piping that sits 8 feet below my driveway. Apparently, the plumber (who also does real estate) has seen this kind of stuff before. He’s convinced that the previous owners knew about the problem, but didn’t disclose it. It’s apparent to him that they simply covered up the fact that the house floods regularly. Furthermore, there are clues in the house itself that show the previous owners inept handling of the situation (over-caulking the toilet; covering up the auxiliary drainage in the utility room). Ultimately, this is a big job including digging a hole in the driveway to access the pipe and to replace some of the terracotta with PVC. However, all that said, the plumber (probably talking from his real estate side) suggested that we pursue the previous owners for repayment for this work because they failed to disclose these “features” of the house.

So, I’ve been telling people that it’s been a rough week. However, I take heart in a couple things. My wife and I could be mad and angry and upset at each other, at ourselves, at the world, and at God. But, I say this to you, my friend, that honestly, God takes care of us. While it’s been hard, Cristine still have our lives. We have this little life growing inside Cristine that seems to still be kicking and growing. We have our parents who live on the other side of town who’ve been taking care of us. Cristine had minimal things in her wallet when she lost it, and I’m almost 100% back from food poisoning. The dogs are taken care for. My sister let us use her bathroom if we needed. We saw our church open a new Christian Life Center. The weather is beautiful. The boys of my Track team won the Sectionals and are taking a ton of guys to Charleston. And honestly, we smile, laugh, and continue to love.

God is so very good to us.

Now, I’m interested to see what’s going to happen today since a full week of chaos would end Wednesday morning. But, whatever it is, we’re ready for it.

When we got home, my dad came over to take Cristine’s blood pressure. That morning, Cristine had a fainting spell. Apparently, it’s a common thing with pregnant women, but we’re only learning about such things. I also had my blood pressure taken. For the first time in my life, I came out with “high” blood pressure. After Dad left, I started working on the Track video again. But, it wasn’t without writing my blog “I’m dying“. Video was going fine until around 12m when I started feeling crappy. I went to bed, but I was freezing cold. I couldn’t get enough cover with the sheets and blanket. Furthermore, Cristine said that I was burning hot. I was a furnace. Then, periodically through the night, I had to go to the bathroom. Not good–diarrhea. Every few hours, the same thing. I burned though the night.

Thursday morning came, and fortunately, I had already taken a 1/2 day to go to Northwestern with Cristine for our last prenatal doctors appointment before switching to Good Samaritan in Downers Grove. That morning, I called into work again and said that I already felt like crap and I think that taking a full day would be better. We gingerly took our time in Chicago, but my condition really didn’t change. When we got home, I napped for a couple more hours and took some Advil. We called my parents (both nurses) for advice. They said to head to the hospital. And by 730p, we were at Good Samaritan in the ER.

They brought me in and started feeding me saline solution by IV. I was really dehydrated. They took a blood sample from me and found that I had a slightly elevated white blood count. From the diarrhea, blood count, and general symptoms, the doctor was guessing that it is probably salmonella poisoning or something similar. Needless to say, it wasn’t comforting to know that considering I had just eaten spinach.

I took today off also because my fever had not really subsided yet–I woke up with a fever still. I slept in. I ate crackers. I watched the Cubs-Sox game. And, unfortunately, I’m missing the Boys Sectional Meet. However, what’s most frustrating is that not being at 100% means that the Track video may not be what it should be. I know most people won’t mind considering what happened. But, it was a bit of pride on my part to always have this gift to give the team. I did what I could.

Anyway, back at Good Sam’s ER, my mom stayed with me while my dad took Cristine home. She said a couple times that this was a wake up call for me. I didn’t disagree with her. I thought the Wednesday blood pressure thing was enough. However, quite possibly, God didn’t think so.

The 30s are the worst time in life. You think you’re dying all the time. Every little thing leads to the thought of dying.

I kind of shrugged it off at the time, but it never left me. I know we’re all dying, but as a kid, I didn’t think about it much. I was too interested in living. When I became a Christian, I considered it the great privilege to die and finally rest with Jesus in Heaven. But now, while I still have those thoughts (and proper I may add), the thoughts that consume me are more about what would I leave behind if I were to die. Not so much that I wanted to enjoy life further (I know Heaven is far better), but what would my wife do? What would my yet-to-be-born baby do? Who would take care of my family? I want to live for them. It brings to mind traveling to Illinois Wesleyan University for the Illinois Prep Top Times Indoor Classic this year. To keep Coach Wolf company, I sat up in front with him on the floor between the drivers seat and the entrance to the short bus. At some point I realized that if we crashed, I’d be dead for sure. Coach Wolf then said, “I don’t want your baby to grow up without a father.” Well, neither did I! I took a seat again. Well, with all that said, I want to say that today did not go so well.

I had a headache. I have an elevated pulse. I have high blood pressure. I’m way overweight.

Okay, I know I’m not dead–I’m writing this, aren’t I? But, I was floating for a while. Did it take this feeling of dying to wake me up? Seriously, I feel like a blood clot is going to just jam itself in my brain and I’m just going to have a stroke. I know that sounds bad, but my mind is going nuts about this. *sigh*

I’m wrestling with my comfort in the thought of dying and going to Heaven and my fear of leaving my family to fend for itself.

No more French fries (again). Easy on the meat (sorry IHSA Track State fans). More exercise (sorry computer). And walks with the dogs.

There’s no glory in jumping 16 feet in practice the other day, beating out our best girl long jumper who I’m twice the age of and twice (or more) the gut of if I’m dying.

Okay, I’ll find something better to do.

Now, I haven’t been around the block too many times, but I think I can gather that probably the owner passed away and there was no one to take care of the “estate,” hence the sale. That said, it’s a lot different going through that kind of a house than going through a garage sale. I mean, the person’s dead. I’m going through a dead person’s stuff. And actually, it’s ALL of their stuff. From shirts to belts to the bed mattress to lawn chairs. Even the Christmas tree was being sold off. The National Geographic Magazine collection was up for sale. If it could moved off site, it was up for grabs. So that alone is a little eerie, admittedly. It’s one thing to go to a person’s wake and catch that glimpse of their life. It’s completely another to go through their stuff after the fact to scrounge for what’s interesting or valuable in my own eyes. Worse yet, the people running it have really little emotional attachment to this stuff. Now, I’m not saying they should–it’s probably best that they don’t. But this is some personal stuff we’re selling here. Imagine the stories those things could potentially tell. If my computer could talk… But that’s my point exactly. It just felt so inappropriate to be going through all the stuff of a dead person and debating in my mind whether I through the end table was ugly or not and if it would fit in our living room. Then again, how much of a deal is it really once you’re dead since it’s pretty well established that you can’t take it with you.

Cristine found a cute purse for $5.

As some of you already know, by God’s grace, we are expecting our first child in late August. We just passed the halfway mark and have learned another bit of news we’d like to share with you all…

Lord willing, we will be welcoming a baby boy into our family!

Thank you to those who’ve already sent well wishes. We appreciate all your support as friends.

Hope all is well with you…

Jeremy, Cristine, and Baby Bautista

As I read this speech over again, I know that I’m not truly starting from scratch on this issue. I’ve been wrestling with this for a while. In fact, when I graduated from UIUC, I was so burned out from APA stuff (programming, politics, drama, in-fighting, etc.) that I pretty much blocked it out of my mind. I started working for Asian American AIDS Foundation and tried to start up with Pintig. Neither worked out for me. I think I just didn’t have anything left to give after giving so much already and leaving college with, well, a diploma and a pat on the back. No Asian American Cultural Center. No Asian American Studies Program. Still, there was a Chief Illiniwek. And, there was of course the knowledge that LAS wanted me out that semester “or else.” So long to UIUC too. I really didn’t have much love for UIUC. I couldn’t cheer for sports on TV. I ignored alumni emails and requests. And, I lost all interest in the University at that point. I started working for my old school district (Westmont CUSD 201), so I didn’t need a school affiliation–I was a Westmont Alumnus. This was the lowest part of my post-graduate time.

It was Easter 1998 when I went to my sister’s church to witness her baptism. It was at that point where my life was saved and redeemed by Jesus Christ. I became a Christian on Monday and my life was reborn then. Everything (and I really mean EVERYTHING) started off from scratch. I quit smoking on Wednesday that week. I faced my antagonistic parents differently. I stopped swearing and going out for drinks on Thursdays with the Special Education teachers. I had forgotten all about college. And for 4 years, my life revolved around my church. By 2002, I got to the point where I was “working” every service I went to as an audio mixer/sound engineer. In a regular week, that’d be 3 services (Friday night, Saturday leadership, Sunday afternoon). That February 2002, I began to meltdown at church. There are a lot of issues here that are related to church life far separate from being a faithful Christian, but most are not relevant to my interest in Asian America. However, this is the context in which I visited UIUC in 2002 for the Asian American Awards dinner/ceremony when we roasted Yuki Llewellyn for her retirement.

That night with my friends, we visited the almost-moved-in Asian American Studies house. It was kinda bare with books in stacks and some furniture strewn about. I looked around and felt, not accomplishment, but redemption. I mean, there in those rooms, I began to feel closure on all the pain and heartache and fighting and screaming and frustration and research and planning and plotting and networking and coalition building… It was happening. UIUC had a legitimized Asian American Studies Program. It was at that time that this question began to be asked. Where does this all fit in. Maybe it was God’s timing (duh!), but my gradual desire and actual pullout of church activities, allowed me to open my heart back up to seeing why He didn’t save me back at college. God had other plans for me. He used me in some manner to be a part of the bigger picture. Just because it doesn’t say “Jesus Christ” in bold letters doesn’t mean God does not have purpose in it. God taught me much about organization, programming, networking, computer technology, and audio/video skills I would never have had without those specific experiences. And on the flip side, some of the things I did really did play a key role in the creation of the Asian American Cultural House and Studies Program and existing programming and organizations. I mean, we all played a role, but God had it for me to be at UIUC during those years and in those roles. I talked with HoChie this weekend about it and I told him that we are not revolutionaries, yet we were a special group that worked together with common purpose. Take a puzzle piece out of that mix and then what happens in 5 or 10 years? So in seeing this building in 2002, I began to get the closure I so urgently needed. As well, seeing it from a God perspective, I also feel like it was not all in vein. The Apostle Paul once listed his skills and said that they now were going to be redeemed and retooled for the glory of God. That redemption was only beginning for me.

In 2005, I wrote and gave my keynote speech at Asiantation 2005. More importantly, I wrestled the days leading up to that speech through conversations with friends of various backgrounds. In the end, I could see value in celebrating and encouraging Asian Americans in the same struggles I went through as an undergrad. At this point, I may not use the same tactics I would have used 10 years ago, however, I believe that the heart of the issues do not go against my understanding of Christian faith. I pause here briefly to note that while becoming more of a conservative politically as I grow older, I see that this theoretically should immediately disqualify me from being a supporter of Asian American or ethnic studies entirely. I find this an oversimplification and problematic. The way I look at it can be illustrated best by considering the political makeup of the State of Illinois. This is a blue state, period. However, are we free from corruption? Despotism? In-fighting? I’d answer no, no, and no. The worst part is that the Republicans can’t even put up a good enough organization in the state to give legitimate opposition. Political parties mean nothing in Illinois. And in many ways, as political as the Asian American Studies Program and Cultural Center is, it’s not and can’t be party affiliated. This is an issue of social justice and education. I’ve come to accept that this is a moral responsibility to have and support. An ultra-conservative or neo-conservative might say that this is the means to the ends of assimilation of ethnic studies into traditional American history and anthropology. A realist might say that this will never happen. I tend to agree with the realist, myself. Most of the book of Romans was about not being discriminatory to the non-Jewish people. The gospel is for all people. Even then, people had to break their biases. Today, racial education and appreciation can come from these centers of education.

So where am I today? Before I left for UIUC, I had one question in my heart. What’s the value of this education to the community. In ways, I didn’t need a direct answer. I needed to know that they head that question in their hearts as well and were looking earnestly for an answer. To have a Studies Program or Cultural Center without any effect on the community, then what’s the point? Kent Ono, the Director of the Asian American Studies Program told me that they’ve been trying to get an internship program established, but have had trouble up through now. Would you believe that this single statement made the entire weekend for me? Had that statement not been made, I don’t think I’d be satisfied to the point I am now. I see the justification on my own end and in my own heart. What I needed to know was that the Studies Program shared that heart. Now, I’m sold. Everything else was support for that alone. Everything else, to me, leads to this goal. That is, spoken negatively: The Asian American Studies Program/Cultural Center is not there to puff up Asian American kids for fun. Spoken positively: The AASP/CC is there to make a real change in our world through those trained and equipped in these programs. That’s something I can believe in and put my money down for.

This is the wrestling I went through this weekend. I don’t participate in things I don’t believe in. I’m too old to waste my time like that. In this case, I’m on board. And more retrospectively, the hopes and dreams I had 10-15 years ago, are finally getting closure. That pain wasn’t in vein. It was necessary in the grand scheme of things. Clark Cunningham calls it “a lot of luck.” I don’t believe in luck, but I do believe that I will not grieve the fact that I was a part of a very special time at UIUC for Asian Americans and that seeing all of it in action brings great joy to me.

I certainly can’t write all about this today. But I will. I promise (as if anyone even cares).

However, before I log off for the night, I will say this. God sent us to New York for a reason.

Thank God for Pui.
Thank God for Rach.
Thank God for Nicci.
Thank God for Marilyn.
Thank God for Pastor Jim Cymbala.
Thank God for Eugene.
Thank God for April.

Every person effected us in an important way during this trip. God did not intend us to have a vacation with the perfect weather, conditions, food, timing, and circumstances. God brought us to New York to get us on our way here in Chicago.

To those listed above, we are thankful. You have been used by God.

The short of the story is that we’ve had a lot of difficulties so far, but by God’s good grace, we’re still enjoying ourselves here in Manhattan.

The story begins in Chicago. Thursday night, I was up all night cleaning the house so the dogs wouldn’t tear things up while we were gone. My dad was scheduled to come over regularly through the weekend, but without anyone home for extended periods of time, we worried about the dogs becoming destructive. So, I was tired that morning, but still wanted to get an early start. However, we opted to go a little later for a number of reasons. Regardless, we did not account for rush hour traffic (duh!) nor security at the Midway. Once there, however, we got our bags through security and got some breakfast. Once at the gate, it turned out that our flight was delayed as it were and we eventually got up and out about 30 minutes after scheduled. I happily slept while Cristine watched the TV without sound. Maybe she slept too. =) Eventually, a little worse for the wear, but we finally landed at LaGuardia at around 3p.

It was at LaGuardia where we began to have issues. First off, it’s shack of an airport. It’s cramped and small. There’s people everywhere. And it’s very difficult to find information you’re looking for. Eventually, we somehow found our baggage claim area. I decided to sit back towards the end of the track because it was so crowded at the beginning. Why so impatient? I’m on vacation. =) I claimed one bag as Cristine got ground transport information. People picked up their bags and left. Eventually, there were no more bags and no more people and they stopped the conveyor belt. Ummm… Where’s my other suitcase? We put in a report to ATA about the lost “mis-handled” baggage. We called later to see if it arrived on a second flight, but it didn’t. I still think someone walked off with it. However at this point, we’re through ever using LaGuardia again; no better than the old Midway airport. We bought a ticket for ground transport by van to our hotel. As it were, we were tired. However, we were not prepared for a 20 minute wait (still stressed about the lost suitcase), another 20 minute wait in the van (waiting for 4 more customers to pack the van tighter) and the impending 120 minute van ride, criss-crossing Manhattan in rush hour traffic. We were so close to our hotel, we could have walked from another person’s stop. Nope. We sat in the van as the second-to-the-last passengers. Let’s just say, we’ll consider Newark in the future. We’ve got friends.

To be continued…

I’m too tired to keep writing, but there’s the hotel, dinner with Pui in Union Square, walking through Times Square, eating pizza next door, shopping for clothes, seeing the Empire State Building, lunch with the Three Chicas, seeing Broadway, and the many comparisons I have between Chicago and New York.

Tomorrow, we head to Brooklyn to visit the Brooklyn Tabernacle for Sunday service.

On February 12th 2007 at 1:45 AM, a Police Officer was shot to death in the parking area of his building at 2527 W. Harrison. No further information is available. The person(s) responsible for this crime should be considered armed and dangerous. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO APPREHEND. CASH REWARD UP TO $1000. 1-800-535-STOP or 311. [ PDF ] [ Update ]

Ummm… 2527 W. Harrison is about 1 block from my old condo. Ummm… We used to walk our dogs down that street. In fact, Victor got away from us and ran directly in front of that house (dodging traffic along the way). We’re kind of in shock by the whole thing. He had a wife. He had just moved there. He was coming home from working his second job. It’s all too familiar a story to us. I think the shock is that, it could well have been us.

We moved out of Chicago in August, but it could have happened to us then too. The killer didn’t know he was a cop. The killer didn’t care where he was. It was a simple as a robbery. Cristine and used to walk our dogs that late at night. We used to come home and park on the street that late without a second thought. We knew the street so well. We knew the people up and down the street. We were always comforted knowing that there were a significant number of police personnel around our area. Sure, they were off-duty, but you know their eyes were always peeled. Who knew that this all meant nothing. We could have been shot. Or worse, one of us would have been killed while the other died a slower, more despicable death–of the soul–trying to get by without the other.

I know we live in Westmont now. But it was like what Michelle Obama said on 60 minutes last night. She was asked if she worried (like Colin Powell’s wife) that someone will just come up to Barak and shoot him dead. She said that as a Black man, Barak could be killed going to the gas station. Shoot (no pun intended), the man lived on the South Side of Chicago for years. Michelle Obama said, “we weren’t raised that way [to worry].”

Life is short and ends not at your choosing (more often). I could be glad that we moved, or be glad God gave me another day.

I hope and pray for comfort for that officer’s family.

Snowball folks… Remember the Drunk Driving skit we saw? I do. I just saw it flash before my eyes on the news.

P.S. If the Chicago Tribune link doesn’t work, try The Sun Times.

I dwelled on thoughts of, what seems like 1,000,000 years ago, and was lost, simply lost, in what happened. It’s funny. Not that we weren’t serious about what we were doing back then, because that was a huge deal, but I see how the zeal of my youth prompted me to truly go beyond my personal means of today. And, as I look at young people today, I truly see nothing different in terms of their zeal, enthusiasm, activism, and creativity. However, putting philosophy aside, I am still amazed at the turn of events that occurred after my departure. Bear in mind that when I did graduate, I was so disillusioned and burned out. Yet, a few years after I graduated, I returned back to campus for Yuki Llewellyn’s retirement “roasting.” That was the first time I got to see the original building that housed the Asian American Studies Program. The pride welled up in me. Things we did and talked about and advocated actually meant something. Then, in 2005, I went down again as the keynote speaker for Asiantation on the occasion of the opening of the Asian American Cultural Center. Talk about the fruition of plans borne out of so much frustration and (ironically) hope. In most ways, I’d already put UIUC behind me. I’m not as interested in the topics that so gripped me in the past. They’re no less important, but they don’t shape my life as they once did. Let me illustrate it like this: I once stated at an interview for an award my Senior year that my goal in life was to see the end of racism. While a nice, idealistic goal, and 100% sincere about the statement at the time, realistically, I don’t think racism will ever be 100% defeated. And, in fact, I’m not sure that attacking racism directly is the best way to defeat racism (which we should always be striving for)–but, that’s another discussion entirely. The goals are noble and I am not ashamed of (most of) what I did towards those ends. However, when put into the light of 10 years of an Asian American Studies Program and a new Asian American Cultural Center, I’m amazed at the privilege for being a part of such a history, albeit, my very small part.

So there it is, the centerpiece of my college career. Narrow my thoughts and memories into 100 words or less. Seriously. 100 words (I was actually allowed more, but I stuck to 172). However, I feel like it doesn’t even begin to tell the story of my college life. Relationships—I didn’t define years by activity. I used to define them by who I was dating that year. Major—I went through 3 different majors, all with varying directions for my life to go. I was really torn about my future. Then there was my family life. I hated being home. I was truly trying to reach new freedoms in college. I was trying to define myself. I stopped calling Westmont, home. Champaign-Urbana was home. And then there was this life I led as an Asian American leader—whatever that meant. People came to me with questions and my input. I was on the inside of the programming and planning of most of the major Asian American student activities on campus. I had earned respect—respect that has taken many years to see again at my work, but cost so much of my life to earn… and as much as I hated it, I cherished it. There’s stories for everything that happened to me during my years at the University of Illinois. However, I will say this—I don’t regret, nor grieve, nor ever want to give back my experience for anything in the world.

It’s amazing what has happened over the last 10 years since I’ve been gone. I guess looking back the 5 years before that, those were pretty amazing too.

I’m a Chicago guy.

So, I felt a little alone yesterday. Cristine and I invited ourselves to my parents house to watch the game on their big TV. We ordered Giordarno’s at the request of doing something better than frozen pizza. Hey, this is the Super Bowl! I laughed through the first 15 seconds of the game (Hester’s TD run back). Bit my lip most of the game. And then consoled by my wife through the last 10 minutes of the game. My dad (behind me, sitting at the counter) kept saying, “It’s lost!” (in Tagalog of course) “Talo!” It was so bad. Why can’t anyone else feel the pain? I get my wife not getting it (she still doesn’t quite understand the whole Cubs 2003 thing). I guess I get my dad doesn’t either (ditto for 2003). So, was I the only Bears fan there? Like, was I the only one getting their heart ripped out of their chest as Rex Grossman fumbled the ball and threw interceptions. Was I the only one that felt the crush of pathetic rain over tens of thousands of fans in the cold rain of Miami as our defense kept giving Payton Manning open looks ALL NIGHT inside and short? Was I the only one there who’s life would have been forever changed one way or another by this experience?

Yes. Yes. Yes. And, yes.

Makes a pretty good case to watch the Super Bowl with the guys.

Sigh. Cubs report to training camp in under 9 days.

I’m doomed.

Townhall.com

Politics suck. Can’t we trust an honest person to be a leader in this country? Or, do we really trust the untrustable?

I found my hair clipper, an old movie projector, old teaching books, shoes, sports trophies, and rollerblades…

I promised myself and my wife that I’ll only keep those things I still have a story behind. It’s amazing how much my past screams out at me.

Which leads me back to Barak. I just read his speech from the Call to Renewal conference. Yeah, he’s a Christian. With that put to rest, he also said something about abortion that made me think. He basically said that personally, he opposes it. Who doesn’t. He goes on to say:

I have to explain why abortion violates some principle that is accessible to people of all faiths, including those with no faith at all.

On a faith and religious level, I have to disagree with him. However, on the political level, he’s absolutely correct. He has a responsibility to be representative of the entire state of Illinois–not just the Christians. Someone else put it like this. On the radio, someone asked the rhetorical question of if there was a compelling non-religious argument against gay marriage. That’s a very good challenge. I’m not in favor of it, but at the same time, my arguments are, for the most part, based out of interpretations of the Bible. That’s enough for me, but not really compelling enough in the political arena.

Barak said it like this:

After all, the problems of poverty and racism, the uninsured and the unemployed, are not simply technical problems in search of the perfect ten point plan. They are rooted in both societal indifference and individual callousness – in the imperfections of man. Solving these problems will require changes in government policy, but it will also require changes in hearts and a change in minds. I believe in keeping guns out of our inner cities, and that our leaders must say so in the face of the gun manufacturers’ lobby – but I also believe that when a gang-banger shoots indiscriminately into a crowd because he feels somebody disrespected him, we’ve got a moral problem. There’s a hole in that young man’s heart – a hole that the government alone cannot fix.

In other words, people’s attitudes will need to change. Well, frankly, I don’t think George W. Bush has been good at that. I also don’t think Hillarly Clinton is good at that either. Slick political talk doesn’t work on American people anymore. Can’t anyone be as compelling in reason as they are compelling to the soul? That’s where Bush and Clinton fail in my book and Obama actually still stands a chance.

I’ll admit, I’m only beginning the process of learning what’s out there in terms of choices. However, if the future of our country depends on its reasoned choices AND its soul, I hope Barak Obama is in the race long enough for me to offer him my support.

When we have a child of our own, I promise to never, ever allow them the faintest opportunity to believe–even in the slightest–that we don’t love them. There’s soft love and tough love, and that all counts. However, the opposite of love is not hate or anger or disagreement. The opposite of love is indifference. And I vow to never come close to being indifferent with my child.

These videos, pictures, and recordings are only a poor reminder of the
actual memories of the actual events that took place.

That is, nothing should ever take away the actual memories of the show. And to only remember it through photographs misses the point entirely. We experienced it for real. I really did do that dance. I really did play that guitar. I really did dress up like a dork. It didn’t just happen on TV. I really did have the awkward moment as a Freshman with four Seniors who thought that it was funny that I didn’t understand why some of the original words from “Greased Lightening” were changed (look up the original lyrics, and you’ll understand). “Let me explain about the birds and the bees,” one guy pulled me aside saying. I still didn’t get it. That’s not on video. But that’s my experience.

I went to Washington DC for the first time in 1995. I remember sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, looking out over the reflecting pool towards the Washington Monument. There was a little kid standing at a step lower than me just looking out. He was there for a while. There was this cool picture in my mind. Amidst these huge memorials and grandiose structures representing blood, sweat, tears, arguments, compromise, and ultimately our great Nation, was this child who represented the hope for that same Nation. Okay, I admit, I took a picture. But, I only reluctantly did after taking out a sketchpad and drawing the scene out. I had it in my mind to stop recording my life on film and to start etching my memories in my mind.

Today, so much of my life is on film. I’ve even caught myself over the last 5-6 years “hiding” behind the camera. I used to go to Wal-Mart once every two weeks with 6-7 rolls of film. I didn’t even bother writing my name on the envelopes. I just used return stickers I got in the mail. The teller knew me by first name. Then, more recently, I’ve done videos for FABC, Track, and Operation Snowball and Snowflake. Now, it’s not that I wasn’t involved, but I certainly separated myself from the action. I’ve often questioned whether or not I was really there. Because frankly, maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I “hid” the whole time. I know that most people wouldn’t think so, but it’s not hard to hide the hiding of a heart. And while this is not to say that I didn’t want to be there–my friends know that I don’t involve myself with anything I don’t believe in. However, where am I when I’m recording? If I’m honest with myself, I’m watching the whole thing on TV.

I share this here because I want it to be known to all that while I love video, I hate video. I love it because it is one of the modes of communication that God has blessed me with. Like I told a friend today, I will cry watching my own work. Why? (And not to be gross, but) I really love the people I film. I’m a HUGE fan of those I film. I love the success. I love the heart. I love memories. I love those people. And, I cry because it’s beautiful to me. God Himself communicates to me through video sometimes, and it’s a beautiful thing. Yet, I know that I flirt with danger every time I pick up the camera and turn the viewfinder towards me. I know that I’m putting up a wall between me and these people I care for. I’m separating myself from the real interactions that is real life–the real life I intend to present through my videos.

So here’s the conundrum. How I love and hate this thing called video.

I urge you (all 3 of you who’ve not fallen asleep reading this–including myself) to be a part of your own lives. Don’t hide behind the falsehood of “recording” life. In the end, living it to the fullest in the present is better than trying to capture it only to shelve it later. That way you lose it once during the moment, and you lose it again in regret not ever being able to go back to it the same way. Also, don’t watch video to replace your own memories. Your memories, your REAL memories, are far too valuable to leave it to tape or video or photography. Remember. Cherish. Live. You can’t do that through the lens of a camera nor the screen of a TV or computer because it comes in the flesh, in a hug, in a kiss, in person, in a friend, in a conversation.

It’ll be tough enough for me.

So, just before I was going to give the boy a bath, I went to use the little boys room myself. And, although it was just a number one, the toilet did not flush. You know, the rush of water from above was not followed by a whirlpool of water down. “Bring out the plunger!” I told Cristine. So, I went at it with the plunger–and nothing. You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s not even anything solid in there, and the plunger wasn’t going? Five minutes of that led me to a place I had only planned for, but never wanted to go. “Bring out the big gun!”

Months ago, I ran into previous toilet clog troubles. I had a plunger, but I needed the kind with the accordion at the end. I wanted the heavy duty kind. I needed that Cadillac of plungers. So that landed in my cart at Home Depot. But, before I left the aisle, I saw it: Kleer Drain. Now, if you’ve never seen this before, think of it as an air gun connected to a plunger. Yeah… geek out! It was around $25, but I had to get it. This could save our lives some day!

So, tonight, I cut this dusty package open and held these little air canisters in my hand. What a joke. There were all these little parts, but I eventually got them all into this jackhammer of a plunger correctly. Then, as I read on, there was a splash guard that you can put over the toliet seat to lessen the… splash. It also said that I should use protective eye wear. I put my glasses on. I taped the splash guard on the toilet. And then… I was ready. All I had to do was put the plunger in and push down on the handle…

POP!

And the water subsided. I was still holding the handle down for a moment, still surveying the damage. The splash guard did catch the… splash. I was still fully dry. And, my glasses were not wet. I rinsed everything out and threw out the splash guard–I guess it was “one use only.” Great… How about next time???

I’ve never used a plunger like that… It was kind of a rush. =)

But in this retrospective mood and mode, I found a part of me yesterday that kind of disturbed me. I’ve been blogging on this blog on-and-off since 2003 and I’ve journaled about a lot of different experiences. Yesterday, I read my blogs from May 2005. Wow, I was a bitter man. I felt so frustrated. I felt so alone. I felt so betrayed, taken for granted, left to dry. And, I was so glad to have an end to the tunnel. I was writing about my last year of teaching Jr High School.

I just wanted to say that looking at it 18 months after the fact gave me some interesting perspective. I certainly stil agree with my feelings of that time. It was one of the lowest feelings I’ve ever felt. However, at the same time, I felt so free from that stress. I could even see the same people now that frustrated me then, and be totally done with the anger. So much has changed. Are the problems still there? Maybe, but I don’t even care. My job has limits. I have boundaries. And, I have support that I could not even imagine then.

Today, 18 months after the fact, I’m glad I went through it. I’m a more mature person for it. And, I know that I’ll survive even the worst situations if I survived those years, especially those last few months.

Why? Why? Why?

I suppose that part of it is the attention (again, see I admit it!), but honestly, it’s like this guy from Mike Industries said about it. I love a design challenge. I mean, I feel like this is a great way to learn about CSS. This is an amazing study on the way objects on a website can be integrated and synthesized. I love when I can bring my blog into my Myspace and my YouTube into my blog. Then I can connect them all in Facebook (new folk) and Friendster (old folk). Then, I can see what other people have done, and then I learn off their code. Wow! It’s like the old days of learning HTML and Javascript. And all the while, I’m trying to get attention (see, I admitted it again!).

Honestly, though, it’s not like I need attention (ha!). I really just want to share the memories (well, at least that’s true).

There’s just so much, I almost feel beside myself. This is going to be a great year!

youtube.com/coachbau

The thing is, however, that I’m not really doing it to prove anything. The only purpose of it was to share the memories with people. I can handle the fact that these are not the highest of class videos. My style is in development and I’ve completely taught myself the trade. So, if someone has something to say about my work, I’m open to it.

However, today, I got my first “comment” on one of my videos. In this case, it was a Westmont Track video. The comment was “That guy can’t hurdle!” What the hell was that? What kind of comment was that? Does he not get the fact that the video was not about how good or bad the runners were? Westmont Track, make no mistake, is not full of joggers. However, we succeed on the track by succeeding in the heart and mind. We are there to build PEOPLE up, not just make kids run faster. I’m not trying to be over protective or censoring free speech, but I deleted the comment. Who needs that garbage. I’d like to see that guy hurdle and teach me a thing or two about video taping that.

People are just not getting the point.

Another thought that I had regarding Gen 3 was something based on obedience and knowing good and evil. Now, as I write this, I realize that I’m not smart enough to know the answer, but I thought it was an interesting dilemma. God said to not eat fruit from this tree. However, after they did, not only did they suffer the consequences, but they actually did know good and evil (Gen 3:22). I won’t speculate on whether the cost of this was knowledge was death or that the impending death is punishment for disobedience. However, what is clear is that he knows good and evil. But, they disobeyed. So, the situation begs the question, what would I choose, knowing good and evil or obedience? Or putting it another way, what does God value more? Does God value that I know good and evil or my obedience? Now that’s a good question. We’ve never lived in a world that didn’t know that good and evil existed. That is, we’ve always had those two concepts developed in our history, culture, and lives. Usually we try to pick good rather than evil, and that’s okay. At least, it seems okay. However, it’s a more fundamental question than doing what’s good. Does God ask someone to do what they think/know is good or evil or does God demand obedience to His Word? See, the answer doesn’t seem to be one I want to hear. If I was truly honest with myself, I’d want God to trust me with what I know to be good and for me to act accordingly rather than for God to tell me what to do and to do so without question. But, as has been so often been taught to me, discipleship means obedience without question. Questioning opens me up to value judgments on the situation which allows me to get into assessing what is good and what is evil. But that’s how I was taught to deal with stuff… at least, not in the Christian world view. This is a hard lesson to understand, grasp, much less follow. However, I don’t think this is an insignificant point. Adam lived in world without knowing what was good and what was evil. It just was, there was God, and he just did as he needed directed by God. He was happy and until the fall, all was good. Today’s world is not like that.

So now what?

1. The Bears went from Number One to Number Nothing
2. My Network Admin had their second child
3. I want to start reading through the Bible in a year
4. We’re going to track our expenditures on a daily basis (again)
5. We’re going to sign up for a local health club
6. We’re looking forward to a new nephews and neices in the next 3 months
7. We’re new into our house and neighborhood
8. I’m looking forward to sorting through all my old crap in my basement
9. We’re going to be knocking off all but our car loan this year
10. I’m actually doing something about my foot problems

In a lot of ways, I know that this is the effect of a “New Year”. However, I notice that every New Year is coming faster and faster. I know it’s said that the speed limit on your life, but that’s no more true than the way I feel today.

When you hear that someone will never drink a beer because of some program you that you happened to be a part of, what does that mean to you? When you hear that people are turning away from drugs after a realization that they either take the way out or live with the consequences, how does that make you feel? When you hear the stories of troubled families and the compassion their peers give, how are you supposed to react?

These are nothing short of lives being saved on our watch.

So what’s your reaction now? Mine: awe.

What did I do? I made friends. Talked about important things to us. Listened, cared, and hugged. Encouraged and challenged. However, I did not force anyone to change. No one gave up their God-given free will this weekend.

I changed no one. People changed their own mind.

And as everyone who has tried knows, no one can change another person’s mind. And there lies the miracle. Another life is saved just because someone makes up their mind to make the right choice even when everyone else says otherwise.

So to all my Snowball friends and family: Thank you for giving me hope for the future. I pray to God that He keeps you and me from falling. Let’s stay strong together so none of us will ever have to fight our battles alone again.

The afternoon started off heading to the Dump ministry. I didn’t know what that really meant, even though its been talked about often. First of all, its important to understand what happens at the Dump. When someone throws out their trash, they put it outside their house. Someone is sure to go through it looking for anything valuable from things to resell, recycle, or eat. After that, the trash collectors (similar to those I know of in the States) take the trash, sort out what they want for themselves (in bins above the main trash hold), and dumps the rest of the trash out in the garbage truck. The garbage truck then delivers the leftover trash to the Quito City Dump (now called a Transfer Center). Each truck dumps its trash where it is then sorted out again. The people who sort through this trash call themselves miners. They too collect anything that they want for themselves including food and recyclables to be sold (i.e. plastic bottles, paper, metal, etc.). They get paid pennies to the pound and usually only eat what they find. Interestingly enough as it is, except to say that one must apply for this job. Its not a job that pays, per se. You earn what you get. Also, these are not slouches and lazy people. If given the option of peddling Chiclets and candy on the street versus working hard to make pennies on the pound, Id say these people are very hard working.

However, there are some serious problems. Up until recently, rules did not protect people very well. There were no uniforms, which seems to imply that gloves nor hard hats were not necessary. Also, people brought their children to the dump. They would play as their parents (or parent) would sort through. The youngest ones would be carried by their mothers as she would pick through that trash.

The ministry we worked helped brings food to the people as a good will gesture. There is a now a pastor who overseas a new child daycare center to get the kids out of the dump. (actually, rules have been changed to prohibit children in the dump and to mandate uniforms, a hard hat, and various other things that seem to improve the working conditions). We played with the children also. They were amazingly beautiful and precious. Fortunately, Pastor Jose who runs the ministry at the Dump has met with almost all the families individually to help them see that they can break out of this cycle of being in the Dump. There are some families that are three generations deep of history at the Dump. Our ministry of good will helps him gain credibility and support from the people in the Dump who now look to him for counseling and assistance. A number of people have come to Christ, but it seems to be very hard to break the cycle, peer pressure, and other social stigma attached to their situation.

Dinner was with another missionary family just down the street. Its kinda funny because I really learned a lot about the history of HCJB. I dont think Im really at liberty to tell or comment on all their stories except to say that I see more and more how normal missionaries are and if HCJB has had any success or fame, it is for no other reason than because God has blessed them so. Everyone has their flaws, personality issues, and idiosyncrasies. However, God takes ordinary people and just does amazing things with it to show His glory to all.

Were almost done with our trip. However, I continue to be amazed at the things Ive seen, learned, and experienced so far. Im so glad Im here in Ecuador.

During lunch, we had one addendum to the story of the Waorani people. It seems that the missionary that we had lunch with, Mairiam, who works with these people now paints a more complex picture of them today. It seems that as these different Indian people groups get more exposure to the outside world, they don’t realize that everything that they see is not always good. Theres plenty of vices that can derail them. Unfortunately, many have fallen away from the Lord because of it. God is still working, but it seems to be a great challenge to bring the good news of Jesus, yet help them have discernment about what are things to be avoided in this new world that is coming to their doorsteps. That night, we slept at a beautiful hotel called the Flor de Canela. Its difficult to describe this place without pictures. First off, we had to cross a swinging bridge to get to the front door. Each room was unique. Ours had a double bed built on top of a row boat. We had a private balcony. Other rooms had a waterfall as part of their bathtub. Still another had a loft with extra beds that hung out over the actual space of the second level floor. The grounds were stunning and the rooms were nothing less than paradise in the middle of the jungle. We ate dinner at the restaurant next door to the hotel called El Jardin. They served an amazing fillet minion in a mushroom sauce. What can I say? Amazing.

Cristine and I stayed up and talked about our trip and convictions up through now. We decided to talk to some of the missionaries to get their feedback. Again, HCJB has impressed us so much and is really making us love this country, but also the mission itself. We need to continue to seek Gods wisdom about our next step, but what an amazing ministry this has already proven itself to be. We didnt sleep great, but at least we didn’t have to use the mosquito net.

Day 5. This morning was the first time we showed up on time for an appointment. We visited Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) or Alas de Socorro (en Espanol). We had hoped to get up on flights with them that day, but it did not work out. They were too busy. However, we did get to see the planes up close that they use these days. Its an amazing ministry that they can provide in transportation for these people out in the jungle. Again, their history traces back to Nate Saint, the pilot of the missionaries who died over 50 years ago. We even went to see Nate Saints house. In that sense, this was amazingly historic. Apparently, the Saint house (among a number of buildings on this land) is termite infested and will simply fall and be disintegrated. We will probably be among the last groups to see this living, historical location. Rooms that I snapped pictures of were the scene of horror and tragedy over 50 years ago. Today, its temporary storage for work done today. However, its hard to believe that I stood at a place of such historical significance in modern Christian history.

We hit the road again for Banos, a little touristy type town that has a nice restaurant where we ate chicken soup with a ham sandwich. However, this was not the main fare. We got to hear the story of how Ed and Sue Giesbrect came into HCJB. It really was interesting. Cristine and I hope to follow up that conversation with the one of our own. I think well talk on the bus tomorrow, but regardless, Im looking forward to getting personal with them about this issue about being a real part of missions work. Finally, we headed home and not a moment too soon. The ride really sent me for more than a few spins. Ill try to remember to take Advil for my headache BEFORE the bus rides.

That night we made it back in the nick of time to help out with a ministry called Spotlight. This is where nationals come to listen to an English program spoken in 90 words per minute. They are given the text of the program so they can discuss it with volunteers who are native English speakers. Thats where we came in. I spoke to my two men who were pretty good already in speaking. They considered themselves intermediate. I think it really was good to talk to them, meet them, and just have conversation with them. Afterwards, we had more coffee and snacks. Cristine certainly went above and beyond the call as she discussed issues like poverty, education, and the like. I talked about sports and television. I suppose someone had to be shallow.

After lunch, we got on the bus headed for Ambato. All I knew was that we were heading out towards the jungle. More accurately, we were heading for the edge of the Amazon rainforest with our final destination being Shell (or Shell-Mera). We saw some amazing landscape once we escaped the traffic and fumes of Quito. One of the most amazing sights was Cotopaxi, which is an amazing volcano that is depicted in many paintings. The ride was really long and very uncomfortable, but Cristine and I tried to sleep most of it off as best we could. We did take one stop at a little get-away spot where we had coffee and listened to a band named after the volcano. They used traditional Ecuadorian instruments and played amazing melodies on the pan flute. At one point, they had dueling pan flute melodies. Afterwards, we tried to sleep off the rest of the trip until Ambato where we had dinner. The sea bass was incredible with nuts and Ecuadorian native vegetables. No meal has disappointed us yet. Our rooms view was spectacular as it looked up the slope of a rise. The city lights were like night lights up the side of this mountain. It really was beautiful. That night, we finally saw the documentary called Beyond the Gates of Splendor. This documentary talks about the real story behind the 5 missionaries who were killed at Palm Beach–among them, Nate Saint and Jim Elliot. Much has been made of this martyrdom over the years. Even the movie (that we’ve failed to see) End of the Spear has recaptured some of the interest in this, probably the most influential mission event to occur in the 20^th Century. It was very difficult to watch for me, but I do praise God that in the end, the Wairani people have a Christian influence within their culture now.

During the flight to Quito, we sat with an older lady named Joyce. It was just the first of many really nice people we met late that night. And, I really mean late. We sat in the gate 30 minutes late. Then, we sat on the runway for over an hour. Our arrival into Quito was delayed about 2.5 hours. We were wiped out. However, it was nice to get there without hassles with our passports, immigration, and bags. We pulled into the guest house and found it to be far beyond our expectations of comfort. It was a welcomed sight for our tired eyes and bodies.

When we woke up Sunday morning, we ate breakfast and then got ready for church. We sat through a Spanish language service that morning. However, it really reminded me of the old days at FABC. Time simply passed by as we worshipped God. Fortunately, I recognized one of the songs since it plays often at WMBI-AM on Saturdays. Pictures do not do justice to the real worship and passion the people have for the Lord. After church, the team split up. Some of us went to the market while the rest (including Cristine) went back to relax at the guest house.

The market was bustling with vendors selling produce, fish, pork, beef, prepared foods, drinks, CDs, DVDs, scarves, etc. Just about anything you wanted was available. I bought flowers for Cristine as I hoped that it would cheer her and the room up a touch. Our lunch was at a restaurant known and liked for its seafood. There we heard the testimony of one of the missionaries who works in the medical division of HCJB. God really uses people in whatever state of life for His purposes and to His glory. I chatted primarily with the director of HCJB’s Latin America region. There are only 5 other peers of his, all connected with their own region. We chatted about radio technology and organization and such. It was really neat and I’m looking forward to learning more from him Monday when he lectures and speaks to us formally.

This was the beginning of a long tour of Quito. It turns out that Quito is a city that was borne out of a narrow valley between two peaks of the Andes Mountains. We’re about 9000 or so feet above sea level. The city has grown so much that the population is growing up the sides of the mountain. As a guy from Chicago, elevation fascinates and startles me. We walked around town visiting churches, various squares, and the Presidential palace where it turns out there are amazing stories of the connection between the origins of HCJB, one of our group members, and past presidents of Ecuador. God has truly blessed this place with people in positions of influence at a time when the influence would promote the kingdom of God. During one of our visits to a statue (huge, by any stretch of the imagination), a small group of people gathered at the base, within the tourism desk, as the FIFA World Cup was finishing up. And yes, there were great cheers from Nicki, our 100% Italian girl from New York. Another cultural note was that we didn’t realize that when someone gives you toilet paper outside a bathroom, they’re expecting something. Cristine and I went back and gave the mother 25 cents. It was the least we could do–not to mention that we were still wearing our name tags! Finally, we also took note of the many stray dogs running around. Ah… we miss our kids.

Upon return to the guest house, we had dinner and I got to chat with Boli, the grandson of the president of Ecuador of years past who opened the door to freedom of religion and missionaries to come to Ecuador. Previously, the country was practically ruled by the Roman Catholic church. The Catholics still have an amazing influence, but the mission work being done by HCJB is met with great interest, enthusiasm, and acknowledgement. In fact, the country has honored HCJB with mailing stamp designs among other ways. It was a great conversation.

I will say this, it’s amazing to see the connections that all these things have. Moody Bible Institute, Chicago, HCJB, our own experiences… I really feel like God is putting the context of this whole experience before me early on in the first day or two. After this, we’re going to be learning a lot about the ministry, doing some ministry, and just soaking in the Ecuadorian culture and people. I really thank God for putting us here at this time in my life.

Some of the fireworks made sounds that sounded like bullets going by, kind of like what you’d hear in a war movie. I thought about that a bit in the context of the new documentary coming out called The War Tapes which is a movie about the war in Iraq filmed by soldiers.

It occurred to me that these guys hear this bullet fire constantly. They also walk around not knowing what’s around the corner. Gunfire? IED? RPG? Roadside bomb? A trap? Friend? Foe? And they do this to protect us. Consider that we have not had a war on American soil since the American Civil War. Why is that? Because other countries cannot match what we have militarily. They can “hurt” us, but they will never break us. However, we also not only “react” but are proactive in dealing with our protection by taking the fight to them before they bring the fight to us here at home. People may have their opinions about war, however on this July 4th, I appreciate the men and women of our armed forces that face peril as their job, listening and fearing real gunfire, while we sit in a park and ooh and aah over pretty lights in the sky.

God bless those that protect and preserve our freedom.
God bless the USA.

I’m a Cubs fan.

I was born at St. Mary of Nazareth Hospital which is on the West Side of Chicago, yet north of the Eisenhower Expressway. Well, since there’s no West Side teams, I guess I’m a Cubs fan. But even after my parents moved to the suburbs when I was young, my grandfather who lived with us watched Cubs baseball every day. During my elementary school summers, that’s all I’d do, watch day baseball with my Lolo. When the school year would start, I’d hope that the game was a late game (3:30p) so I could watch it. I remembering setting up my Topps 1986 set of baseball cards out on the carpet to track the game right there on my floor while WGN broadcast it. I remember Jack Brickhouse, Harry Carry, Ryne Sandburg, Shawn Dunston, Jody Davis, Ron Cey, Leon Durham, Mark Grace, and the whole bunch. And even though through college, I was away, I still felt the connection. When 2003 rolled around, I had really lost track of the players, but I never of my love for the Cubs. The world stopped when those playoff games were on. I walked away from a High Tops and other Wrigleyville bars dejected more than once. I almost cried walking back to the train. I called Cristine on the walk. She only began to understand at that point. The next day, the Tribune had a picture on the front page of a 10 year old boy sitting on the curb crying with his father consoling him. The caption said “I didn’t know it was going to hurt so hard.” or something like that. It may as well have been me. It was at that point that I too bleed Cubbie blue. Yet, the operative term that day was “bleed.”

By 2005, the hopes and dreams of Wood and Prior seemed further and further away with every injury report, surgery, and lack of reporting regarading positives on the rest of the team (with the exception of Derrek Lee, of course). However, there was more going on in town.

See, I live in Chicago now, and I truly believe that there’s more to Chicago than the snotty, all-too-important, expensive, and over-played North Side of Chicago. So, albeit, I live on what is considered the West Side, I still have a South Side address. In fact, we looked at condos that were blocks away from IIT and Comisky (US Cellular). I’d made it a minor driving principle to try to get to know the South Side a bit more. Yet, it was 2005 and really, two things stuck out for me on the South Side that year. 1. The huge blackout that happened while I was out at Pancho Pistolas (31st St and Union) and 2. The White Sox won the World Series.

I do not have inherent love for the Sox. As a lifelong Cubs fan, the term “Sox” always came out with the term “Suck”. However, I couldn’t, in good conscience, admit to that this year. As expected, the Cubs choked. In 2004, the Sox choked also, just during a different month. But in 2005, the Sox didn’t choke. In fact, they haven’t even shown signs of faltering. Trained as a Cubs fan, the game is over by the time the closer comes in (these days, my expectation is that Ryan Dempster’s just going to blow it), so I kind of tune out. However, with the White Sox, every day I look at their scores, they’re pulling out last minute (read “clutch”) runs to win. What’s that all about? You mean, someone in Chicago actually plays major league baseball? It’s embarrasing to watch how bad the Cubs are yet deny even the existance of the very dominant Sox in Chicago. Which leads me to my final point.

When Ryne Sandburg was being inducted into the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame on July 31, 2005, I was stunned, frankly. It was lauded as a speech that scolded the showman attitude and play of more recent players and encouraged people to play real baseball. Move a runner from first to second. Respect the game. Do it right. In my own heart, I want to play baseball like it was still Little League with all the fundamentals the my coach Mr. Klimke taught me. It was small-ball baseball. I heard it on WGN Radio one day. I found the text online (a copy can be found within a post at http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1455003/posts ). And you know what, I asked myself this question:

Which team in Chicago honors the words that Ryne Sandburg spoke? The Cubs or the Sox?

I watched all four games of the World Series. Cristine called me from work the day of the parade. I told her to just go. She said, that she’s not a baseball fan, nor am I a Sox fan. Yet, I said, GO! Be my representative. The last time there was a ticker-tape parade was in 1986 for the Bears. Just go. This year, Cristine and I went with her sister’s family to a Sox-Astros game. We got there early enought to get World Series hats and to see batting practice. I almost caught a homer… while wearing the World Series hat.

I’m a Cubs fan. I’ll never not be a Cubs fan. However, since last year, I’ve also become a “wannabe, in-the-closet” White Sox fan. Is there room for both in my baseball heart? And if there is, how do I come out of the closet?

1. If I’m not doing anything wrong on the phone, what do I care if someone wants to listen
2. We’ve never really resolved the actual listening in on phone calls domestically to international locations.

1. Whatever it takes to get intelligence from these hardened terrorists is legitimate.
2. Are we giving up the ideals that we are fighting so hard to protect in the way we actually “protect” them?

1. Everything is legal if they are passing muster by the government.
2. No one is above the law. Even (and especially) those administering it.

It’s so frustrating that the media doesn’t really care if the country does better or not. They just want a sensational story to tell. What’s equally bad is that our current administration gives the media exactly what they want. We’re not really better off either way.

1. I clean out my car every night so there’s nothing to steal.
2. I see cars that sound like the stereo costs more than the car itself.
3. I have to drive to a completely different neighborhood to grocery shop.
4. People on our street keep dogs as protection (not companionship).
5. People steal air conditioner units–from gated, fenced in areas.
6. There’s glass on the sidewalk up and down the block.
7. People push grocery carts down the street.
8. One end of the block is known as the local crack house; at the other end, the house was seized by the federal government.

Glad we’re moving.

—

I want to first thank Dr. David Chih, the Assistant Dean of Students for inviting me to speak and be a part of Asiantation.

Tonight, I want you to realize that you stand upon a history of great Asian Americans that walked this campus before you. And as you begin your days at the University of Illinois, YOU represent Asian America. So, I want to encourage and challenge you tonight with some thoughts about writing your chapter in the history of Asian America–respecting and realizing your past and being a proud and significant Asian American in this day. I offer you four words that I hope you take home with you.

Appreciate, Speak, Insist, Achieve

So what do I mean by appreciate? Let me ask you a couple questions. How much of Asian American history do you know? Does the Japanese Internment ring a bell?É the murder of Vincent ChinÉ No? The Immigration Law of 1965?

How about something a little closer to homeÉ Do you know the history of Asian Americans at University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign? Who was Susan Maul? Who was Yuki Llewellyn? When did APAC start? Anything jump out at you?

Last chance. When did you family first arrive as immigrants? What kind of organizations were they involved with? Can you speak your family’s native tongue? No? Yes?

We as Asian Americans have a very rich history. I urge you to learn about the history of Asian America and appreciate that your path was paved by people before you. Many worked hard and sacrificed for the countless many who followed. Be inspired by this history. Learn from it.

Be good stewards of what has been given to you by building upon the past accomplishments and moving forward. Appreciate.

Next.

Speak. In fact, speak up and represent.

I volunteer at Moody Bible Institute Broadcasting as a radio engineer and producer for some of the Spanish programming. Recently, on our news debate show the two hosts got so heated over the issue that the debate continued off the air. Now, since I don’t speak Spanish, I don’t usually say very much at the station. However, this time, they debated in English, for my sake. After a number of good points, I was still silentÑjust listening. Then, one of the hosts stopped and turned to me saying, “Hey, are you going to say something or what?” Hey, I was just trying to take in the points, so I was quiet. But, obviously, this was no time to be silent. To be silent would have meant that I was uninterested or didn’t care. No, I had to speak up, so I did.

My point is this, your silence in the public arena reads as disinterest. It allows others to assume what you think, make decisions for you, and identify you based on what’s convenient for them, but often not for you.

I suggest this. Speak up. Speak your mind. Represent yourself and ascribe your own beliefs unto yourself. If you believe in God, speak up and don’t be shy. If you believe there ought to be a change in University policy, speak up and let yourself be heard. If you see an injustice, find the proper channels and speak up.

There is nothing to listen to unless there is someone speaking. So speak up.

Let’s move on to the word, Insist. When things are getting rough as a result of your belief or your decision–stay strong and keep insisting on what you believe and persist in your actions.

Now, not every choice you make will be the best one for you or your fellow man. So make sure you choose wisely and correct yourself if necessary. However, with that said, I urge you to insist upon what is right. Let me explain…

As a 9 year old 4th grader, I looked myself in the mirror and renounced my Filipino heritage. This remained unchanged until I made it to UIUC. As a Freshman, I attended the 1992 Midwest Asian American Student Union conference. There, I had to confront my identity crisis again and go face to face with that 4th grade mentality. At MAASU, I realized that I wasn’t alone in my asking. So I began my journey for answers. Yet the University had no answers. With no programs, no classes, and no cultural center, we saw it as no visibility, no presence, and no importance for Asian Americans. It appeared that we were expected to simply fit in.

It was hard to believe that a school of the caliber of University of Illinois with its boasted student body diversity, had no staff or services to advise and support Asian Americans who made up 11% of the student body. It was clear that there was a great need that the University was not filling.

So we asked the University to provide services. When the University was slow to respond, our asking turned into insisting. We held workshops, rallies, and social events to highlight issues within our community, bring visibility to our cause, and to promote unity. By the time I left campus, we had met with various administrative officials on a number of occasions. We appreciated their growing understanding and support. However, we left only having a handful of Asian American Studies courses and no Asian American Cultural Center.

After we left, those who followed us persisted in their asking. And so today, you finally have an Asian American Studies Program, Asian American Cultural Center, and great organizational support. You are blessed to reap the reward of many before you who insisted on what was right.

I encourage you to insist on your beliefs even when it’s hard. Insist and don’t give up.

Finally, Achieve. But don’t just achieve. Achieve in the areas where Asian Americans typically aren’t found because this is where stereotypes are broken. In other words, achieve in the atypical.

For example, do you think that there are enough Asian Americans in broadcast or media? No? Then get out there and go into broadcast! It’s great to celebrate those who make it, but they are achieving and you’re watching from home. Mahatma Ghandi said, “be the change that you want to see in the world.”

Consider someone like me. For the past 8 years, I have worked for the Westmont School District in many capacities including teaching, IT support and coaching track and field. I am only one of three Asian Americans on staff.

I love my job and sincerely believe that I am making a positive impact on the people around me. So when they see me, they see more than my brown skin but the value I bring to my position. In this way, I am breaking the stereotypes they may have about Asian Americans.

When you achieve in the atypical, you do your part in breaking down the stereotypes of Asian Americans in your part of the world.

We all have the capability of being strong, established, productive, respected, and valuable contributors to American society. So, I challenge you to be more than the color of your skin. I challenge you to achieve in the atypical.

We’ve talked about four words that I want you to remember: Appreciate. Speak. Insist. Achieve.

Put these words into action and you will do your part toward a great future for Asian Americans.

I hope that you will grow in your coming years on campus and that you will all represent Asian America well during your years at the University of Illinois.

Thank you very much and have a good year.

And not to take away anything from everything today but to me, this was not my oh-my-gosh moment. Today’s pride began in 2002 when I first visited the Asian American Studies house. As I walked through, I was so proud of them and felt really good inside.

No, I wasn’t there when they cut that ribbon or when they broke ground or when they got that final University approval or when the first official hires took place. But from 1991 through 1996, I was there with other like-minded Asian Americans, demanding to the University that they provide its students a way to learn about Asian America. We held awareness workshops, brought in speakers, produced conferences, held rallies, and put together programs—like this—to try to fill this huge gap in visibility and presence. But, we weren’t the first. There were already Asian American student groups. There were leaders that I inspired me. I eventually met people at other campuses representing, teaching, and motivating Asian Americans to be more than a quiet stereotype. I stood—we stood—on the shoulders of those who came before us.

To UIUC, they were Asian America. Then during the early 1990s, on campus, my friends and I were Asian America. And so it came to pass that those following us stood tall upon our shoulders to represent Asian America and to have the great privilege to see a nationally prominent Asian American Studies program develop before their eyes and an Asian American Cultural Center built during their time.

Tonight I want you to realize that you stand upon the history of great Asian Americans that walked this campus before you. And yes, to the University of Illinois, YOU are Asian America today. So I want to encourage and challenge you tonight with some thoughts about writing your chapter in the history of Asian America—respecting and realizing your past and being a proud and significant Asian American in this day. I offer you five verbs that I hope you take home with you.

Appreciate, Speak, Insist, Achieve, and Network

So what do I mean by appreciate? Let me ask you a couple questions. How much of Asian American history do you know? Japanese Internment… the murder of Vincent Chin… No?

Do you know the history of Asian Americans at University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign? Who was Susan Maul? Who was Yuki Llewellyn? Who is Clark Cunningham? When did AAA start? How did FACT begin? What’s Dawali Night? No?

Last chance. When did you family first arrive as immigrants (3 generations ago, 2 generations, yourself)? What kind of organizations were they involved with? Can you speak your family’s native tongue? No? Yes?

I urge you to learn about the history of Asian America and appreciate that your path was paved by people before you. Many sweated, worked hard, lived nobly and sacrificed for the countless more that simply walk the path. Don’t just walk the path. Appreciate and respect your elders (heard that before?) by knowing your history and growing from it. Be good stewards of what has been given to you and you will reach heights we only dreamed of. Some already are. Appreciate.

Speak. Speak up. In fact, speak up and represent. It occurred to me once that being Asian American is not exactly the most natural designation. Let me explain it like this. My wife and I have a dog. She loves the dog; I like the dog, but I love my wife. So often, I walk the dog. Now normally, it’s no big deal taking little Sofie around the block. She does her thing and I say “hi” to the neighbors. Sometimes we chat, sometimes it’s just “yo” and sometimes they completely ignore me. But for the most part, I try to verbally address people directly. Call me extroverted. Well, the other day, I decided to not say “hello” to a couple of kids as we walked by. Maybe I was in a bad mood; I don’t know. Regardless, I walked by. I was probably 10 feet away when a heard one of the kids yell at me from behind “did ya lose your dog?” I further ignored them and walked home. Harmless, right? However, I thought about it—did they think I didn’t hear them? Were they trying to be funny? Or did they think they could get away with saying anything at me because I probably didn’t speak English? Ain’t that a weird thought? True? Probably not. Possible? Certainly. However, what’s the lesson to be learned? If I don’t speak up and represent myself, someone will do it for me.

The world is itching to categorize people for simplicity and we don’t all fit in one box. Our box typically says Asian Pacific Islander. But we didn’t make that box. So who’s identifying us: ourselves or someone else? I suggest this. Speak up. Speak your mind. Speak your peace. Represent yourself and ascribe your own beliefs unto yourself. If you believe in God, speak up and don’t be shy. If you believe there ought to be a change in University policy, speak up and let yourself be heard. If you think that border policy in our country is flawed and needs to be changed, then find the proper channels and speak up. This way, no one will ascribe to you an identity which is not yours. Now, this assumes that as a community we would also listen. Yet, there is nothing to listen to unless there is someone speaking. So speak up.

Anyway… I sensed the passion she still had for the issues. I could feel the fight that she held for these things. However, I think what I’m going to take away from this conversation is the presence. The presence that her first leaders had was intoxicating, inviting, and inspiring. She realizes that the issues that face Asian Americans are real and not insignificant. However, she would not have seen them at all had it not been for people with passion to bring her and her friends along side. She described her group of friends as a powerhouse in Asian American affairs. I don’t doubt it. This begins with the presence of a leader. From there, her work was getting the issues out in the forefront of students’ minds, as well as administrators’ minds. She had to be present to make the issue present. As they say, out of sight, out of mind. However, it is interesting to see how people easily fall into this forewarned status. Finally, the work that has come about–the Asian American Cultural Center and growing Asian American Studies Program is about presence also. It’s importance is not just in the programs they offer or the classes that get taught. Frankly, as she said, it’s not much more than a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things. However, in my opinion, the fact that there is a place that one can call their own, in my opinion, helps a person begin to really figure out what their identity is. It’s a presence on campus. Sometimes things are not defined by what they are named as much as by what they are. In other words, no one said that the south side of Chicago was inherently African American in nature. However, their presence has defined that area as such. Presence. The presence of the President in the Gulf Coast region or at 9-11-01 brings with it much more symbolic help than real help. It’s presence. It bears importance. It says that in a place of higher learning, Asian American topics, issues, and people are as important to the growth of a person as learning about Black culture or Latino culture or Islamic topics, or African topics. Maybe it’s too much for high school. Maybe it’s not something simply to be left to graduate work. However, wouldn’t the world be a better place when people accepted each other truly for who they are and for those people to be able to respond back with the same respect without cynicism? That would be interesting.

Yesterday, I talked with my friend at the radio station and we had an interesting discussion about this also. Him being Latino gave him a different perspective than what I’ve been thinking about. He started off with a statement that somewhat took me off guard. That is, he said that Asians Americans have an easy time assimilating into American society. On the surface, that’s offensive considering how many immigrants refuse to get out of their ghettos into American society. However, that’s his point. When you think about the Asian American ghettos, you don’t see second or third generation Asian Americans there. In fact, it’s only those who are actually immigrants that are there. In other words, everyone else is gone into American society. Now, this is not to say that there are no issues for Asian Americans. However, some of the problem of being Asian American is the fact that we often tend to lose the Asian part of being Asian American. For Latinos or African Americans, the problem sometimes is being substantially American. For Asian Americans, maybe the problem is being substantially Asian. I’m not exactly sure just yet if I fully believe him. However, I can certainly see his point.

There is a benefit, surely for all people. It’s important for non-Asian Americans to see, recognize, and accept Asian Americans for a part of American society. Also, Asian Americans need to understand that who they are, with their Asian heritage, background, color, accent, baggage, etc. is not weird, unacceptable, or wrong. Actually, it’s a matter of understanding who you are and realizing that that’s what you have to work with–and that can actually be a benefit.

As they say, it’s not the beginning nor the end that makes the trip. For me, like many others, it’s the journey that is important, meaningful, and significant. It’s the actual thoughts about the thoughts that stimulate me and give me joy if not just another thing to keep my mind engaged. I know how summer is… I became quite a house stud (say house stud–not house wife). I watched Oprah, The View, Home Delivery, day Cubs games, and Live with Regis and Kelly. I knew I hit rock bottom when I perked up when Cristine and I found the TV show “Hope and Faith” one night flipping through channels. I stopped and pointed out that one of the girls in the show was Kelly Ripa. Who the heck is that? Well, I recognized her from days on Regis and Kelly. Now that’s rock bottom. I didn’t know which was the real Kelly–the ditzy girl on Live or the ditzy girl on this sitcom. Either way, the question that should be asked is why would I know this? But I digress… My point is in my journey, I fell off the road, and hard! Dr. Phil was actually interesting to me. Get over it! I needed to get up and run. I needed to go and renew myself. I needed to read books and get stimulated and woken up and out of the doldrums of life in the lap of middle class luxury.

I need to journal so I can think about things. That’s why I began writing in here. Like I said, no one hits my website. Furthermore, I get no thrill looking at my stats–even when it’s just me checking for formatting. However, the mental stimulation I get dwelling on issues is far more rewarding than the open forum to the world. So in the end, it’s all worth it.

Well, anyway, that’s why I blog.

However, there is one issue on hand that I must deal with. And this is not just any issue. This is my first visit back to UIUC as an alumnus. Sure, I’ve come back, but this time, the are all looking at me to bring back the past and then connect to the future. If it were only that simple. It’s not the public speaking that bothers me. It’s that even I don’t connect well with my past, in particular the past in which I have been asked to comment and speak about, that is, Asian American affairs of the 1990s at UIUC.

I was a different person in 1991. I was young, looking for a new start, trying to redefine myself (almost daily), girl crazy, travel crazy, indecisive, distracted by my hobbies, popularity hungry, and enjoying every moment for what it was worth. I’ve been working in Westmont since 1996. Currently, I have earned 8 years and 1 month of service credit in terms of seniority. However, my 5 years at UIUC changed my life in such a way that shaped the look and feel of these past 8. Shadows of UIUC loom over me while I literally cringe at the thought of honoring a place for which I used to hold a great disdain for. Now mind you, I realize today how foolish that was. I went back a couple years ago when Yuki Llewellyn was retiring. I was almost taken aback at how at ease and simply friendly Dean of Students Stan Levy was to us. You know, and it only occurs to me these days that although we though so highly of ourselves back then, we were no more than a bunch of loud kids. I mean, really, we were young. No one looks younger than sophomoric nature of college students when they talk to career adults. What is more interesting is that beyond that, the culture was different then than it is now. Back then, there was not even a remote chance of disagreements leading to violence. Today, watch who you cross. They may make a scene of it. We were so much more sheltered and nieve. And then to think what they thought of us… Today, it makes me chuckle a bit, frankly. However, my youth is not what I greive today. That difference can be excused by youth. However, what is not excuseable were my views. Eh, that was the past. True. However today, I need to speak to those views.

Here’s my dilemma, in principl, I believe that it is fully necessary for Asian Pacific Americans to have resources to get to know their heritage, history, background, culture. However, I do not believe they deserve it or are entitled to is just because they are yellow. Understand this, I don’t believe in hand-outs nor entitlement. Yet, as a young Asian American activist, I believed that the University held us Asians in destain and did not want to commit to the advancement of our people. Therefore, they were the enemy. The administration was our antagonist. We, the poor, beliguered, oppressed, and pathetic Asians were going to stand up for ourselves and take what was ours. I was told that the pie slice that went to the minorities would be split again to divide and conquer us. However, we were not going to be had like that. So, we banded together for a bigger piece of the pie. Ha! Little did I know that in the end, there actually is an end of the line. There is a limit to money. There is a limit to ridiculous requests for things that we could not even avoid. Yet, sometimes, the money runs out. What’s my point? The world is not as black and white as we once thought it was. Maybe it is a great cause to fight for Asian American something, however, let’s also take the responsibility that comes with it rather than only asking for the hand-out owed to us because we are clearly different.

Everyone here was out to receive attention of one sort or another. The kids down there on the floor were there because they are being recognized, honored, and given attention to because of their exemplary actions, efforts, and attitude. The kids in the stands were basically getting nothing but a boring ceremony without hope of getting anything at all. Now, I could get into whether or not that’s right (to see some get and others not), but I think the bigger issue is that everyone wants attention. What we have here is the proof of that. The educational point, though, is that a person should try to obtain their attention in certain ways–productive, maybe; respectful, honoring, humble, controlled, definately. Everyone got their attention. And, each group got their attention in the ways that they had practiced all year. I prayed for grace through that long hour and a half. And now, it’s over. My three troublemaker boys were all summarily bounced from the ceremony. The fragmented leftovers of my class raised their normal levels (which were absolutely unacceptable but tolerable enough compared to the disarray it usually is). God saw me through, and now, I’m done. I don’t have to see those students again, ever. They’ve gotten the attention they begged for. I’m not obligated any more to offer false praise that they never bought anyway. Yet there were some to be praised.

As we prepared for this day selecting departmental winners of excellence, citizenship, and outstanding effort, I found out that I had full selection rights to my enrichment classes. I took some timee to think about the students that deserved my attention and got it for all the right reasons. As we brought the students down, I counted up my class for attendance purposes and realized that my best kids were down there. I was left with the idiots. Fine. Nothing new. I began to long for the moment where I could hand them the document, shake their hand, and sincerely say to them that they did an excellent job and out of the entirety of the class, I was the most proud of them. As I looked over at someone’s program I discovered that on the next page, where exploratory and enrichment classes were listed, the team leader was to give the awards (This is the team leader who always took the easy way out. He never shared information to me that everyone else received in team. He held meetings knowingly without most of the team, yet joked and called it meetings when he hap-hazardly saw people in the halls. I was struggling for information. I was struggling alone. I was fighting battles as a blinded single army of one. My team leader is leaving as he retires this year. I’m leaving because this is only the least of my problems here.). I wasn’t important enough, apparently, to give these awards to them myself. The kids who were literally the light and joy of coming to class on crummy, sucky, angry, and lonely days stood on the floor getting their awards from a man who didn’t really care about them. And he didn’t really mean very much to them. Meanwhile, I sat in the stands with the other idiots.

Why do I bring this up? I suppose that I never really felt like I was part of this school. I suppose that I never really felt like anyone really knew what I was doing. I suppose that I never really felt like anyone sincerely valued what I put into this job and position and program. Or, maybe I wanted some attention too. Maybe I felt like I earned it in some way. Maybe I felt like “dammit, someone please recognize that I’m here and that I tried.” Maybe I wanted to just cry out of frustration because it all slipped right past me.

So I began to jot down some notes while the boring ceremony went on. Again, three of my idiots were already in the hallway. At this point even teachers were chit-chatting through the presentations. I just about had it. I began to try to define what this attention hungry attitude meant to me. I think that it has to do with maturity. See, one time when I was a young Christian, I found myself truly jealous of a younger sister in Christ who received the gift of tounges. I know that it’s a “low level” gift from God as spiritual gifts go. However, I learned from that that I should be happy for those who have been blessed by God. I should rejoice with the rejoicing. And conversely, I should mourn with the mourning. Instead, like then, today I saw myself wanting the attention. I wanted something more than oblivion. So when does the maturity kick in? It kicks in when I (or a person) is willing to give up the attention to be given me and to offer it up to someone else–even if undeserving. I’ve found myself say to students a lot these days that it’s not all about them. They don’t know how to give attention to others because they are so needy for it themselves. When will someone ever have enough attention? I don’t know. However, I do know that I have received my attention enough through the years, through the past months on the track and with Snowball/Snowflake, and through my wife every day. I really have no reason to be seeking further attention or accolades. God has truly blessed me abundantly.

Today, I’m off to finish my job as a teacher and then as a student and then coach. I guess I gotta get over it and move on with life.

With that said, I’ve been assured that God has spoken to me about my decision to leave Westmont by means of an existing push (leaving Westmont) and an existing pull (going somewhere else) factor. I’ve always felt that God called me to pursue teaching and to be a teacher. God has blessed my efforts here by giving me amazing grace through very difficult years. There were times as hard as this, but God always gave me hope. It’s different now. I can see God leading me to pursue a technical field. This fits more with my plans to eventually go into radio ministry. This is the “pull” that I see.

However, over the last couple days, I’ve seen the “push” factor more clearly. The simple answer is that I don’t think that things are really going to change for me here. I don’t think that it’ll be easier to teach because you’ll run into one of two problems. The first is that if you let anyone in the class as an exploratory/enrichment (against my recommendations), then the competence level that students will have will be far too diverse to really challenge the strong students and to really help the poorer students. In that way, it’s hard to grade. There’s so many ways to do things that it’s too hard to get everyone to be taught in one way. Yet, it’s also too hard to personalize the instruction since there’s too many students taking the class. The promise is that we can streamline the program. However, this leads to the second problem: a lack of general interest. Students get really bored, really quickly. You’ll always have a few, but it’s a different few all the time. If I want to keep them interested then I need to adjust to the student’s interest. However, with dozens of different interests competing, it’s far too hard to please students, even a simply majority of students. So, I’ve got people tuning out, chatting, visiting, surfing, and completely ignoring the project at hand. They’ll always ask for help to con people into doing their work for them. I don’t know if they are sincerely not interested or simply clueless. Yet, I have seen both. How can I tell? More teaching? Different topic? Am I even supposed to care? Maybe not?

But you know, this is all the easy easy to answer the question. Yesterday, I hit the final straw for my other problem. I don’t think that anyone here really gives a rip about where I am and what I’m doing. Sure, if someone needs something, I’m there to help them. It’s a leftover of my old job (the one I’m not supposed to do any more). Further, I don’t think I’m considered a teacher or a peer in the school. I didn’t know that my department meets on Thursdays at lunch. I was never invited by the team leader. I’ve complained about it to administration for years about the lack of team leadership. Nothing. So I suppose it’s all the same. I went to my first team meeting about two months ago. Funny. They took attendance, yet no one invited the people who were missing? Then, the grade level teams that do exisit don’t inform us on exploratory what is going on in their teams. When raw deals are cut for students, we’re left out of the loop. What’s the deal with particular students? I don’t know. I have no means of communication to the people involved. Maybe it’s my fault since I don’t bother to ask. Sure. And who’s going to do my 5 preps considering that I have a lunch and one break. When Dr. Wahl asked when I have a prep, I began to tell him (sheepishly) when he finished my words… “you don’t have prep time, do you?” So, I’ve resolved to take care of my class as my class. Everyone treats me like an island, so I may as well live like I’m on an island. Then, the final straw…

I noticed an email from a team member from the 8th grade team that said that there was an outing for the 8th grade students that would happen on Tuesday during 8th and 9th period. Well, I didn’t know what that was about, but all the better that I won’t have to deal with my very difficult 9th period class. I happened to see one of my friends who’s on the team and asked about it, since I guess it’s my obligation to ask about such things. She gave me the schedule of events for 8th grade. I don’t think I would have gotten it any other way. Then when she told me about the outing, she said that the team teased me (who wasn’t there) about having to have to keep my kids for 9th period. Now, I realize that that’s funny to them. However, I was pretty pissed off at this. Number one, where do they get off joking about this class when I can’t get any support from them as a team. Then, they don’t bother to tell me what the heck is up with plans and it’s a joke on me who’s not even there? I had to ask? Is this what I am to the school? Shoot! I don’t want to be a part of this.

Again, I’ve resolved that I’m on an island in this school. Life on the island sucks. Life outside the island doesn’t seem to be much better. So, I guess I have to start over. The push is complete. It doesn’t matter where I’m being pulled, I’m through with being in Westmont.

Ecclesiastes 6:1-6

What good is it to gain the whole world, but not enjoy it. In contemporary language, the sense that I get is the reminder that I ought to be thankful for what the Lord has given me.

In the last few weeks of working at the school, I realize that things really aren’t too bad. Certain things have changed that make my life easier. Some kids have moved out of my class. The topics we work with are more interesting to them. I have set my limits as to what I am willing to put up with and how much I am willing to invest into this job without going over my limits. However, my time has come, and I have no regrets about my resignation. It is in this context that God draws me to His word, even if I haven’t drawn close to Him in a while. Today, I think God wants me to be thankful for all He has done for me, all He has given me, all that I have been blessed with through the years, months, days, and minutes of this job.

I have come a long way since being a teaching assistant at Manning School. I have done tech work, supporting teachers and their personal needs. I have also taught students up close and at a distance pushing the limits of my own sanity to bridge the gap of their enthusiasm and my lack of knowledge. It’s been quite a ride. Yet, God has shown His grace by giving me the opportunity to serve in a student prayer group. God provided Christian friends at the school. God answered prayers for strength and humility and creativity and wisdom through the many struggles I faced. Have I enjoyed it all? Well, maybe not in the sense of “would I do it again.” However, I have enjoyed the presence of God through it all, and for that I am eternally thankful.

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for dying on the cross for me which for today brings me joy of limitless proportion for even the most mundane of blessings like a couple bucks to get coffee to keep me going this morning–none of which was promised.

Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces.

I realize that I should refrain from overspiritualizing things, but I think that the concept for this is analogous. This verse is saying that the things of God cannot be appreciated by some people. Holiness given to them can neither be appreciated nor accepted properly. They would treat it as a pig would treat pearls–like more mud. It’s a waste. Commentators suggest that there is a limit to which you can present the gospel to people before it becomes “pushy” and that usually is returned with hostility. Overall, it ends up being a waste. Well, I can see how this works in my life too.

Given, not every student has a bad seed in them and not every student has a poor moral ethic. However, when half of a 20 person class acts up, almost on a regular basis, it’s truly a waste. We have not been able to complete a video project because of poor, unstructured behavior. We are now facing the same for animation. What next? I hate to take away opportunities from students who really have a chance to do something good, but I’m wasting so much away on low end students. It’s pearls to pigs. It’s good stuff wasted on people who cannot appreciate what they have and what they are getting. Kids these days have some amazing nerve. Of course, I hate the fact that they, to some extent have gotten to me. However, I don’t even really care. In fact, I’ve stopped caring.

The problem is, it goes so against the grain of being a “good teacher” who “cares for their students” which I think is a bunch of crap. I don’t look at myself as a victim, even though I think I have a pretty good case to make for that. What I do believe is that I simply don’t see it in myself to do this again. Even if this is a bad year and the next couple are pretty good, I don’t have it in me to pull it off again. Next year, my department will continue in limbo/transition. I’ve put up with a lack of direction from administration for 4 years rewriting curriculum to fit the schedule that best suits our bragging rights, not the teacher who has to create it. I don’t have it in me any more to be the band-aid. I filled in the gap for years as a tech person. I filled in the gap as a technology/keyboarding teacher. I filled in the gap for multimedia projects. At church I filled in when people were missing or people dropped out. I’ve taken the crap for other people’s bad choices and mistakes. And usually, I’ve taken it all only to come out better for it. I don’t have it in me any more to fill in the gap like this.

On Monday, my friend Janet, a programmer at Northwestern University will be passing my resume and cover letter along to her favorite manager in the Facutly/Staff Computing department. I hope that my experience as an IT pseudo-professional will be experience enough to land a job at the University opening a door for me to leave my post at Westmont.

I’m sick of wasting hours of time on something good only to see it get pissed away by stupid actions and behaviors of inconsiderate, disrespectful students.

I’m looking forward to that.

First off, I’m getting kind of embarrased at my own aromatic nature. Dang! I can’t hold it in like I used to. Bible study–poot. Walking to the CTA–poot. In class while teaching–poot. It’s getting bad. Is this a sign of old age?

Second, I was so blessed on Friday. Things went like this. Thursday–bad fight. Friday–began to try to calm down. I’m still in a bad mood, but without kids to teach and only workshops, I guess I could survive. I called Cristine, and we talked a bit. I apologized and we were making a turn, albeit, slow. Then, while sitting towards the end of the workshops, I was filling out my evaluation when they were calling out the winners to a day long raffle–Jeremy Bautista. Woah… A look into the bag showed me a $25 gift card to Best Buy. Woah… Then, I went to lunch with Mark, Betsy (our consultant from 8th Day), and the high school guys out at Uncle Bub’s. Yeah! We took our time while talking about vacations to places of warmth, Hawaii and Cancun. Then, I got my lesson plans ready. You know it took a really long time because I kept forgetting stuff in my class and by the copiers. However, by 330p, I was done and off. I was thinking, how cool is this, the chocolates came right here, on time. So, I picked it up on my way out. Another thought crossed my mind. Maybe there really is Bible study, so I gingerly made it out of the parking lot when I got a call from Teresa. She asked where I was… Well, since I was going south from the school, I was literally driving past the house, so I pulled in. “I’m in your driveway.” How funny was that. I stopped at home quick to get shorts for tennis, and I came back. There was a cake wishing me well and the kids were downstairs. I didn’t think much of it except that it’s a good thing I showed up. The lesson was fine and when we prayed, I realized that the kids had prepared a song for me–Thank You for Giving to the Lord. I sang that song for Hyo back years ago. Now, these kids were singing it to me–about me, no less. What a blessing. If I though Snowflake was good, this was my real family in the Lord. I was so proud of them. Later than night I met up Cristine, gave her a big hug, had a great tennis lesson, and left for Wishbone where we got a great, cheap meal. A good night’s sleep after that tells me that God really wanted to give me a good day. And that, it was.

Now, it’s on to the bachelor party, pack, and then Snowball. Oh boy. Here we go!

The retreat, to me, was little more than a Christian retreat without talking about God, sin, and worship. However, we talked about family values, the deadness of the current generation, the reality that we all have a purpose in life, and the joy of serving and a positive attitude. Of course, as always, I held the job of managing all the audio/video functions of the weekend. I collected digital photographs. I ran the music. I put together the video. I worked with their resources. It’s what I do well. I suppose that there are many areas of thought I have regarding the weekend.

I could talk about how much I worked on the video. There are the countless moments that I strived to capture on tape. There were the moments of joy I wanted to be able to relive over and ove. There are the snap decisions I had to make to put together my videos so fast and on the spot. There were also the hours that Friday night that I slaved over small details of the video to show by the next day. I have never put together such a long video in such a short amount of time. I also have never used Final Cut Pro before. I had only experimented using Final Cut Express on one other project. I didn’t even look at iMovie. This was an amazing endeavor, and I enjoyed every minute of it. But that’s not what I took away from this.

I think that the bigger stories are this. One of the kids in my class who acts up quite a bit apologized to me during the retreat. I never had so many kids show their appreciation to me for the work I did. I shook hands and hugged kids that I could not even stand in the classroom. As cheesy as it was, the walls broke down. I saw kids come out of their comfort zones. I saw kids feel appreciated. I saw joy expressed and smiles on kids faces that I had never seen before. And for a moment in time, this is where I needed to be. This is why I’m a teacher. How would a techie nerd like me ever be able to effect so many lives as I did this weekend? How does my crappy year as a teacher end up on a chilly weekend to be merely the build up to this? Even though I sat at a desk most of the time, I was incredibly blessed to be a part of this new beginning for kids and teachers and Westmont Junior High School.

And this leads me to my final thought. Is this the reason I stay in education? Now, normally, I’d say “yes.” However, has my life taken such a turn that I may have to say, “yes, but it’s not enough.” I mean, I’ve said the same thing about Track and Field for the longest time. However, I can’t live for these brief moments of time, at least, that’s what I’ve been saying to myself. It’s one thing to live for the weekends. It’s quite another thing to live for ONE weekend like Snowflake or Snowball or even ONE season like Track and Field. The cost seems too heavy for me. The disillusionment is far too great for me to stick it out. I loved the interaction. I loved reaction that my work created in them. I loved the knowledge that we were changing lives right there, on the spot. Yet, my life continues to be difficult and disastrous. Considering that I have to go back to kids on Tuesday who did not experience what we experienced, this is going to so difficult. Maybe only two of my students went on this trip. The others nay-sayed the trip. I know that I will be faced with the negativity again. I don’t know if I can take that again. I don’t know if I have the heart to make it through another year. I simply don’t know if it’s enough to keep me.

I know that I have to do what’s right for me and my future. I simply wished that I could hold on to these moments in some way. Somehow, someway it was all worth something. I know that God gave me moments like this as a gift. However, I suppose that I have to remember that His mercies are new every morning. God has something in store for me sooner than later.

Mary Kay Letourneau and this Vili Fualaau guy are getting married in April. You know, there’s something to be said about “getting over” that they’re in love. Sure. But, hello! She was 34 and he was in 6th grade. I mean, 6th grade! I’m thinking about the sixth graders in my school and all I can think is… WHAT?!? Now, of course, I run the risk of being anachronistic, in saying this, however, what the heck does any teacher, regardless of age or sanity (for that matter), have in being with a student like that. And then, on top of it, she’s married, has 4 kids, huh? Now, I had to finally just get over this story, so I looked up the article on the Chicago Tribune website. I just needed to see what these people look like. She’s 43 and he’s 22 now. Is there something wrong with this picture. On top of it, she was hit with literaly raping the boy back at that time. She served a few months of time, and then was released–only to be found having sex with him again (what, was he 13 now?) in her car. He can’t even DRIVE at this point! What’s wrong with this? 7 1/2 years in prison later (funny, that’s how long I’ve been in education), she’s got a wedding registry at Macy’s. Swell. I doubt I’ll get an invitation. But, at least the daughters (ages 6 and 7) will be the flower girls. Hmmmm… When they get to be age 12 and 13, he’ll be 28. I wonder if he’ll think they’re ready for a realtionship. She’ll be 49. Wonder if she’ll encourage them to try sex first, then go to school. I’m thoroughly disgusted. Sure, I’ll get over it–after I get the sound of whiny kids from my class out of my head. I believe they are 13.

This leads me to my other point of disgust for the evening. I was challenged today by my assistant principal. Let me explain. I hate dealing with this certain group of students at the end of day because no matter what approach I take, there is never any difference between their subsequent action and the textbook/movie script of idiots of that same age range–or are they adults by then. Regardless–I digress. Basically, I’ve given up on them. Their work is low quality. Their work ethic is pathetic. Their parents have very little control over them. These kids talk back and yell at their parents. These kids cannot keep it in control in class, especially mine. I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being mean. I’ve tried alternative assignments. I’ve tried bribing them with rewards. I’ve tried seperation. I’ve tried just about everything under the sun to deal with them. Then, today, my assistant principal–well intentioned, I might add–said that maybe I need to change my approach. He is suggesting that yell and argue them down. I basically need to belittle them to the point of tears. Now, this is pretty out there, however, I am at my wits end. There is no reason why I should get disrespected in my classroom. Additionally, there is no reason why I can’t do what he suggests. I have administrative blessing. I’m sure the parents will not mind since it’s probably the closest to spanking them that anyone will get. However, this is where I became disgusted.

First, let me clarify. My administration is the best two guys I’ve ever worked for at the District. They call it straight and do the best they can to be honest, sincere, and professional in all things. The situation I am in is a rare case. Groups like this don’t happen often. However, one time when it a class like that came through to the assisant principal’s team years ago, two people quit and brought him to the edge also. So, the context of this is that I know that we are all at wits end and maybe getting tough is the only alternative I have not tried. Realistically, nothing I’ve done in the past has worked for me. So, I listened. Yet, this is where I have my problem.

See, to well up anger enough to shout a kid down is not only hard for me, but not within me. I should qualify that by saying that it’s there. However, I’d have to swear and use vulgarity. I know, since I’ve imagined it. To really get it good, I’d have to practice. The assistant principal offered me to come in and practice with the principal. Practice what? To practice belittling a kid. Again, we’re talking about context here. We both know that this is not very PBIS or positive. However, it may be the last battleground I have left. It’s these kids’ sanity or my own. So, with that said, I considered doing it. This is where the problem became an impasse.

As it is, I have a difficult enough time with negativity with personal issues. I have to often play the cool, calm, collected individual in my fights with Cristine when she has a negative streak. At less confrontational times, we certainly have a difference in pedagogy in terms of me being an eternal optimist and her being a realist (or pessimist). So, when am I going to draw up this emotion that I will eventually offload on a student? I could practice with the principal. But, I could do this at home. Am I nuts? Do I even know what I’m talking about? I am practicing being negative, overbearing, and superior. Yeah, I know that this is my classroom, but to have to practice getting my emotions up? That’s where I have to draw the line.

Call me a whimp. Call me a wuss. Call me quitter. However, I almost refuse to give in to practicing to ultimately use anger against a student. I don’t have it in me and I don’t want to be practied in me either. However, all the teachers who have had success, especially in the long term, can do this. Is it alright to say that I’m not cut out for this garbage. Is it right to say that I have hit the end?

I need to get back to work (or nap), but really. Yesterday was it. I’m through.

I hate being like the victim in my life because it makes me feel like I don’t have any choices to make. However, at the same time, life isn’t easy. In a conversation with my mom that I had yesterday, I tried to explain that my life was going through many different changes. It if was my life without the wedding, it’s still probably the biggest switch of my life. Actually, if I think about it right now, I’d probably still be living in Chicago. I’d probably be still be frustrated with work and would want to leave. I probably would be faced with questions about certification and how that might lead to a radio career. Yeah, life would still be pretty hard.

I really don’t know if people appreciate that. I know that I don’t tell people that. Usually, they hear only one aspect of my life and already have sympathy for me. However, there’s a lot to overcome.

Questions facing me include:

1. Final Wedding Arrangements

2. Switching Churches

3. Getting Certified (finding money to go back to school)

4. Finding A New Job

5. Doing This All During Track Season

6. Doing This All While Settling Into Married Life

I’m not really looking forward to all these changes, and so quickly. It’s quite possible that without the wedding, I could have spaced things out, but they would all have eventually come down the road at some point and time. So, as I often have felt–since there is no good time, any time is fine. I suppose that I shouldn’t expect people to realize all this, nor feel pity for me. However, it’s a tough road to go at when no one seems to get it.

It’s terrible. I’m sitting here, feeling like I have so much to talk about and write about, but have complete writer’s block. I simply cannot pull my thoughts together. I know that when I fall asleep, I’m going to regret not writing down some things, yet will be too tired (or too comfortable) to get up and write. Rats.

A good piece of news from last week. I won my eBay auction for a new video camera. A lot of things went into that, including $515. I didn’t realize this, but the new line of cameras that Sony replaced my model with does not use the battery style of the past. It’s completely new. So, that meant that I had to go and research the newest camera on the market that still used my batteries. This is huge since I’ve invested probably close to $200 in batteries. It’s one thing to lose my camera. But to start completely from scratch is so much of a waste. I found a DCR-TRV39 on eBay. My camera was a DCR-TRV17 and it served me very well over the last 3 or 4 years. It went through 3 track seasons, 2 classes of video at school, and 1 trip to Africa and back and other varied projects for church. All the while, I logged hundreds–could it be thousands–of hours of footage. Reusing old tapes ultimately became my saving grace. Yet, in the blink of an eye, a turn of my body, and a slip of my hand–my camera hit the ground with a bounce. And I, bounced also. It was over, just like that. It had survived long past the warranty. I know this because I threw it out after reviewing it last month. Farewell good friend. However, no time for reminicance. I have Operation Snowflake and Operation Snowball to film in the next two weeks. I also have to have a camera ready for the wedding.

Today, I had breakfast with Megan, one of the teachers from the school. We had a pretty good talk. She’s a Christian who just loves the job she’s in. Funny since I’m the Christian who just hates the job I’m in. I didn’t want to discourage her.

Uh-oh… We’re about to start… Pick up later…

Well, I’ve lost another one (to Ditech–just kidding). No really, another stalwart of Jeremy’s life–lost. My video camera. Yes, it’s true. That camera has gone through 3 track seasons, many a road trip (near and far), and even a trip to Africa. I never had a problem. Sure, I lost a cover. I can’t get the lens off. The buttons are wearing down. But, through it ALL, it never broke. Today, I dropped it in class. Oh, yes. I dropped it in class. Not my kids. Not someone from church. Not a friend. I did this myself while turning too quickly around at the beginning of class. I’m afraid it’s a loss. I have to send it in. However, I have projects like mad to do. I have Snowflake and Snowball in the next two weeks. Then, I have track season beginning in 20 some-odd days. Time is definately of the essence.

God certainly has a way of teaching me lessons.

Today, I learned that, once again, I put my trust in things more than Him. I’ve counted on my camera for so much. It’s been a true friend. It’s survived for so long. In one short burst, literally, the life fell out of it. God had to provide. I searched and searched and realized that Sony phased out my style of battery, so I had to find an older camera to serve my needs. I found one–on eBay. I have a day to win it. I really pray that I will win this. Otherwise, I may end up having to have to buy it through retail. Ick. God will provide in His way, in His time.

I’ve been stripped away again.

1. Ministry

2. Church

3. Job

4. Fleshly Pleasures

5. Laptop

6. Radio Station (format change)

7. Video Camera

This is just another piece of proof that it is God who gives and takes away. My tent pegs are still too deep.

I have some promising news regarding my job situation. I have a resume out to Northwestern University with a friend and one out through their Human Resources department. I hope to hear back from them soon to start the process in getting an IT job there. Also, later Thursday night, I have a meeting in Oak Brook with a training group that develops IT workers for certification and then places them into jobs. There’s a paid internship as well, but I probably will not take advantage of that since I’m already getting paid. Put the two together, and I feel very confident that this is a wide open door from God to step into. I knew that my days as a teacher was numbered. I lose track now. Maybe I’ll post a timer on my blog to count the days down. I’m such a clock watcher.

Yet again, I (almost) botched (royal) another wedding thing. This time, it didn’t involve Cristine, like it normally does. Because the wedding is small, we had to be very selective as to who would get invited and who we sadly had to not invite. There were a few people in my small group that, unfortunately, we had to pass over. To anyone who truly understands how weddings go, especially weddings that are paid for by the couple, this is no big deal. However, one person from my small group was different. He started to hear about my wedding from other people who had received their invitation weeks before. Yet, he had nothing to show for it. I know that some people at church were probably upset by not being invited, but we hoped that a truly mature look at the situation would have offset any anger. However, this case was different. Such a nice guy. How could anyone diss on the man? Yet, I had the audacity to not invite him. Well, late last week, we decided to open up our invites because of a number of declined RSVPs. I wish that I had thought of it first, but my best man reminded me of this guy. Of course, it was a great idea, just not mine to begin with. So, as we put together the invitations, I added his name. The invites got sent, and that was that. At small group, it finally happened. Someone forgot to send their card in and apologized, “Oh! Jeremy, I’ll send in the RSVP!” He looked at her, then looked at me. I caught the look. It was like a faithful pet longing to be assured by his owner, yet, it was from a younger human being who screamed out, “You forgot me,” through his silence. I responded, “Hey, check your mail. Look for your invite; it’s there.” Whew, I thought. He then came up to me and confessed, “I was angry at you, Jeremy, because I thought you didn’t invite me to your wedding.” How do you explain that? “Well, it was all a matter of timing. Don’t worry, you’re welcome to come.” sigh.

I know that there’s so much more that I’d like to vent about, but maybe this is enough for today. I’m tired.

There are 40 days left until my wedding. What does that mean? The long process of dating is finally over. My official address, status, and responsibilities finally match what I feel like I already do. I will have a wife and there will be no chance to run away again from our relationship again (that’s a good thing). We will be one (yet another good thing). We will move to a new church. We will eventually move to a new town. We will search for a new life in God’s will. All this is very good.

There are 116 days left until summer break. What does that mean? There are about 75 days left of teaching. That’s reduced by another 7 that I’m on vacation or retreat or coaching. This is my lot in life. As I’m doing my quiet time in Eccleciastes, Solomon says that everything has been done before. It’s all kind of futile. So, the best I can do is to enjoy it–that is in the physical world sense. However, I am challenged today to find a deeper joy in my work by getting through to the spiritual world. That is, when I work, I want to do it out of the strength that God gives. I want to glorify God in my job. I still want to have honor, dignity, and respect when I work. This will glorify God. I believe that as I depend on God for strength and wisdom to finish off this year, I will only go to prove that I am lesser and that He is greater.

21, 40, 116. Sometimes, time is running down. Sometimes, time is running up. I just wish I wasn’t such a clock watcher.

I will say this however, my life is definately taking a turn and there is no holding on to the past, so it seems. Before me is married life, moving to Chicago, switching churches, finding a new job, and ultimately moving out of Chicago with my new bride and wife. This is a tall order for someone who enjoyed being single, loved and was loyal to my job at school, loved Chicago, loved and was loyal to my church, and enjoyed who I was. I don’t feel like anyone took that away. It’s not married life that is causing this. God has truly put it into my heart that it’s time to move on. God is not giving me any peace in staying where I am.

I love the irony and futility of the question, “Hey Jeremy, what’s up?” These days, I still answer with my typical, honest response, “Everything.”

So I’m doing these videos in class. The kids have to write their stories and then present them in video form. The biggest struggle usually is the story writing part. They tend to take really long writing their story. The story tends to be ridiculous and without any concept. And, what’s probably most damaging, I have really very little interest in teaching them how to create a good story since I’m most interested in computers–not English. So, maybe I’m over my head. So, maybe I’m not approaching this from the right angle. Or maybe, I’ve sucked it up long enough and it’s time to move on.

I also hate the fact that no one has really ever given me an honest and sincere assessment of my teaching. I mean, everyone always tells me that I’m doing fine. However, no one has the time to really work with me to improve me. People rarely visit. People rarely ask. When they do, they may get an ear full of ranting (if they are my friends) or a blase answer if we lack the time or relationship. However, maybe that’s all my fault. See, it’s not that I hate anyone here. I get along with people and in fact like everyone here. But I really don’t think anyone really cares. If I leave, which no one would anticipate, maybe they’d care. But then again, probably not. It’s not like I’ve made a huge impact in this school. Sure, there’s some cool projects we’ve done, but nothing is set in stone and could change again–as it does every year.

Agh! It’s all my fault. Can I start over?

Today, I think I’m just more and more resolved to just giving it all up. Realistically, I should be feeling really good since one of my main headache kids was home sick for the last two days. Right? Isn’t that a good thing? However, I could still feel the dread come over me every moment of the day. I don’t even care any more. Do I care that kids change the backgrounds on their computers? NO! Do I care that they talk in class? NO! I don’t even care to try to reason with kids any more. What’s the point?

I went through this long conversation with my buddy last night about this. And I think that I finally came to one point of understanding for me. Now, I must preface this by saying that maybe I’m much more politically minded than I claim to be. However, I think that this makes a lot of sense to me.

This is the premise. Liberal thought says that people are entitled to things. Liberal thought says that rights are more important than what’s actually right. Liberal thought says that we’re all okay, even if it’s not. Liberal thought says that even the threat of infringement of someone’s self-esteem is grounds for slander and biggotry. Now, I’m not out to carry the water for a political organization by any means, but I just don’t buy the libral stuff. I don’t believe that people have the right to do whatever they want. I don’t believe that criticism is grounds for slander. Many people have thin skin. And, I don’t think that we’re all okay. We’re not! So, why in the world am I writing this? It’s because I see it in my kids every day.

Nothing seems to phase kids. Discipline doesn’t work. Why? Parents don’t discipline their kids. So, why should it work here? Even if disciplined, kids still don’t get the fact that they are wrong. It’s rare for a student to really feel sorry for what they did. Usually, it’s back to the same for them. Then, these same kids who can’t seem to get it into their skull that they, not the world, are the problem will whine when they are called out on their flaw. Puh-lease! This isn’t even an isolated issue. In fact, there’s a lot of kids who simply can’t keep it together. Keep a class quiet? How these days? If they talk, who cares? Send them to the office? Write them up? Seperate them? It all will pass and they have proven to remain the same more than change. Why? It’s because they’re okay. They’re number one. They are really the best that they can be. Who fed them that line?

So, I was thinking, am I getting pushed out by kids? Just because kids are stupid (which shouldn’t surprise anyone, actually), does that mean that I shouldn’t give a care any more? Who’s the adult here? It’s a good question. However, I think I am resolved with this: this is the future of our society. Maybe things are different in high school. Maybe kids finally pull it together. Actually, in high school, they bring guns and in junior high, they’re just obnoxious. Is that a trade-off? Back to the issue: do I really want to be doing this? Is this the battle I want to fight for the rest of my life? Are these the people I want to exist with? I don’t think so.

Another teacher friend a few weeks ago stopped by and we shared our thoughts. She and I actually both graduated from Westmont. And the thought about working in the same school district that we attended as students came up. We both felt the same, “When are we going to graduate from Westmont?” This attitude, liberal attitude, that the kids seem to have is really beginning to seep into my life and soul. But this is not good. My expectations have gone really low. I don’t see a place for me who really would like to believe that right and wrong truly have a place. I also don’t see a place for a “nice guy” to earn respect in a place where attention cannot be demanded, but needs to be. I just want to swear at these kids sometimes. “Shut the ______ up!” Of course, they’d take note of the vulgarity, not the anger. Idiots? Kids? I don’t know.

Well, those are my thoughts. I really hope that everything works out for a new job. I am feeling increasingly less tied to this place, job, and life. The loyalties have really been fading. I think it’s time to simply move on.

1. The Evening

By about 930p after tennis on Friday, I kinda knew it was going to happen. I was afraid of what the roads were going to look like, not to mention what the people were going to be driving like later in the evening. I decided pretty quickly to call it a night considering that I’d have to make it BACK to Chicago for WMBI the next morning. That’s two drives that are kind of a waste. I’ll take the couch. That evening, it was frightening how much snow came down. It just kept coming and coming down. Eh, leave it to morning.

2. Shoveling

Cristine didn’t get the call that morning that tennis was canceled up north. So, she diligently got up (even before me), got her car ready, and was off… sort of. She needed help shoveling. So, up off the couch at 745a, and into the cold. Actually, it wasn’t so bad after I got going. Her car wasn’t so bad since we strategically parked it at the end of the block. I pushed her car out and off she went. I went back to my car and shoveled out and around my car all the way to the street. I have this strategy to make sure that any street plowing will not thwart my work. So, I shovel all the way out to the street. Towards the end of this, I noticed my other neighbor shoveling the stairs and walkway. RATS! I was already tired. I’d been shoveling for an hour and a half already. However, it was inevitable. “Hey Victoria! What’s up?” “Do you need any help?” She said, “Well, if you’re killing time…” I made it through shoveling the side gangway until the back gate. At that point, I gently excused myself. The snow in the parking spaces were up to her bumper to her car. As well, the snow in the alley (unshoveled) was the same height. I’d shoveled enough for the day. Off to Moody.

3. The Train (getting on)

I was waiting with a couple other people in the heated shelter at the Blue Line-Western stop. No talking, just waiting anxiously for the train. As I turned around, the guy on the my far left pointed out to the rest of us that there was a mouse trying to make its way down the rails. We all looked to the right as the train slowly pulled in… over taking the scurrying mouse… to which I turn to the girl standing next to me to share an “ewwww” moment. The two other guys simply smiled and got a chuckle out of it. Three of us went on the train. The last stayed behind. Hmmm… Did he want to see the remains?

4. The Train (getting off)

The Brown Line-Chicago station is an elevated platform that’s made of wood. We all know that. Now, I know that the Millennium Park bridge over Columbus is closed because shoveling would be bad for the wood and bad for the people below in traffic. So, is the same mentality being used here? Well, who knows. So, I exited the train and walked onto this snow-packed platform. It was obviously pretty slippery, but walkable. Now, there was a guy walking in front of me who was loudly complaining. Turns out he was jawing at the driver of the train as she slowly pulled away from the station. “This should be cleaned up. Someone could slip!” She responded back, “This is Chicago, did you expect this to be cleaned up any sooner?” Now, of course I know that he’s right–it was unsafe–and that she’s right–yo, it’s Chicago! So, my reaction as I walked behind was to laugh. Yeah, I had a good laugh.

5. At WMBI

So, we’re doing the show-the “last” live show of Pulso Latino and there was a little bit of a lull during the show. So, Mauricio said to look out the window. Yo, between Crowell and the next building, the snow was going really fast–and upwards! What? Does it get any crazier than that? When’s lunch?

And literally, that’s just the morning…

I need to keep up the fight in terms of my job search, however. Looks like this Primerica Financial Corporation is a sham. When I looked up a newsgroup of former PFC representatives, it looked like the old pyramid scheme tactics. It looked very unprofessional and preditory. Frank, the guy doing our finances said that they are a lawsuit waiting to happen. Hence, I called to cancel my interview today at 4p and told the woman that I’m going to explore another industry. There’s a few more jobs that I’m going to look at. There’s still a lot out there. I intend to tap it.

There is light at the end of the tunnel for me. I don’t see it in Westmont anymore. It’s time to move on. Has my skin gotten too thin? Or maybe it’s time for me to graduate from Westmont.

I think that I can describe my life currently as chaotic, crazy, depressing, exciting, slow changing, self-destructive, and yet purposeful all at the same time (if that’s possible). I don’t know if words really capture it, but I know that I am extremely frustrated with my inability to express it. Hence, the purpose of my writing. I need to somehow come to terms with what is going on in my life. I don’t blog to teach the world anything. I don’t blog to be an exhibitionist. I don’t blog to prove a point. I blog because I lack the ability to think things through completely and I need stop, especially in my crazy, hecktic life, and dwell just a little bit about what the heck is going on around me and in me.

The biggest thing that is going on with me, besides my relationship with God (of course), is wedding preparation. We are coming down to the last 60 some-odd days left. I think it’s 62 today. It’s really close and we’re moving along with specifics on different things. I used to feel all in the dumps about everything because I wasn’t doing enough to help Cristine. For whatever the reason was, I’ve tried to make a concerted effort to show my interest and investment in it. I realize that I can’t make up for 6 months of lost time, if you call it that, but I see the fault in not showing effort or interest. For this, I’ve been down because I truly feel like I’ve let her down. However, I know that lately, this has turned around on my side in terms of expressed help for her. I see her appreciation which encourages me. Better late than never. However, I know that it is going to be a tough road to keep it up since there’s more going on than just this.

I say this at the risk of sounding unprincipled and not understanding priorities, however, I know that I have taken time away from work to spend doing wedding. I realize that this is par for the course, however, I have become increasingly behind in my school stuff and will have a tough road of grading today. I really feel like these things come into conflict and it truly upsets me. My work is ridiculous. I think that’s fair to say. I didn’t know that teaching 5 different classes was going to be so hard. I didn’t know that the technology wasn’t going to be ready for me when I started which invalidates so much of my curriculum. I didn’t know that I was the dumping ground–not the choosing ground–for students which gives me a knucklehead class load. I didn’t know that I wasn’t really going to be up for the task. I didn’t know. I know now. And, I hate myself for getting myself into this mess. No one forced me in. I couldn’t say no. I burn alone on this one. Now, I realize that life goes on in everyone’s life as a teacher. However, I don’t see people dying the way I do. Actually, how could I since I don’t share any plan time with anyone. A further reinforcement of the fact that I burn alone.

So, what does the wedding have to do with work? Well, I think it’s obvious to say that if I had to choose between which would win between the two in terms of priorities, it has to be the wedding. I’m going to grade very easy. I’m not going to kill myself grading today. We need to keep moving with the wedding. It’s 2 months away. However, this only points to the more important question: what does my (future) wife have to do with work? Well, I like the way that Pastor Ron put it. When I reach heaven (and praise God for that), I will stand before God and he might pose this question to me: So let’s look at the way you spent your time with your wife and at your job and weigh them both out. Will I end up showing my first loyalties and committment to my job before my wife? Will I see in the end that my job got more late night attention than my wife? Will I be faced with the reality that my decisions were based on my protecting and enhancing my job over and at the cost of protecting and enhancing my wife? What kind of moron would do that? However, I stand at the crossroads these days with this exact issue. This doesn’t even get into the fact that I feel like my quality of life while at work has only deteriorated over the last few years. I thought teaching would be better than tech support. I was wrong. Yes, I am a teacher at heart, but I can feel it in my bones that this is not my happy place. I can feel the writing going up on the wall–Jeremy, your days as a teacher are numbered. Yes, I love coaching. Yes, I love one-on-one work with individual students. Yes, I love taking kids through projects. However, I spend most of my day working, thinking about work, dreading work, and then doing homework because the are not enough hours in the day to take care of work. This is not cool. In fact, it’s just not healthy. So, what is going to win out? I think I need to find a new job.

So, this is where I find myself. I love being a teacher (in certain situations). I love working with computers. I know that being a radio person is in my future. What in the heck should I do. I’ve written a number of different resumes in the last couple weeks. I wrote one for being a radio engineer, for being a corporate trainer, and one for being a financial assistant (ha!). I’ve posted my resume on Monster and on CareerBuilder. I’ve begun to receive emails from places and have gone to one interview. This has now become my new escape from the frustration. I must be truly a hopeless romantic. I just love the hope of finding a new job. And, frankly, it’s time. I guess it goes without saying that it’s been said that it’s all in the hunt. Well, the hunt for the perfect woman for me is over. However, the hunt for the perfect job presses one. My short term plans are to try to get recertified regardless of what happens. That way, in case I can’t find a job, I can continue to teach. However, right after getting married–even though it’s track season, I plan to get my MCSE or some Microsoft certification to help me get an IT job. Shoot, I have 4 years under my belt doing TCP/IP, client side support, some Novell administration, and hardware support. I’ve seen the guys who come in and do my former job. What is that all about? I can do that! So, anyway, what am I sitting here waiting around for. If I can land a job that will start me at the beginning of summer, then I can build up about 3 months of double pay (school + new job) and hopefully give us some traction in terms of a financial nest. I still want to intern at Chicago Public Radio. I still want to work at Moody Bible Insititue. I still want to get into radio. However, I can’t be offering up my time for free any more. I need to get compensated so I can pay the mortgage, take care of my (future) wife, and get on with my life. What choices.

My final thought about this whole thing comes on the heels of finally announcing to Pastor Ron that we were officially leaving Faith Alliance Bible Church after the wedding. It was a bittersweet moment in telling him since it is the church that I was saved at and the church I served for so long. However, it is also not the place where I am getting blessed the most these days. And so it goes that God’s pattern in my life to uproot me from what I know to a new situation continues. As it was in the summer, God showed me that I couldn’t keep the tentpegs of my life down in the earth too deep. This has become more and more true. I see that God is consoling my love for Chicago, but giving me a yearning for a new home outside. I know that serving at Faith was such a big deal to me, but God removed that from me in so many ways. The falling out from turning down the deacon position, the dropping out from small group ministry, the backing away from Arts/Media (my baby)… It’s just time to leave FABC. Then, there my job which I see is not the place I thought I was in. It’s not as unnegotiable as it used to be. And such is my life. I know that I was a different person before Cristine. However, I do think I’m better today than I was before. Yes, I still sin. Yes, I still screw up. However, I’ve learned so much leaving my old life and beginning a life with her. I guess I should take comfort in knowing that for as difficult as all of these situations have been, my God will show me that life is better in this new place. And with my life with Cristine as the first of the many facets of my life that are being changed has gone, I hope that the other areas of my life will do as well.

I must continue to trust in God who is my rock in my storms. I will continue to have hope because I know God is in control. There’s no chaos that God cannot lead me out of.

I realize that I can’t live the way I have been over the last semester. It’s time to change. I began to reorganize my stuff in my classroom. It’s a start. I moved a lot of things from the condo to the classroom since they’re school related. That’s another good point of seperation. I posted my resume on the ISBE website. There’s a turn. I’m almost done with my application for a summer internship at WBEZ. Whew, now we’re going places. It’s good to see things changing. Track season is coming. There’s word that the tech lab mobile units may replace my educational venue for next year. I may get away with not having all my documentation for recertification. I dunno. I thank God that He’s in control, because I really feel like my life is far OUT of control.

I’ve had to really reconsider the work situation that I was comfortable with. Can I put up with the indecision, lack of direction, and waiting? Maybe I should just up and go. Maybe I should really get that resume together and leave. Maybe I should hold on, hunker down, and stick it out. What’s my priority? I seem to be deciding whether the safety of this job, the benefits of this job, the tradition of this job is more important than the difficulties it creates in my life by being too time consuming, too open-ended, and too technically vast without any direction. It’s more time than I want my job to interfere with the rest of my life. What do I really want? Work or life? I think I want my life.

In the past, I’ve also had to reconsider what church would be best for me. There’s so much history that I have with my church. There’s so much I’ve gone through that it’s hard to leave a place that I seem to know so well. Yet, I know that I’m not growing at my church. I know that it’s killing my walk. And, as I’ve written before, it’s not about the people, the strife, the leadership, or issues. What it’s about is that I just don’t feel like my time there was forever and that it’s now time to leave. Where to go, though? There’s Moody. There’s Hyde Park. There’s a lot of places that have yet been explored. Again, but what’s my priority? I want to build up my relationship with God again. I want to have fellowship with God again.

And I think the last main thing that I’ve had to consider my priorites is regarding issues with Cristine. Someone asked me today if things were still okay for me in preparing for the wedding. I responded that things were fine. I further said that even though we may fight, it’s okay. See, I think that it’s true that the fighting is not the problem. Actually, the fighting can somewhat be a healthy sign (if treated correctly). What would be the problem is NOT resolving–not resolving the fight, not resolving to stay together, not resolving that the main priority is each other. When people don’t do that, then I really have to question the integrity of the foundation of their relationship. Fortunately for me, I can rest assured that our fights will always find resolution. I’ve tested the waters (not necessarily intentionally) and we’re committed through thick and thin. Thank God for that. Like I said, it’s about priorities, and I know that my priorities are set on our relationship. Nothing is more important to me than that.

You know, I’m not really upset except for the fact that I have to pay for that window. They didn’t get away with much except the stupid inconvenience of me having to have to come up with this cash, and until then, have to drive around with the window open. Sucks. Maybe they took a granola bar… That might be a good thing. Idiots.

And this is my mind traffic. I’ve got too many things going on in my head at the same time. When I had my evaluation with my principal, he said that this is what he sees in me. He pretty much said:

Look Jeremy, I’ve known you for a long time. But this year, let’s see. You went to Africa on a missions trip. You came back as a first year, full time teacher. You’re teaching new classes that still need a lot of working out. You’re engaged–that’s big. You’ve got a new place to live. Jeremy, you’ve got a full plate. That is a full plate.

In so many ways, I’ve known this. I’ve talked to my pastors about this. I’ve talked to my friends about this. Usually, people agree with me and reprimand me for being too busy. In other cases, people will just ignore me and just take the position that “well, he’s too busy.” Neither response has helped me. I even remember the words of the counselor from over the summer saying:

Jeremy, you probably do work to cover up your personal feelings of a lack of self-worth.

That was the first time someone actually gave thought to my trouble as more than just a scheduling issue. I always thought it was. Maybe to everyone else, it’s about scheduling. Maybe to others it’s about priorities. To me, I just wanted someone to feel my pain and work with me. In a rare moment, I finally received some affirmation to my gut feeling from someone who knows–a fellow educator, err, my old high school homeroom teacher.

With the world spinning so quickly, I’d love to get off the ride and relax a bit. It’s hard for me to find that balance of taking care of other people’s issues and tending to my own. It’s a new concept for me. However, I’m learning. This has helped me also. Yet, there’s still more to consider. I’ve thought about leaving my job. Maybe I need to stick it out another year. I’ve thought about leaving the church. These days, it’s sooner rather than later. I’ve thought about isolating myself to just take care of my things. However, I’m challenged with the charge of responsibility for my wife-to-be, my future household, and my ever changing life and responsibilities. There’s just too much.

Time for bed.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this job. I deal with kids who really have no respect for authority. I thought that was sad as it was. However, it’s not. The sad part is that a majority of these kids’ parents care far less and are even more skeptical of authority. What kind of teeth do I have with these kids? I’m sick of calling parents. I’m sick of their kids not changing. I’m sick of depriving other kids who want to learn the opportunity to do so because a small, obnoxious group of kids take control of my time because they need more babysitting than teaching. I don’t know if I should take that. I suppose I could tolerate it more if I thought things were changing for the better with my support system. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case. My team still does not meet. I still don’t have any legitimate connection with the curricular teachers. And there seems to be a growing disagreement with where “technology” is going in the district. Frankly, I feel like it’s time for me to find another job. I wouldn’t mind going to a school that has an established discipline system, an established support system, a better sense of direction with their curriculum. I’ve waited for a few years now for something to happen. Today, I’m dying a slow death in my classes.

Part of it is obviously personal. I want to have a better work/life time ratio. I want to be able to go home at a decent hour. I want to be able to not have stuff on my mind every night because I’m behind on everything, even when I’m ahead. That is to say, I would love to be ahead of the game at some point. Unfortunately, technology is not the way to do it since technology grows faster than we can keep up with. Often the kids know more than me because I don’t have the time or resources any more to keep on top of my game. How am I going to get ahead of the game this way? Basically, I’m doomed to always be behind, literally and psychologically.

This gets me into another area of my life–church. See, for as much as I love my school, I’m frustrated. For as much as I trust my superiors, I’m doubtful. For as much as I could stay and stick it out, I’m ready to go. This is how I feel about church. I thought it might be because I’m mad at people at church. If it were, I would have left a long time ago. I thought it might be a frustration with serving. If it truly were, it would be against my nature since I love to give and serve. I thought it was because the church was going somewhere that I didn’t want to go. However, the church has been in this transition state for over 5 years. Frankly, I’m not anxious to see what lies around the corner for me at church, but I’ve been here this long feeling this way already. I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been accused. I’ve been burned out. I’ve been called out. But, I’ve also seen loyalty. I’ve seen forgiveness. I’ve seen times of restoration. And, I’ve taken the straight path when helped. It’s the ups and downs. Yet, it’s time to go. I can’t follow what I want to do with my life any further if I stay. It’s truly how I feel.

I don’t know exactly how it’ll all work out. My plan is to get my resume worked out over the holiday break and to start hunting for jobs second semester. Cristine and I plan to leave church for a church in Chicago after the wedding. This is the plan. God still has His say. However, if someone asked me, I’d say that I was frustrated and it’s time to start fresh.

I’m sorry.

Is it bad that I can stay awake when I’m procrastinating though? *sigh*

Should students get what they want before I get (as a teacher) what I want? It would seem to me that if a teacher let students get what they want PRIOR to what I want (which is what they’re supposed to do), then I’m releasing my authority. Man, and you NEVER do that! How can I let students dictate to me, the teacher, how my class is to be run! If I allow this, then what’s next? Do I let students determine their own agenda? Do I trust them with their own partners? Do I release my guidance? Do I let the kids run themselves?

If you have short term memory, like me, then this would seem to work out great! However, the premise of this and how I got to this point is that I am allowing kids to dictate to me before I dictate to them. Is that right? Is this Machiavellian? Is it justified? This is how I began this short rant.

I don’t know if this is dying to myself for the sake of another (the kids were really quiet and seemed to work harder than they have in a while), or have I truly sold my soul. I’m truly torn as to how to feel.

In a related topic, I know that if I talked about this to different people, they all would have different reactions. Some would say that I’m weak. Some would say that I was wise. Some would say that I was caring. Some would say that I was noble and have patience like a saint. Whether true or untrue, does it really matter? What really matters is my bottom line. And frankly, that’s all on me.

But what is my bottom line exactly? Maybe that’s why I need to start searching my soul.

We prayed about this for a long time. Other people sympathized and/or prayed. We avoided, prepared, got nervous, and lamented. Then, the day came. My mom was great. My dad was great. Her dad was great. Her mom was there, but rather kind and content in general. It’s a far cry from the terror we thought this was going to amount to even a few months ago. However, I believe that God has installed a change of heart into the Kims and we’re really happy about that.

Mom and Dad came in a little early. As we walked in, my mom greeted the Kims with flowers, and my dad gave Mr. Kim a pair of cufflinks. Wow! I was barely in that zone. My mom had also, earlier, offered to pay for dinner. Wow, I mean, wow. I was tremendously blessed by my parents’ generousity. Mr. Kim was certainly piqued in his interest. He joined along in with asking his own questions. I could see that my mom really wanted to just break the ice with a lot of love and hospitality. Wow.

Thank you God for such a good dinner. Thank you Mom for being a great conversationalist. Thank you Dad for being a great sport. Thank you Cristine for having so much courage with your parents. Praise God, praise God, praise God.

I also see miracles in my relationship with Cristine. We still have our disagreements, however, I see that there is so much more grace between the two of us. I can see that the old habits that we both used to follow in our fights and discussions are going by the wayside. We are both making the effort to stop, listen, speak, and understand. Yes, we’ve been given tools. Yes, the tools work. However, tools without the desire to change or incentive to be different are worthless. We both can feel the change. God is very good.

In the rest of my life, after 1st Quarter ended, my life has become much less stressful. I can’t point to anything else besides that it’s the 2nd Quarter and I can repeat my curriculum for my Keyboarding classes. That’s a great thing! If it weren’t for that, I’d be totally frustrated banging my head every night before school. Oh, and the dread! Also, in another area of relief, the hinges of my laptop came in (eBay), my broom came in, I see myself not get as angry at school as much, and Cristine’s parents are coming around. As I say, I can’t complain.

Thank God that I have a second chance at life.

I feel like I’ve let myself down. I feel like I’ve let Cristine down. I feel like I’ve let my family down. I feel like I’ve let my church down. I feel like I’ve let God down. I didn’t think it could happen to me, to be so drawn to sin as to be brought down this low and deep in frustration that ultimately, so I’ve been told and experienced, I have no realtionship with God. That’s really scary. And the more that I think about it, the more I wish it were not the case. I see a long road of recovery. It’s like the credit card debt that took months to dig myself into, but yeart to dig back out of. God is the God of miracles. I need a miracle in my life if only in the area of turning around from desiring sin back to desiring him.

I doubt myself. I’ve always doubted my personal ability to do things effectively. Ironically, I was well respected in the past. However, now, I don’t know where that went. I think it’s ironic that people talk about UIUC as where the top 5% of high school kids in Illinois come together. In that way, a big shot in high school is just an average Joe at UIUC. However, I succeeded there. It’s here, on my own. It’s here, in the work world. It’s here, in my church life. It’s here, in my engagement and forthcoming marriage that I lack the confidence, foresight, vision, enthusiasm, and drive that would normally make me confident. Where did that all go? I can’t blame it on my parents and my upbringing. I can’t blame it on my church that was structured in such a way that I was always beneath and made to feel the junior role. I can’t blame it on people who criticize me rather than encourage me. None of these situations have changed from the day I was born. For some reason, I changed and I began to doubt myself. However, I never doubted God and His power. I never doubted that God was real and present. Yet, the fact that I’m so seperate from realizing the confidence that I have in Him makes me consider that the real battle might be raging in my relationship with Him with my self image at stake.

I am in a rut. These days, my conversations and arguments with Cristine are, for me, my litany of excuses, apologies, and frustrations. I have nothing nearly close to counterpoint her very observant and accurate comments. I don’t ever win, but it’s not that I really ever had a chance. She’s got me dead to rights. Also, I don’t have too many people to turn to these days. I don’t spend that much time in church any more. I don’t know anyone else at other churches. I don’t even see my non-Christian friends which wouldn’t help in this situation. However, it’s just that I feel somewhat alone. Maybe that’s good. Recently, God took away my laptop. God took away my distractions from leaving church early. God took away my capacity to sin in the ways that I used to. God wants something out of me. And, despite the rut that I’m in, God’s making a way to get it. However, it sucks to be in a rut.

I realize that I cannot go on the way that I have been since I came back from Africa. I feel like such a hypocrite to talk of Africa but then to talk about the above. However, this is what I need to come to terms with. God is intending that people like me change in order to show that He is God and that He makes real changes in real lives. I would like to sign up to be the first in line to experience that for the glory of God.

Although there are many lessons that I learned through my experience in Ethiopia, tonight I want to share a snapshot out of my four weeks and describe the radical lesson that I learned from it.

When we left Chicago, our team was on a rotation of travel, ministry, and tent life. We spent a couple days traveling from Addis Ababa to the Dorban Gumuz village. There we stayed about three days and then traveled again–this time to Bere Bere Wich. We pitched our tents and stayed there for about three days. By the second week of this, I became excited for the prospect that we would be staying in Pawe for five or six days without leaving. This was a nice break from the quick turnover of travel, pitch, minister, and pull. I finally felt like I could make myself at home. I was willing to get as comfortable as I could–well, as comfortable as anyone staying in a tent with two other men can get. So, when I unpacked, I took clothes out of their ziplocks and began to lay them out, I put my books out on the floor, and I even began to organize my video cassettes next to my sleeping bag. I thought of it as my home here in Pawe and for what it was worth, it gave me some solace.

The evening of the third day of ministry, we had no evening program planned and looked forward to a supper listening to our translators’ testimonies. As medical ministry ended, the ubiquitous Ethiopian rain began to fall. However, this was not common rain. The metal roof clanged a deafening ring from the rainfall. Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets and buckets. Pastor Reggie called on the guys to go check on the tents so see if they were okay. With rain jackets on, we hurried to the tents. A couple things about the tents. Unlike the last two places where we were on a mountain side for the most part, in Pawe, we were in a low land area, pitched our tents in a former corn field next to the church, and the land we were on had a concrete foundation around it anticipating the building of a new church sanctuary on site. This combination of factors contributed to the eventual problem at hand. So as we arrived under the tarp of the first tent, it was clearly flooded under at least an inch of water. After someone began to look inside and saw that water had begun to leak inside, Pastor Reggie yelled over the sound of the rain hitting the blue tarp, “we have to pull the bags!” He signaled for me to begin the process on mine and the others’ tents. As I hurried back into the rain, I thought about my clothes. I thought about my books. And then I thought about the video cassettes all laid out on the floor of my tent–open to the elements, unprotected from flood water. And just that quickly, I heard God speak the only true rebuttal to my concerns: Jeremy, you let the tent pegs dig too deep. At this point, I realized that God was trying to teach me something. I see that my life has gotten too comfortable–and I’m not talking about in my tent. God began at that moment to challenge me. Were the tent pegs of my life so firmly set in America, in teaching, in technology, in myself that I was not willing to pull up stakes in my life and serve Him. See, in an instant, God has the power to wash it all away and start me from scratch. If I were to lose it all, I’d have nothing (especially in the backdrop of Ethiopia) except for God’s provision alone. In that split second, I knew I had to trust God if he were to take it all away, and yet still worship and serve Him. In the next split second, I knew that this trust had to extend to my current life past this summer.

Peter, in his first letter calls the believers “aliens and strangers in the world” while Paul writes to the Philippian church reminding them that they are citizens of heaven. I believe that these passages have a new meaning for me as I am beginning to come to terms with my citizenship and loyalties. I’ve always wanted to serve God, particularly in technology where I feel God has blessed me with some skills. However, I knew that even though this could take me beyond my comfort zone, I have been indecisive about committing myself to go where God might call if I didn’t like it. During this trip, I saw the harvest that needed the workers. The picture in my mind is of young Ethiopians with short-wave radio receivers tuning in and listening to anything they heard in their language across the transmission spectrum. This happened from village to village and even in the city. These people wanted to hear something, anything. But God wants to speak and tell them something. It was as if the Lord of the Harvest put out a job vacancy for a radio engineer in Ethiopia. Did you know that there are no Ethiopian Christian radio broadcasts that are currently transmitted. Christian transmissions currently come out of Kenya. Who might be willing to leave the comforts of home to take up the call and serve God by leveraging this medium to bring the gospel to those with a hungry ear? It’s one of many pictures of this harvest we saw in Ethiopia.

Today, I cannot say with certainty what my life has in store. However, God has presented me with the most profound question to ponder: Jeremy, have the tent pegs of your life dug down too deep? Are you willing to pull up stakes and follow Me? And maybe we all are being asked this question in one way or another. But whatever form this question takes in a person’s life, I pray that we would all respond in a way glorifying to God.

Today was the first day of real ministry. Man, am I dog tired. I lead the crowd VBS warm-up. It was pretty funny. Little by little I tried to incorporate sounds and motions. After it got too crazy, I stopped everyone to take a deep breath—that break was for me more than the kids. =) During one set, I started doing dance moves and techno sounds. Hilarious! We then went right into Making Melodies. That went okay, I suppose. However, by then, I was so tired that I could not go on. Praise God, Cynthia took over to do Cast Your Burdens. That sapped me for so much energy. We did that song and then went into our skit which went well. I don’t know what they necessarily get out of it even though there was an interpreter. Afterwards, we did a butterfly as our craft. It turned out quite cute. Many of the kids actually held on to it for the rest of the day. I did not see it disposed of on the ground. Finally, we played games. Well, actually only one… Hot Rock. It was cool. We used my Amharic translation book. It worked out just fine.

[Another flare-up of the storm, and I killed a tick on the lantern]

We took a break and hung out by medical before lunch.

[Took another break—went outside to check tents, took a pee, cleared my finger nails (sort of), cleaned up my corner of the tent and food, getting ready to go to bed]

At the medical stop, all the kids were station, all the kid were still there, so of course, we still had to play. The girls were entertaining some of the younger one with the butterfly. I sat with some of the older boys and tried to get them to teach me a game. They eventually taught us two Gumuz games. One was a variation on the game “Duck, Duck, Goose” and the other is a variation of tag. Both games seemed to be called “circuit,” but I doubt it. “Duck, Duck, Goose” went the same except that instead of tapping the person, you drop a towel behind the person. They then have to hit you with the towel or throw it at you. You can also continue dropping the towel as you go on. If you’re hit, you end in the middle—like the cookie jar. The other game looks like bases of safety—well, maybe not. It’s tag along the lines of a circle with crosshairs. You have to stay on these lines or you’re out. I was out on both games very fast =). This was probably the best part for me. I told the one guy there that they can teach us if we can teach them. Pastor Reggie even said, “we are your friends.”

After that I was mentally drained. Then came the ugly part—Missionary Lee came over to me and said, “time to kill the goat.” Woah—grab the video! “No, you kill the goat.” That part, I wasn’t quite as ready for. I watched Steve try, but he only slit and cut the skin and hair. Ato Teshome said to finish. I watched in horror when he took the knife from Steve and cut clean through the neck. Unfortunately for the goat, the blade was not sharp enough and he could not sever the neck. Yet, with head dangling, the blood poured out of the poor goat’s neck. I’m normally not queasy, but after such a hard day of being on my feet and with the kids (and I’m sure it doesn’t help that all these people in Iraq are getting beheaded), I was in need of a good walk to calm my senses. Ato Teshome and some other of the Gumuz men helped skin, cut, and prepare them meat to be washed. That was our job. Steven Jon, Pastor Reggie, Missionary Lee, and myself took up this task. However, by that time, I got lunch, a break, and the flies were worse than the thought of eating goat. It was just meat to be cleaned. We eventually ate it with a mixture of salt, soy sauce, and garlic. Wow! Want goat for dinner? I’ll take some—it’s sitting here in the tent =). That’s when it rained and had to come back into the tent where now we’ve been for over three hours. It’s pretty much a night.

Medical was amazing. Matt saw so many people today. He wanted to see them all since they came from so far and it had not started to rain. We tried to shut down for a couple hours, but Matt kept going. I know he has the right heart and so I give him credit and don’t knock him at all. He seemed to be doing very well under the pressure. I got a chance to pray for a few patients and those were powerful times also. I really hope and pray that they will see Jesus in all of this. I agree with Pastor Reggie that we will need to return to this area. Praise God that now, there is an evangelist from the neighboring village who is Omomanea, but speaks Amharic and Gumuz and Omromaneo. He prayed for all the patients also. He’s sleeping in the next tent. It really would be awesome to have a church built in this village for them to learn about Jesus. And isn’t that what we’re here for?

On a personal side, I think I regret losing my hat on the plane more than ever. My head is definitely getting sunburned and the back of my neck also. It’s not good. I’ll be peeling any day now. I will have to resort to sunscreen so I don’t fry myself.

I don’t think I miss home as much as I miss being able to tell Cristine about everything I’m seeing and experiencing. I bet that the same was for her also when she was here and I wasn’t. It’s hard to explain all my feelings and thoughts and fears and joys and pains and everything that happens all at once on paper or on video. However, I hope to cherish this time in the depths of my heart—in the same area I keep Cristine so we can have it together, eventually.

Today was an interesting day. We started in Addis Salem where we ate breakfast and then took a car ride out about 2.5 hours north across a controlled bridge that crosses the Nile River. No pictures! Praise God that the Ethiopian government had build some relatively nice roads that saved us from (potentially) a 6 hour hike carrying bags. However, by God’s grace, the Land Cruiser was able to ride as far as this village that we are now camped at.

Just like everywhere we went, the people came out to greet us and watch us. We really are the road show exhibition. Even as we pitched our tents and ate dinner and everything, we are watched with unbridled curiosity. We let them come close and chat. Not many who…

[fell asleep]

[fell asleep]

In Leviticus, the things they did are real. Real cattle was slaughtered, sheep were slayed, birds had their heads twisted off. Blood was spilled. I’m sure that it was everywhere. It reminds me of the movie where the soccer team go stuck in the mountains and ended up having to eat the dead passengers to survive themselves. Blood splattered everywhere. If this is true–which all were–Jesus suffered a true and real suffering for me. He ministered to people desolate and poor, urban and rural, hungry and content. Yet He truly did it. He endured the torture, pain, blood, whipping. Yet, He did it. I follow a real God. I follow Jesus who still lives. He still provides. Jesus still loves me. He still loves His people. As I sit in this mud walled church, it is as raw and real as it gets. Kids running around in bare feet. People lugging sticks as if it was their greatest possession–it may well be. The dirt and the bugs. Jesus is as real as I see. His blood truly splattered for me. He was slayed to make atonement for all my sins. A perfect and sinless man, not only could have cast the first stone, but even took her place/took my place and died for me.

Thank you Jesus for the beginning of this trip. Day one (or two or three) has already opened my eyes. I truly pray that, more so than the simple getting by (complaining, arguing, etc.), I want to truly see your heart God. I want to know what you are doing in the huge growing world beyond my American shores. I know that you are with me and that this is just the beginning of getting ot know God again.

* Miracle #1: We survived the ride through the mountains.

* Miracle #2: I found my flashlight this morning in my bag.

Back on board the plane. I’ve been struggling with my testimony for the last four hours. Every time I try to attack the topic, I realize that it’s full of Americanisms and Western nuance. It’s so frustrating.

On the team side, it’s really good getting to know and joke around with the other team members. During this leg of travel, I have talked with Kim and Sae-Rom for good chunks of time. Steve and I also bonded while walking in Hyde Park. Again, I’m thankful for the fellowship and good people to work with.

I’m trying not to think about home too much. A couple times I realized that I was brainstorming for my curriculum. I’ve got to stop doing that and just be focused on this moment of time on this mission trip. I do miss Cristine and everyone else. I wish her and I could have shared this experience. A year separation will have to do. I’ve only read her card to me once–I mean, twice.

Time to get back to testimony.

I cried through the entire service. I cried even during our prayer meeting in the basement. I cried through worship and could not keep it together during the presentation. We sang “Lord Most High,” did the Burden Skit, and sang “Lord Bless You and Keep You.” Pastor Ron was in the front and cried in the front. I looked at him and could not keep myself together. When the elders came to lay hands on me, Pastor Ron and Reg Harris prayed over me, laying hands, commissioning us. I truly felt that God was coming over us for this mission, this work, this ministry. God was with us. God is with us.

In a last minute thought, I had people sign my Bible to give me some thoughts of encouragement. I didn’t realize how important those words might be for me. I was thankful for their words. Cristine wrote me a card on her own. That was touching and sincere. I’m so glad to have her in my life.

When I say that she is my inspiration, it’s true. I truly believe that we, this team, is following up on the pioneering work laid down by her team. I owe that to her. Also, with her having gone last year, she knew how to help me prepare and understood the training and preparation that went into it. She was so encouraging. I think that she’s right–she is more prepared this year to let me go then last year in going herself. It’s true for me too. I truly thank God for her and her support and love.

I also have two of the best prayer partners. Dave is a true brother in Christ, praying for me and sharing my burdens. He is a man with pain, but with resolve in Jesus and His grace and His love. Dave, being almost my twin in spiritual/chronological age, we have a spiritual bond that I’m so thankful for. Jarvis also is a true brother. I saw his excitement in last year’s prayer meetings and I knew that I wanted him to be praying for me. Even now, I saw him saying that he was so excited that we were going, as if he was going also. Both these brothers are in my heart. And I know, I am in theirs.

One final thought. I have to finally admit that I’m a little scared. The food. The terrain. The geopolitical dangers, the Christian persecution issue. It’s all beginning to sink in for me. Kinda late to back down, however, I truly feel that I could not be this resolved without the grace that only God poured and continues to pour down on me. Surrender will be my only coping mechanism. I have no one and nothing else that I can turn to or depend on. If nothing will teach me dependence, praise God for sending me to Ethiopia.

1. I realized early this morning that my tax refund came in. I went to bed knowing that if I tried to apply that money to some payments I was planning make in my tired condition, I’d make a mistake. So, I went to bed instead. This morning, I was able to get my act together, look at my actual financial situation, get the numbers exactly correct, and then paid off my last credit card and last car payment. WOO HOO!!! It’s OVER! After a long battle with debt, I have finally hit a major milestone. Today a HUGE monkey has finally been lifted off my back. I praise God for this. I also am thankful to everyone who have helped keep me on track for this beginning even as far back as 2000. It’s been a long road, but praise God, I’m here today!

2. Today, I also went over to WMBI (AM 1110-Chicago) to volunteer. Last week, I was beginning to prepare myself to do the engineering for the 12n show, Pulso Latino. However, because of a little mix up, I didn’t do the show. So, this week, I mentally prepared myself. Praise God! The nervousness didn’t screw me up and I went ahead and made really insignificant mistakes. I didn’t have the break music up right away and I started the reentry music one second too early. Minor, but this is a network broadcast show that’s picked up around the nation. That’s right, today, I engineered my first nationally broadcast show. It’s not much when you think of it as a small room in the middle of Chicago with people talking into microphones. However, there are really people around the country listenting, responding, and being turned to God (hopefully) by it. Wow. I also engineered the 2p show, Linea Biblica where I went ahead and made a few more mistakes. But, again, praise God. I received some insight into the term Elohim–it’s the first time I almost completely understood a response to a question. Did I mention that I don’t really speak Spanish?

3. This morning when I woke up, I should have stayed in bed for a couple more hours to get some more rest. However, I couldn’t help but be awake. After wrestling back and forth, I finally decided that I need to start the day off correctly. I got up and read my Bible. I’m so excited now because I am literally 8 chapters away from completing the entire Bible for the first time. That is to say that when I finish these last 8 chapters, I will have read every word (translated in NIV) that is in the Bible at least once. This is another huge monkey that has been waiting to come down. I’m not sure how it’s going to happen just yet. I’m running out of time tonight to do it, but I am determined to finish the remaining chapters this weekend. Now, I realize that someone out there is saying, “that’s pathetic Jeremy–it’s taken you how long to read the Bible?” To this I respond,

“The Holy Bible is the longest book I have ever read in my entire life. I hate reading. I missed field trips as a child becauase I refused to read books that book reports were eventually due for. Reading is labor intensive to me. I need to read things over and over and over. I’m so slow at reading that it takes me about 3-5 times as long as a normal person to read the same material. For me to finish reading the Bible, even after the length of time I took to this task, is a sign of strength and determination that could have only come from God. Really, only God could have encouraged me to read so much–and what better book?”

Praise God that He wants to keep working on me and filling me up with His Word.

4. In progress over the last couple weeks or so, I finally was able to figure out some of the significant code that exists on my church’s website. After the previous webmaster left, I have not really been able to do much work on it. When I finally took charge of the project, it was hard to back-engineer the work. Today, I finally have a semi working beta design. It’s not going to be the final thing, but it’s going to be my transition site to attract current users to more fully utilze the website. Another friend is coming up with the new design on his own. However, the code is finally beginning to make sense to me. Wow. Praise God for this! I hope that this will help me with ideas for my forthcoming Track & Field website. I love seeing God work in my life–sometimes slowly, but almost always methodically and logically.

5. Finally, it’s revival weekend at church. Usually, I have a bad attitude about these things. I usually have to work or video tape or record. I did bring my video cameras and still photography camera. However, I realized that there were two other brothers who were already tapped to take footage. I went to the other side of the sanctuary to get some alternate angles instead. However, with the full weight of pressure off me to take footage, I was really free to worship and be a part of the revival. I found myself in the usual dilemma–do I raise my hands or do I turn on my video camera. I thought about it and raised my hands, closed my eyes, and chose Jesus instead. Wow! And, if you know me, that’s huge. God really wanted me there for more than to take footage. I was there to meet with Him and to get this message about temptation and how I need to really recognize how dangerous it is in my pursuit of God. Tonight, I get another night of this. More God, less of me.

It’s a good day. It’s still a good day. Of course, I wish she was here to share it with me. However, we all receive from God in His timing and His wisdom. I’m more than happy to share the blessings with her when we see each other again.

Praise God!

Prayer helps. I realized that coping with the sin in my heart, I needed to give up and surrender to God. That is, in prayer. It’s hard because what comes to mind often is that blessed are those who are pure of heart–they will see God. Man, no wonder prayer is hard for me often. I’m not so pure in heart. Yet, this is exactly what I need to continue to pray through. And, I will say that it has really helped me cope and deal. It’s not about Cristine. It’s not, per se, about me. It’s about God. This week, that’s been my goal. And so it was…

Last Saturday, I experienced something that I feel like only could have come from God. I got my first opportunity to engineer a radio broadcast. I engineered the show Linea Biblica. It’s a question/answer show with a Bible professor on Radio Esperanza (AM 1110, Chicago). Given, I did make a lot of mistakes. I blew hanging up on a caller. I screwed up the exit music–twice. I didn’t do the faders well. However, I was complemented on the good work by the program director. However, I get the feeling that maybe he just wants to avoid coming in on weekends. =) Either way, I feel like God has called me to that ministry for this time to train and prepare me for something else. Meanwhile, I’m forced to learn Spanish, radio, and working with Christians outside of my church. It’s probably the best thing I’ve done in a long, long time.

Speaking of Spanish, at this particular time, I’ve gone through about half of the Spanish classes in my continuing education class at Harold Washington College. I’m not learning a lot of noun vocabulary. However, what I am learning are verbs and verb constructions. I have to admit though, it’s been good so far. It’s hard to remember everything, but probaby in time, I’ll get better. Again, I definately see the hand of God working all these things out for His glory. Perfect timing.

What was not such good timing was the little tumble I took on my staircase on Tuesday. The landlord has failed to keep up with ice. There still is a nice slick layer of ice on the handrail and some on the knee.

I guess I’m just coping. The inevitable seems to be closer and closer. Yet, life continues to move on. I suppose it’s not that I haven’t seen encouragement for me today. I’m just pretty far down, so it’s effects are minimized.

God knows what He is doing. I ought to simply trust.

Coping. Coping. Coping.

Realizing that no one reads this blog, I feel free to describe this quickly–that is, the change at my “ground zero” and the realization that my world is different even without the benefit of the time it takes to create ripples.

The first of two forces that has effected me this week is that of new revelations at work. This week was the first time that I was given any real information about the financial workings of my job. This week was the first time that someone asked and dialogued with me about my self-written curriculum. This week was the first time that I realized that I’ve been played as the fool for the last 2.5 years, left in the dark, and been sacrificed for the sake of saving money for someone else, the sake of someone being able to say they have something over me, the sake of not rocking the boat that leads to retirement. Structures that should have been in place to protect me from falling between the cracks were never there in the first place. Professional relationships that are supposed to be conduits of information were ignored and left fallow. I didn’t even know I was getting screwed over. I didn’t even know what questions to ask. Which, by the way, I realize is the key to growth in any area–asking questions. See, in life, it isn’t having the answers that make you smart. It’s having the questions, knowing what to look for, and going out to find the answers that makes someone smart. Well, if that’s the case, I’m the village idiot. I believed what people told me and didn’t know any better.

This entire week has been a recovery week for me at work. I’m trying to catch up on 2.5 years of no information. I’m trying to catch up on 2.5 years of lost money in line items. I’m trying to catch up on 2.5 years of playing with computers and trying to convert what I have left into teaching computers to students. I’m trying to keep up with the realization that I’m not really an adult, but a big kid who showed off skills that everyone was impressed with yet had no substance at all behind it.

Did this come from out of nowhere?

Then, last night, I received a phone call. I opened with an apology for being a stupid nag to her from our dinner a couple hours ago which otherwise was a pleasant time of celebration for me and my first steps of overcoming issues at work and of pre-celebration for her sucesses at her work for this week. She accepted my apology and then stated that she could not go on with our relationship. “You mean, that’s it?” I said incredulously. She paused, but only briefly, and said, “yes.” We are 354 days into our relationship–11 short of a year. We both have been changed by our relationship–I claim for the better, she claims otherwise. Not that there was nothing ever good about us, she claims. However, she cannot bear to continue with the deluge of minor differences and the overcoming of certain sins we unfortunately share. I ask her to consider God’s grace. She talks about that we’ve gone too far. I ask her to find something specific to work on. She feels its overwhelming. I ask her how I can make it better. She says that we’ve both tried hard enough. I asked her to not give up. She says that maybe its time to do just that–give up.

“So, that’s it?” I ask again. She doesn’t give me a different answer. “Can we wait until we’re in person if you’re officially going to dump me?” I plead. She agrees to that. “So, if officially, we’re not broken up, then I can still tell you that I love you.” She responds, “it’s that symantic?”

She says she’s been struggling with this for a while, but has held her tongue. Yet to me, it’s really out of nowhere.

I had a rough night sleeping–if you can call it that. I prayed, tossed, flipped over, prayed, read my Bible, prayed, tried to cry to let it out but couldn’t, tried to forget the whole thing but couldn’t, and eventually realized that God is in control. My prayer stopped in being a request to make things right, per se. I did pray for forgiveness and mercy. However, I also prayed that God would soften my heart to whatever he has planned for me today. This morning, I must be (I don’t have a choice) submitted to the will of God. And, if the will of God is that this relationship (that I have all the while believed was from Him) is simply over, then I would accept it. Also, if it were to be that God would salvage it, He would provide the open door. It’s clear that anything I do or say to her will have very little to no effect. Only God can save.

This is my week. I don’t think it gets worse than this.

Unfortunately, now, I have reached a different point in my life in which I find myself alone. It’s different from before in the greater sense of the word different. That is, it’s more of a professional issue rather than a personal issue. Nonetheless, I feel just as much alone, yet need the assistance of a friend or colleague to help me through it. Since I have neither, I have returned to shouting out to the blankness of the Internet to possibly hear the echos of an answer in the ethernet, the switches, the keyboard, the hollowness of my own brain as I empty it of its disheveled contents.

This time, the angst is not towards people in a personal manner, per se. However today, I realized that I have been truly let down for the last three years by the same people I bust my butt for day in and day out (Note: come to think about it, this includes adults and children… sad.). But, whose fault is it that I don’t know what’s going on? It can’t be “everyone’s fault,” so it must be my own. Therefore, I am at a point where I feel stupid, shallow, and abused while only now realizing that this feeling was legitimate for over the last 2.5 years and no one told me. No one told me where I should have drawn the line. No one told me that I was being played for a fool. 2.5 years later, finally I have an idea as to how far I am.

This is what it means to have fallen between the cracks.

Through it all, however, I refuse to be a whiner and am more emboldened than ever to make a run at this life that I’ve lost. I want to regain control of my classroom. I am not under the auspice of someone else’s budget or lack of vision or children’s tactics. I am the teacher. I am the leader. I am the one with the vision. I am the one with the skills. This means more work on my part to do my part. However, I suppose that’s why they call this a profession and why they call me a professional.

Today, I am so much more sure and confident about the future of my girlfriend and my relationship that I’m finally really at rest with us. There’s work to be done yet, but the foundation has finally been set and settled and we, for the most part, can move forward. If it was only that, this would be a tremendous day.

Over the weekend, I became faced with the issue of dealing with a ghost and skeleton of my past. In a lot of ways, I feel like it’s not my skeleton, but someone else’s. However, It’s going to be me to deal with it.

Is it normal for ambulance drivers to be smoking while driving? sigh

I’ve been quite emboldened with my cooking skills lately. Since my last entry I prepared a 21 lb bird for the Arts/Media Team Ministry Thanksgiving Dinner. That was quite a hit! Thank God! Tomorrow, I test my culinary skills again on a 7 lb turkey breast for a smaller meal. It’s really so fun to cook.

I suppose there are more things to say, but for now, I have other things to do…

I had a meeting to plan out the next few weeks for the 7th grade bible study/prayer group. It went really well. The only sad part about it was our realization that we don’t have too many weeks left before Christmas. There’s a no school day, there’s Thanksgiving, and then there’s the play. Fortunately, we can meet on the day of the play. However, I will be in Wisconsin at a church leaders retreat. We have to talk about Thanksgiving. We must talk about the true meaning behind Christmas. There’s not too many more weeks to fit in other topics. However, with the few we have, I have the fortunate privilege to prepare a study on “not picking on each other.” This should prove to be interesting. Off the top of my head, I can’t come up with any scripture that directly addresses it. I’ve asked some friends, and they’ve come up with some ideas. We’ll see how God leads this week. It’s going to be quite a challenge since I’m so busy this week and the study is on Thursday, not Friday.

My roommate had the TV on in his room, and he was watching Fear Factor. How insane! Really, $50,000 is a lot of money. However, for what they are doing… I dunno. The thought came to mind, as I’m sure it goes through everyone’s mind… Would I do that? Really? Eat beatles alive? Put my head through cow eyes to pick out cow hearts with my teeth? Now, would I do it for $50,000? Dunno? The bigger question, though, is would I do it for Jesus? And here is where the rubber meets the road, eh?

People were willing to do all the crap for money. Are Christians, let alone ME, willing to do half that for Jesus? I think about those darn Mormons. They are so willing to look stupid with that tag on, knowing that a lot of people look down upon them. They also endure being called Elder. I mean, it’s like their first name. Well, it practically is. Then, they pack their schedule every day with appointments to evangelize. Now, if I know my evangelism, that’s hard stuff. And, it includes a lot of “rejection” per se. Yet, they are willing to do anything. How about me?

Am I willing to try foods from different cultures? On Friday, I had Turkish food (sort of). It was sort of Mediterranean, but not as good. I’ll have to try it again. Maybe I should go out and have Indian food. Maybe I should have hot Korean food. Maybe I should try something new in my life. There’s the first step in appreciating other cultures. On Friday, I was so mezzmerized by the African drumming. I mean, it was so cool. However, it points to more than just music. It’s an entire culture that’s being revealed slowly to me. This is the kind of exposure that I need. I need to go and make these things part of my experience. Again, these days, it’s all aobut taking risks. I believe that this has been good so far, but there’s a long way to go.

Tonight, I hung out with a new guy at our church. He and his wife told story upon story–good too, fortunately. I tried to come back with good ones of my own, but it was getting late and we were all just a little too excited to talk. When I got home, I continued to hang pictures on my wall. I broke the glass in the big frame, but put the pictures up anyway. I dunno. Is this my way of coping with this slow-burn depression?

It’s really depressing. Today, I didn’t talk to her. I believe that she thinks I don’t have a problem, but I do. In fact, I’m pretty pissed off. However, what does it matter if I’m mad or happy or whatever? If we don’t communicate, it really doesn’t matter. Here’s the further sad part–there’s no one to talk to about this. I can’t really vent to anyone. My friends that might actually be willing to listen are all people that she wouldn’t want me to talk to about it. That rules out just about everyone at church. However, if I talk to people who aren’t at church or not even Christian, it’s worse–they just don’t understand the culture well enough to make an informed response. In fact, this blog is just about the only place I can vent and talk out my problems. I know that I can pray. God right now wants me to focus on Him: who he is, who am I, etc. However, to understand my circumstance and cope with my issues directly, I’m still waiting for an answer.

Again, I don’t know who reads this. I’m assuming that no one does since before I really came back into blogging, I was getting one or two hits a day which was my current roommate and myself. If you are reading this, then God bless you for caring. If not, well, then I’d probably say, good for you. You have a better life on your own than to have to messy that up by thinking about mine.

I do have a Xanga page now. However, I have nothing on it. It’s just there so I can give eProps to my stuents. I’d like to use it and get accustomed to it, however, I have no idea what I’m going to write about or use it for.

Again, I’m all about finishing. This week, I’m going to try to live off of about $5 through Thursday. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but by God’s grace, I won’t use my Discover card. I will also complete my grades this week right on time. I have no doubt.

Thank God that’s not exactly the case. Today I read about 15 chapters of the Bible at Borders on State and Randolf. What a neat Borders–that is, sitting on the ledge overseeing the street from a second floor window. Prophesy is so hard to read. I much prefer history. Again, I’m all about finishing these days. I want to finish the Old Testament by December. I’m also reading Boundaries, which i read another chapter today also.

I suppose that I could grade papers, but I’m kinda liking this reading thing right now. My roommate is gone for now, so I think I’ll just eat and read for the evening. I don’t have plans tomorrow, so I can grade and sort then.

Has Blogger become my only listening friend?

One thing I realized with my girl is that for me, I look at the world with this unpredictable nature, but look at it as good. New challenges excite me. Different people energize me. A shock to my system always causes me to grow. However, for her, something unpredictable is looked at with anxiety. Something unpredictable means it’s out of her immediate control to make palatable for her consumption, something unpredictable is something bad–like a car crash. And that’s a bad thing. I guess I look at our relationship as my favorite song that’s coming on the radio. Oooo! This one’s the remix! For her, it’s a car crash waiting to happen, and when it does, she gets out of the car and tells me that she told me so.

I hope we can resolve this. I hope we can understand this. I hope she turns on the radio and really listens–it could be her song.

When I got started, I met these two guys who had name tags that said, “Elder _______, The Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints.” Mormons, eh? Through the day, I wanted to get to know these guys and see what they were about. They were hard workers and we served side-by-side swimmingly. However, there was a moment when I realized that I was dealing with something huge. Let me explain it like this.

In the audio book called “All Too Human: A Political Education” by George Stephanopoulos, he describes his time as close advisor to President Bill Clinton during the 1990s. He often talked about his feelings of inadequacy when looking at the enemy of the Republican party. He’d say, “They are vicious. They’re professionals.” This is the way I felt like working along side of these Mormons. They were professional. Within the Mormon faith, they target 19-24 year olds to strongly consider (although, apparently, not mandate) going on a two year long mission. Most of their work is in doing door-to-door evangelism, follow-up evangelism, and teaching. Other spare time is given to community service. All Christians should be doing this. However, the Mormons have it down. These two guys came in with name tags. They didn’t dilly-dally and went straight to help: “What’s next?” And when one of the guys got the chance, he took this 8th grader to the side and began to talk to him about being a Mormon. The kid was a Catholic and the best that I could come up with was “I’m not a Catholic anymore.” As I cleaned one of the church pillars, I looked up and saw this verbal interaction on the other side of the church, my headache from the night before of drumming, and possibly from the one beer I drank, caused me to take pause and repent right there.

Aren’t I supposed to have an answer prepared when anyone asks a question? Aren’t I supposed to have the TRUE story of salvation? Aren’t I supposed to be there because to love of God has drawn me to serve my community and my people? Yet, what was going on? I was experiencing a mild hangover, wiping dirt off a Catholic church alone, watching Mormons evangelistic right in front of me, and me, completely unprepared to do any sort of ministry. I suck. I repented while submitting myself to at least do a good job in cleaning the pews where worshipers will come tonight to pray and sing. Only God saw that exchange today. Only God knew how to anger me so much at myself that I became disgusted at the person I’ve become as I’ve taken steps to run away from Him. Only God could work things out in this week to again drive me to Him.

One other thought about the Mormons. I asked the one guy how they ended up there serving that project. He said that he got a call from the head person at Block Club Federation to come and help out. So, they came. That’s really interesting to me. See, they offered themselves to be available to do service in the community. He didn’t call–someone called him. What saddens me is that in my church, it takes a HUGE amount of planning to get people together to serve. That’s problem number one. Then, even when it is planned, people don’t really want to go. They just go if everyone else is going. Where’s the heart? Who’s going to ask them back. I think about the time when my small group went to Chicago Christian Industrial League. We had a great time serving. However, although they offered to have us back, they didn’t say, “we’re going to call you when there’s something up.” See, the way I see it, why would they waste their time with people who aren’t really committed? So I agree that the closing statements should not be “we’ll call you,” but rather, “just call us if you want to come back.” We never returned. This happened with Cornerstone, R.E.S.T., and Habitat for Humanity. We just are not committed. Worse, we’re not really dependable to bring people together to serve. I don’t even have to look outside my own church walls to see that, unfortunately. So who, in their right mind, would ask for help from us? Call the Mormons; they’ll show! This really is sad. I’m too much of a man who desires to have integrity. I desire to be dependable. I desire to be sincere. Yet, the people that I thing are my support network aren’t and have proven themselves to be so.

I realize that I’m not the kind of person who wants to be bothered all the time to do other people’s stuff. This is the whole setting boundaries thing. I’m still with that. However, I do accept that it is flatterty that many people ask me for assistance because I’ve proven to them that I am reliable to be there when I say and to promise exactly what I eventually will do. And, no matter how much I portray this in my life, the modeling of this goes to waste, in my opinion. Only God who sees all will ever see this struggle in my heart and in my relationships with people. Why am I like this? Why can’t there be an in-between? I wish that there were people who were like-minded as me for this community service stuff. I wish there were people like me who were likeminded in this arts stuff. Sports stuff. Community stuff. City stuff. Life stuff. I thought I found one. I’ll find out later if she’s still willing. Ironic, eh?

I’m going to head off to read and to pick up my ticket to see Lion King for next week. I don’t feel like fighting parking, so I’m going to take the train. However it’ll be good for me. I need this time to reflect, repent, and to prepare my heart to listen to God. I need to begin to rest in His presence again. Maybe then, will I begin to make sense of this life on my own that I’ve begun to live.

Really, this whole thing comes as a result of what I was writing about on Friday. I’ve finally come to the point in my life when I’m really not so willing or wanting to wait around for other people to get involved. If I really feel like something is the thing to do, I’m going to go ahead and do it. I need to take risks again. I need to be challenged again. I need new experiences. I need to get out of my comfort zone and try something new. I’ve been cooped up too long in my happy-go-lucky Christian life. I think I’ve come to the point where I want to err on the side of risk than on the side of conservatism. I want to stop looking at what’s not feasible, but at what is available and possible.

I realize that this is going to take me on a path of aloneness, but has staying on the path kept me on a path of community? I’m not sure it has. In fact, part of this new adventure that I feel like I’m taking is the realization that I might need to find a new network of people who can support and appreciate me, as well as give me a new perspective on life. There are certainly new relationships that are going to be formed today. I hope that these will help me to grow and to see what is out there in the world today.

I believe that Dr. Tony Evans is correct in saying that the leading of the Holy Spirit is not relegated to the circumstances around me. However, in this case today, I want to volunteer. Who God puts me with in doing so, I believe will be the confirmation, not the leading because as far as I’m concerned, I’m already there.

The irony is that I wish people could know and share in this paradigm change of my life. Unfortunately, I believe that this blog might be the only way I can express myself in a public forum to help me think out and work out my thoughts and my understanding. I do have friends, but they will be of the newer variety. Fortunately, I already have some. Unfortunately, there are those who have yet to, but I hope and pray will join those ranks.

Today, I suppose I have some agression to work off. Banging away for 3 hours on a drumhead, although tiring, was so good for me.

Tears On My Pillow

written by Sylvester Bradford and Al Lewis

recorded by Little Anthony and the Imperials

You don’t remember me,

But I remember you

‘Twas not so long ago,

You broke my heart in two

Tears on my pillow,

Pain in my heart,

Caused by you, you

If we could start anew,

I wouldn’t hesitate

I’d gladly take you back,

And tempt the hand of fate

Tears on my pillow,

Pain in my heart,

Caused by you,

Love is not a gadget,

Love is not a toy

When you find the one you love,

She’ll fill your heart with joy

If we could start anew,

I wouldn’t hesitate

I’d gladly take you back,

And tempt the hands of fate

Tears on my pillow,

Pain in my heart,

Caused by you, you

Oh wo wo wo you you

wo oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

Then, as I was driving, I heard the song “The Love Of My Life” by Jim Brickman and Michael W. Smith. Then, I thought, “wait, THIS is the perfect song…” Here are those lyrics:

Love Of My Life

Jim Brickman

I am amazed

When i look at you

I see you smiling back at me

It’s like all my dreams come true

I am afraid

If i lost you girl

I’d fall through the cracks

And lose me track in this crazy lonely world

Sometimes it’s so hard to believe

When the nights can be so long

And gave me the strength

And kept me holding on

Chorus

You are the love of my life

And I’m so glad you found me

You are the love of my life

Baby put your arms around me

I guess this is how it feels

When you finally find something real

My angel in the night

You are my love

The love of my life

Now here you are

With midnight closing in

You take my hand as our shadows dance

With moonlite on you skin

I look in your eyes

I’m lost inside your kiss

I think if i’d never met you

About all the things i’d missed

sometimes it’s so hard to believe

when a love can be so strong

and faith gave me the strength

and kept me holding on

You are the love of my life

And I’m so glad you found me

You are the love of my life

Baby put your arms around me

I guess this is how it feels

When you finally find something real

My angel in the night

You are my love

The love of my life

I’m really just a big sap. I’m an in-love, heartbroken fool.

Dr. Joe Stowell talked about God leading him to obey his command to admit his sin. He didn’t want to. He almost talked himself out of it. Yet, in the end, he did. It was there, in that vulnerable state that God met him and poured down His grace upon that situation and upon Him. God lead him, and he was blessed. This afternoon, Dr. Tony Evans was talking about the leading of God and how you can’t listen to God in a moment of action. Rather, you can hear God when you are at a place of rest. Circumstances do not determine God’s leading, they can confirm it. People don’t determine God’s leading, but they can help you understand it. The situation upon someone could be totally off from what the leading of God is. People may not understand, but you can know that it’s God moving.

Am I at rest? I keep wanting to be, but I’m not, if I’m honest with myself. Yesterday, I determined while working out that I was going to be all about finishing. I finished a reference for a friend. I finished ironing the table cloths. I finished reviewing upcoming races and volunteering opportunities. I have more to go, but I need to make those things a priority. One of these goals is to finish the Old testament by the end of this year. I need to be about finishing. I need to be at rest. I need to get there by completing these tasks, properly pick my battles ahead of me, and come to a rest so I can spend more time with God. That is, I need to really crack open my Bible and read. I need to humble myself and surrender my heart to God in prayer. I need to fight these tendencies to be busy with stuff and to meditate on and think about the Lord and all He is and all He is doing in my life. I’ve been wanting to know God, and more–God’s will in my life. I need to come to rest.

As for other thoughts in the past few days…

I had a good conversation with my sister yesterday on the phone. I realized that it really is okay to not take care of others since I’m not taking care of myself. No one can do certain things for me–eat, sleep, exercise, pray, budget, love Jesus. I have to do these things for myself. I need to stop thinking that if I don’t do it, God won’t work. The reality is that although it might be true that God can use anything and anyone to do His work, I cannot always assume that it’s me. She even suggested that I pray about who I should minister to. I had to think about that for a second… I don’t ever do that. I’ve been so trained to try to reach out to everyone. However, I’ve fallen into a terrible trap in trying to reach out to everyone that comes close. It’s the whole “jack of all trades, but master of none.” That’s me in a nutshell. I’m simply going to have to choose my battles better. I need to set my priorities. No one will set priorities for me. It’s all on me, that is, the state of my own heart. I hate my own heart. It’s time I get radical on myself for once…

The Cubs lost in their bid for the World Series exactly a week ago. There was sadness all-throughout Westmont, except with the Sox fans, but what do they know? I realized that I had gone through a lot with the Cubs and for the Cubs. On the walk home from Goose Island Brewery, I called my girl up and told her about how I was coping–already.

This is not real life. I understand this. I realize that God is teaching me something. I wish I was half as passionate about missions and ministry and prayer and the lost and the poor and etc. As I am about the Cubs.

I have my priorities all screwed up. I have to refocus my life around Jesus again, like it used to be. However, one other thing I learned from that whole Cubs experience was patience.

My girl asked me about how I put up with so much crap from her. She admits that she’s put me through hell over and over. Yet, I continue to come back with more love and affection. She doesn’t understand. Let it be known that I love her very much. However, I think that there’s more. I tried to explain it like this…

When I was a small boy, my grandfather and I watched many, many Cubs games.

See, I’m a born Cubs fan. The 2003 playoff run was me catching up on the many, many years of anticipation that people of my generation missed. I feel like we waited 95 years in a couple weeks. However for me, God’s been preparing me through my life as a Cubs fan to be patient. And by teaching me through being a Cubs fan about patience, so goes my life in general. Throw life at me at 100 mph heat. I might swing and miss; I might swing and foul it off; I might just let it go; or I might just crack one and let it fly. However in it all, I will take it as it comes with the focus of the end in sight. That’s why I have more patience. This is why it’s all part of the life. All the fights, all the disagreements, all the anger, and all the tears come in this package of life that also features joy, understanding, reconciliation, smiles, support, love, encouragement, inspiration, companionship, and synergy. It’s all there together. I seem to find it all there with her. Yes, there is baseball. But God gave me her.

This week’s theme for me, besides finishing has been to just do it. On Monday night I bought tickets to see The Lion King at the Cadillac. I knew that on one would be willing to pay $125 for orchestra seats, so I went ahead and bought them myself. I never do such things alone, but I realized that I can’t sit around waiting for people. So, I did it on my own. Also, I looked at upcoming 5k or so long races and volunteering projects to get involved in for this month and next month. I think I’ve found what I’m looking for. I’m not planning on garnering others to come along. This is a strange thing for me, Mr. Extrovert, who always needs to do things with people. However, I’ve found that I am less radical and less edgy and less experimental when I’m waiting. I need to just go and do it myself. I need to break off these mental chains that keep me from living on the edge because I’m the only one. I AM a loner. I don’t think like everyone else. I am different. However, because I catch slack and because I’m not easily understood and because people misread and/or misjudge me, I try to be a people pleaser–even to please my girl. Is this really being true to myself? Is this really being honest about who I am? I’m really sick of not being myself. In me there’s so much more. I realized this the other night.

She didn’t know that I’m a theatre junkie. I absolutely LOVE theatre. In high school, I was in 6 different plays/musicals. I received the award of Honor Thespian my senior year. I started off my career as a lead actor. I moved from there to be support actor, back up singer, set, stage crew, lighting, sound, stage manager, and general theatre geek. I would organize shows to see with people in high school, and even now. In 1997, I went to New York and saw 3 shows in 10 days of visiting. I always insisted on sitting in the center section of the orchestra seating. So I got 5th row, center for Bring In The Noise, Bring In The Funk in the Ambassador Theatre in New York. Savion Glover didn’t dance that night. I had to wait until a couple years ago when they came to Chicago and I organized a group to go see him tap here. I got into dance because of theatre. Theatre is the natural extension for musicians and singers like me. And in general, my creative side got a huge boost, particularly in performance. Since then I directed a play at the Junior High a few years back and continue to be intrigued by big and small shows within Chicago. Unfortunately, it’s expensive to see shows often and I’ve been too busy to explore this area in my life. I live it somewhat vicariously through my friends in theatre and improv, but it’s not the same. I am a theatre junkie. The world is a stage. I stand in front of my kids every day living it. I just haven’t seen shows lately.

With that realization made in her mind, she finally understood. Too late though. Her season tickets for next year are already purchased. Oh well. I guess it’s another season of theatre without her. However this time, I’m not going to miss out waiting. I’m going to go and experience and be a part of it, even if it’s on my own. Spoken word these days are big. I just went to a poetry slam a couple weeks ago. I want to go again next weekend. There’s small theatre shows that I need to look into. And my friend has his improv group performing again just before Halloween. It’s time for me to be me again.

The other side of my life too needs exploring, and that is serving in the community. The reason I like working in this school district is because it is my community. This is my home. This is where I grew up. I am now giving back to the community in my serving these children and families. However, now I live in Chicago. I want to be able to do the same thing there. Chicago has many areas of need. I’d like to be a part of that. On Saturday, I’m going to participate in Make A Difference Day. I found a project to clean up a church, collect warm clothing and canned food, and to do community work in Chicago. That’s what I’m doing this Saturday. There’s thousands, in fact, all around the country for that day. I cannot sit here and be self satisfied with my circumstances knowing that others could use help. I want to be there and to be a blessing as God has so blessed me. I don’t do this enough! There’s some other days through Chicago Cares that I’m going to consider. There’s some reading programs and CPS programs that I might do. There’s some Greater Chicago Food Depository stuff also, but I’m not sure if I’ll go there again just yet. Regardless, it is ridiculous for me who has “plenty” and to not be able to find time or money to help those with less. This is just not right.

Of course, I would love to have others come with me, but that requires waiting and scheduling and whining and everything like that. And then, even after that, I’m still waiting for them. I’m sick of that. I’m just going to do it. Nothing holds me back except myself, so I’m off. I want to serve. It’s time that I do.

The Mitt Hits The Fan

It describes it all. Hold the phone, the fat lady has yet to sing. All the bar room vulgarity that I had within me had to be squelched for the sake of polite company last night as, before my eyes (and thousands–millions–of other fans around the country), the Cubs went from a 3-0 lead to an 8-3 loss. We were just as in shock as everyone else. Do we still have confidence? I do. I’m heading to Wrigley right after work. And, I’ll lay it out right there… I still believe.

There’s more, but it’s time for lunch…

Today I got accused of being a “butthead” because I did not make an appearance where I could have. I think that if people knew the situation better, they’d know why things happened the way they did. But what’s the point sometimes? Even the most logical minded people will look at the eact situation and disagree. I think I need to find this balance between explaining myself and just not caring what other people think.

I’ve been left out to dry before. I suppose it’s my lot in life. More thoughts on that to come…

My surreal life goes on. Thursday afternoon, as I’m working on a computer at one of my elementary schools, I get a call from a strange number. It’s Gustav Goger, Jr., one of my very best friends from college. He’s still out overseas and just calling to check up. I was completely blown away. He was killing time. It was a good talk catching him up on my strange and weird life. He was bringing me up to speed with his life itinerary. I’m glad to continue to have him as a friend. We’re obviously not as close as we once were, however, at times like this, I’m glad to have more than just a few friends who care about me.

Later that day, I realized that I had a lot of time before heading to Mike’s improv show. So, I decided to get new tires for my car. I’ve been itching to get new tires for a while, and this was a great chance to do that. I got a good deal on Good Year Aquatreads that normally are $79 or so each. I got them for $65 each because the tires I was going to get were out of stock and unavailable. They took about an hour to get them installed. So, for the meantime, I walked over the library to read and catch up. Little did I realize what I was walking myself into. As I perused through the Westmont Library for a comfortable place to read (which there wasn’t) I caught a glimpse of a Filipino woman and her young daughter. I made eye contact and realized, it was my ex-girlfriend’s older sister. Wow, what a pleasant surprise. I knew that she lived in Westmont, but I never thought I’d run into her. She had sent me a Christmas card a few years back, but this was live and in person. So we chatted a bit. She was getting a library card to pick up a book for her sister. “So where is your sister?” “In the car waiting.” Huh?!? I promptly walked out the building into the parking lot. Melissa closed the door and saw me through the rear view mirror. I saw her mouth the words, “Oh, my God.” It was my sentiment exactly. I gave her a hug and we talked for about 15 minutes while her sister went inside to get this book for Melissa. It was a really pleasant surprise. There was quite a bit to catch up on, so we may do that some time later. However, what gets me is that it’s just another example of my surreal life happening before my very eyes. I don’t read into this any further than old friends catching up, but it’s just too weird sometimes.

The Cubs. Guy from class. Ex-girlfriend 1. Ex-girlfriend 2. Buddy for college. Etc. it’s really just too weird. All in the context of my personal life falling apart. I can almost imagine the six-fingered man from The Princess Bride saying, “Isn’t that splendid” in that sarcastic, meniacal way.

One thing I will take away from this week is the fact that life certainly moves on. It’s not just time. Time is just keeps everything in place. However, my life needs to continue to press on. I am not unloved. I do belong. I have a place. I need to fill out my applications. I need to cultivate my relationships. I need to seek opportunities. And I need to grow and persevere and move forward despite the chaos that often surrounds my life.

I thank God that I have hope in my life.

How is it that the Cubs are winning, in the way they do while my life crumbles apart before my eye–and there’s nothing I can do about it. Actually, there’s not much I can do in either situation–just pray. I wish it were different.

In college I was a Democrat, somewhat liberal, but stuck to some moral ethic. I was a little wet behind the ears when it came to life, but wanted to jump in with both feet. Coming out of high school, I wanted to redefine my life. I wanted something of my own. I wanted an identity that was mine. For two years, I was fine. Then, one summer, a friend introduced me to Amway. He started bringing me to meetings and talks and rallys. I heard speaker after speaker talk about money and such. In listening to such groups, I heard a very conservative line. I blurred the line between business and religion to such a point that after saying the Pledge of Allegience, I found ourselves saying the Our Father. It all seemed so fluid and easy and normal. At the end of the summer, I decided to follow up on a leadership conference with COOL. There I got back in touch with the other side of my life–the one I had forgotten about all summer. When I came back from that conference, I had never felt so satisfied and assured that this was the place for me. However, when I came back home and to school, I faced the life I was living that summer–a life of Amway, conservatism, blurred religion. I hit a breaking point.

At the last minute, one guy just about demanded that I go with his small circle of friends for the Labor Day weekend to Atlanta for a big Amway rally. I balked, hesitated, and put off the request. I hid in my room. I had phone call after phone call berate me. This was it. What did I really believe? What was I really made of? Who am I? Am I this conservative business man? Am I this firebrand libral? After the hour of leaving passed, I broke down and called my parents in Westmont to come and pick me up. I wanted to go home for the weekend. I cried the entire 2.5 hour drive home. I had never felt like I was so insecure in my entire life. What was right? What was wrong? Who was I deep inside? I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that since–well, until now.

The issue today isn’t my identity, however. My issue is my stability and the things that I believe to be true and substantial. I need to be able to count on people when they say things. Reliability is one of the most important aspects of a person’s character that I seek. Without it, my general mistrust of people exponentially multiply. When someone says that they’re going to be there, I’m counting on them. When someone says that they are behind me, I believe it. When someone says that they love me, it’s the kind of thing I stick my entire life out there for. It means a lot to me–words. Actions too, they show that the words have meaning. However, it’s the words that sear into my psyche. It’s the words that seep into my being. It’s the words that rustle through my mind over and over and over and over and over.

Don’t ever tell me one thing and then do another. Don’t ever promise something that will quickly change. Don’t ever lie to me.

I can’t handle this anymore. I’m at my breaking point. And, I would cry, but as I wrote earlier in September, I’m already all cried out.

I feel like shit. Remember the dog being kicked around a couple times too much? He’s back for another week.

Somewhat related, the toilet is clogged up and I have to clean it up.

So, because I feel like shit and can’t go to sleep, and because the toilet isn’t going to fix itself of its cloggged shit, I’m heading out to Home Depot to get a plunger and to scream my head off into the night sky.

Note: I don’t use vulgarity in this sense flippantly. I mean it in the truest sense of the word. “Crap” or “Crud” or “Doo-doo” just doesn’t bring the fullest sense of gut-wrenching, low feeling, torturous, waiting-hoping to just die feeling that I have tonight. You might as well lead me into another season of Chicago Cubs baseball with Alfonseca on the mound. You just can’t describe it in nice, clean, proper euphemisms. I apologize to those of you who are offended.

1. the Cubs in the playoffs

2. the mini-high school reunion

3. meeting people on the train

The Cubs

I’m still beside myself regarding the Cubs. The elation hasn’t worn off. Yeah, tonight was a rough night. There was a lot of expection. There was a lot of faith going in with Clement. There was a lot of anguish when Chipper Jones hit a couple out. There was a lot of hope when Sammy’s ball soared towards dead center field. In the end, we lost 6-4 tying up the series 2-2 heading back to Wrigley Field South (Atlanta) for the rubber match. Every win is the World Series. Every pitch speaks of destiny for us. However it’s put well by my friend Tom: “We’ve been faithful. We’ve been patience. It’s time to pass the torch.” We all thought it was going to happen here at home. However, it was not meant to be. Yet, I still believe that there’s a sense in which this is a special year for the Cubs. We’ve all been here before in 1989 and 1998 in playoff games. However, I don’t think we had the feeling like we do now… We can really do this. Atlanta is vulnerable. We’ve already won one in Wrigley South. We can do it again. It’s time. However, I’m still beside myself. I just can’t believe it.

One metacognition about it, though, is what Lori, Chris’ wife said yesterday during game 3. We need to stop thinking that the Cubs winning is strange. We need to begin to realize that winning, for the Cubs, is NORMAL. Really. Winning is NORMAL. We don’t get caught up in the “shudda, woudda, couddas” of the games. As well, we shouldn’t be too presumptuous (and do I know about being presumptuous!). We are here. Game 5 is tonight. It’s not wierd to win. It’s actually very NORMAL. Maybe I should start thinking that way too…

Reunions

The great thing about this playoff week was that my old high school buddy, Tom, decided to come into Chicago to enjoy the home games locally. He drove in yesterday and we went out into downtown to watch the game. In the process, I decided to get a hold of Mike and Chris, other guys from our class that are still around and have all kept in touch. Mike spent time with his wife, assumedly, while Chris and his wife Lori came out to meet us at Harry Carey’s. Sadly, they didn’t feel it was right to let us riff-raff into their fine establishment, so we left and went to the Rock Bottom. That was cool by me. The four of us had a great time hanging out, talking, reminicing, talking about baseball, and eating some darn good food! Turns out, though I’ve seen Chris and Tom repectively on my own, they haven’t seen each other in almost 5 years. It was a good reunion. When Tom and I chat, it’s often a good chance to test my memory and to connect the past and the present. We always have a good time tough. Too bad Mike couldn’t join us. I almost called up Tom from elementary school, but he really wasn’t part of our crew in high school. Oh well.

I’m just glad that after all these years, we’re still connected. Sure, we’re a little older, wider, wiser, tired, and such. However, we’re still friends. We’re still pals. We’re still connected. These are the kind of friends that I like to have, that I’m proud to have.

Train Ride Encounters

Three strange encounters. Can’t really call them all meetings or reunions. However, encounters might work out the best.

I Love Mark Prior is what this guy said over and over and over as we waited on the el stop at Addison late Friday night. He kept saying it over and over. It was hilarious… the first 5 or so times. Then, it was just weird. On the train he was relatively quiet. However, Tom and I continued to comment on this guy. How funny it was! Other passengers smirked while Tom and I just made faces at each other in our silent commentary to the guy in a long trenchcoat with a love that “surpasses understanding.”

Will Parker was a guy, the only Black guy who took the Columbia College documentary class last summer with me. I was on crutches the whole time, but I didn’t think anyone would notice. Well, Tom and I were on the train this morning just chit-chatting when this Black guy got on the train talking on his cell phone. When he finished, he started talking to me. “Hey, did you take a class at Columbia College–a documentary class?” I replied, “Yeah.” He said, “I’m Will Parker, I was in that class.” I remembered him. There were two Wills in the class. He was the Black guy. We had talked during class, but I’d almost completely forgotten about the class by now. He asked me how my leg was and what I was doing with the info I learned last year. I was almost in shock that he remembered. Turns out that he’s in a show coming up in November which I’m anxious to go and see. He’s also writing something for film which will, I’m sure, be a part of my future viewing schedule. Our conversation was cut a little short because we had planned to head to Wrigley for the game, hence our stop being at Addison. However, I do plan on touching base with this guy. I’m really excited about running into him and maybe gaining a new friend in the city.

Sylvia Dominguez was a girl I dated for about 5 months almost 6 years ago. I visited her in New York City once where she lived. She came to Chicago a few times and got together through those times. We had somewhat of an ugly breakup since it was long distance and it was done on the phone. However, what really could be done? Anyway, I know that she really hated me for that, considering that I was her first boyfriend, and for me, I in my immature M.O. at the time, didn’t really care about her and just “got out of it.” I suppose that I really didn’t have to hear it from our mutual friend Jennifer to know she hated me. I just kinda figured. I tried to send her an apology note, but I didn’t hear back from her–didn’t expect to. But that was a long time ago. However Friday was kinda strange.

From watching the game, Tom and I got back on the train at Grand Avenue heading north to Bryn Mawr via Addison where we just wanted to catch a glimse of the party going on after the win. We sat in double open seat on this one car behind a curly/wavy black haired girl. She was wearing a fleecey jacket with a hood. She also had an Eastpack backpack with her. She had the look of a Latina, the one I remember, just a little older. Curly hair. Eastpack bag (which indicates an East Coast origin), and the jacket all pointed to her being Sylvia. As I began to talk to Tom, I began to adjust my conversation to things that I knew Sylvia knew about. I don’t exactly know why, but in a way, I wanted her to know that it was me. I think she knew. As I began to talk, she quickly put away her stuff and took out a notebook and a pen, leaned over it and pretended to write. However, I know that she wasn’t writing anything. Sylvia is a lefty; I could see her hand idle in the aisle. The more I spoke, the more apparent it was. I talked about visiting New York (totally legitimate since we had just seen Chris and Lori for the game). I talked about grad school. I talked about taking the Red Line to Addison where I’d visit a friend in Wrigleyville (our mutual friend Jennifer). I talked about chance meetings on trains (which is the time when Sylvia was leaving the train as Chris and Lori boarded it–same car, same stop, and I just sat there in amazement). In a lot of ways, it was fate to run into her again. I never mentioned her for fear that she’s turn around and slug me (which she’s fully capable of doing). I tried to be careful with what I said. I live in Chicago. I have a current girlfriend. I am still teaching. It’s just enough to be an answer to the question, “What’s up?” I went as far as using my own name in my story. Her dead response with her head down, probably to cover her face, was the sure clue.

To tell you the truth, that is, whoever even cares to read this (by the way, thanks for caring), I’m really sad about it all. This was my most shameful breakup. That is, the one I’m most ashamed about. For her, it meant a lot, and I treated her like crap. I learned a lot of things from that relationship, but not without the cost of this experience in my life–and hers. In a way, I wish I should have used that time to “talk to her” to apologize to her, in a way. However, it was wierd enough as it were. I walked away telling Tom that I’ll probably never see her again. That’s probably true. Yet, I’m still not thrilled with this in my past. I’m different. I wish she could see that. sigh.

My life has moved on. I’m sure hers has too. It was just a chance meeting on the el the day the Cubs won game 3.

We are the KINGS OF THE NL CENTRAL DIVISION!

… and the laundramat didn’t have cable …

… and my roommate is asleep with his door closed …

… sigh …

CUBS WIN! CUBS WIN! CUBS WIN!

I got my passport in the mail yesterday, finally. It’s kind of a strange feeling actually. I can actually leave the country legally and be let back in legally, finally. No more debacles to Canada and back! Whatever! Anyway, to me it means a lot. I think I’ve felt very tied down to things. That is, I feel like I hold back from doing things because legally or pragmatically, it’s not possible. However this opens up another door for me. I can leave the country if I want. Of course there’s getting visas and vaccinations and all that jazz, but like Ron Santo said, “it’s not that we won the World Series today, but we’re there!” And lo and behold, I’m there in at least this sense. Baby steps. Baby steps.

The thing that goes along with my passport is that I paid out about $2250 to my car loan this month. That puts me at about $500 left on my car with only paying off credit cards (about $500) as my only debt left. This is huge! I actually have more money in savings that I do in checking for the first time in my life ever! This is a tremendous step for me. I can actually begin to save money. I can actually “get ahead” in a sense. Again, another hurdle that hold me back, out of the way.

It changes the way I look at life. For example, two weeks ago, I began to try to wear contacts (come to think about it, I still have to pick up my contacts at Lens Crafters because the rest of my order came in…). When I was talking to the woman there, she said that I wouldn’t have to really worry about my glasses that much since I’ll be wearing contacts when I’m doing sports. However, I couldn’t get it into my mind that I could live a life without these glasses on my face. I really had to change the way I look at life–glasses-less. In the same way, I have to change the way I look at life now that I actually have money. For example, I was talking to my friend who had recently gone to Europe. She had some extra money and went overseas. It was a very intense but necessary time of reflection and contemplation for her. She took 5 weeks for herself. I haven’t been on vacation in so long. I suppose that I could blame time as the primary issue. However, I think for sure, I really shouldn’t be blaming money anymore because all the money that I used to pay to debt, actually now goes to savings. That’s over $600 a month. Is that not insane? I have to begin to look at my life starkly differently–I just don’t know how. What am I going to do with this money? But I suppose the real question is: what am I going to do with this life?

See, it’s all these changes along with everything else in my life. I live in Chicago. I am building different relationships with people in this community. I’m out of debt (practically). I’m responsible for Arts and Media ministry and NOT serving in Small Group ministry. I have a legal passport. I have a girlfriend. I am a far different person today than I was at the beginning of July even–far different than I was a year ago. This is my life, and I’ve grown to accept it as my own. The decisions I make are the kind of things that I’ll have to live with irrespective if they are good or bad. That is, I am continually sleeping in the bed that I am making. I am continaully eating what I cook. I am responsible for my life. I am an adult, and I am growing up.

I realize that it’s all a process and that people don’t often change overnight nor quickly. However, as the walls of protection come down externally, I am beginning to see walls of protection internally come down too. Who is this Jeremy that I found? I also realize that I’m not going to please everyone–even the people I love the most. However, life goes on. I can’t be untrue to myself such that God has created me and I am His workmanship. He’s got plans for me. I should live out my life fully and abundantly which will satisfy His will and my destiny. Those things should match up, and I know that I should feel it, know it. Today, I just don’t know. However, I’m sure that God will work things out for His sake. Maybe it’s like this–it’s not just that I need to be accepted by someone else for who I am, but I too need to accept that I am who I am, despite my denials of reality.

Metacognition moment: The other day I was talking with my girlfriend and totally went blank on stuff that I wanted to say to her. I probably incorrectly emphasized that she didn’t let me get a word in edgewise–which was partially true, but probably not the real reason that I forgot. It only promoted my short-term memory. Actually, I think the real reason I blanked out was because of this journaling, if you can believe it or not. I think that the things I want to share with people have been reduced to the “sound bites” of blog entries. Even worse, I’ve reduced the long philosophical thoughts into short jotted ideas on random pieces of paper lying in wait for me to return to them (some day) to flesh out the thought into another pop-culture, pseudo-philosophical idea. In a way, it’s a lot like other people I know (including my girlfriend). They have that one “chosen” person that gets to hear everything that is on their mind. After that, the second person to see them will only hear about it in afterthought. Too bad. Even this teacher I work with at one of my schools had said that if she shares her story with someone, even her husband won’t get to hear the story. In a way, I understand–you just have to be there in the moment. Sigh.

On Sunday, I had the distinct honor to pray the congregational prayer at church. I guess I should look at it like this since about 60% of the people scheduled to pray never show up even though they know a week ahead of time about it. Regardless. As I was preparing for that time, I starting thinking about all the things that no one ever prays for in public but do so privately so fervently. You know, I kinda felt like I could bring some issues to the forefront that continue to simply “hide” in the background of our lives. So, I made sure that I prayed for the support workers of our church. No one every cares about the people clean the floors or wash the toilets or duplicate the tapes or fix the lights or things like that. But I know that God does and does not forget them. Also on my list were notes to pray for young adults at our church who are, who will be, and who have been for a long time in relationships. Well, let’s just say that my prayer for the support workers made it and God prevented a possible social faux pas of my own doing to pray about the relationships. Kinda funny, of course, considering my own relationship that I’d have selfishly been praying for. Again, God protected me–and the church–from my stupid sin.

Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday. Everything went down on Tuesday. I had set dinner plans with a friend that night. We’d already gone through three cancellations and I just wanted to get it over with–Tuesday it was. That night, I get an email from one of my sister’s best friends for a surprise birthday party–Tuesday. C’mon! The email read: I don’t know how you didn’t get on the original mailing list… Whatever. Forget it. I was already planning on going out with my sister as part of a family thing on Wednesday, so I could have looked at it as a choice of the two or going to both. However, because of the email, I honestly felt like not attending the surprise birthday party on principle. They invited everyone besides her two brothers, and us late. Bleh. Maybe I’m overreacting, but in the end everything was fine. Wednesday was great eating out with the family at Pappadeux in Westmont. I explained to my sister the situation, and everyone who has a significant opinion is fine. However, that’s not the end of the story really. That day for me was terrible in a lot of ways. I was so tired that I just wanted to go home. I found out that my dinner plans got canceled, so I had the night free. There was a cross country meet, but I just was too tired. There was sushi with people from work at 5p at Uncle Lou’s, but I didn’t want to be driving home comatose from food. There was my sister’s party, but I knew that I wouldn’t get home until 11p or so. I opted for coming home and working on my grades that were due on Thursday. So, as I pulled away from the start of the cross country meet, I headed home with one thought in mind–peace, quiet, and grades. However, I failed to be so efficient. As I drove closer to my apartment, I kept thinking about doing my work at Borders. However, instead, I got obsessed with exploring the strip mall that Borders was in. I really wanted to find plates and cups for my apartment because of my upcoming Thanksgiving dinner where I’m expecting around 30 people. So, I went to a couple cheap stores in the mall, and the next thing I know, it’s dark outside. And because I wanted to focus on grades, instead of making dinner, I bought Popeye’s chicken. It would be the first time I would have bought dinner for home (as opposed to cooking) since I moved into my apartment. For two months living there, I think that’s pretty good. After eating, I pitched my stuff into the living room, and it was then 10p, the approximate time that my roommate came home to tell me about the party I just missed. How far did I get in my grading? Not very far. I fell asleep on top of my papers at around 1230a or so and retreated in defeat to my bed. A day, totally wasted. Tuesday it was.

Final thought of the day for me is dealing with talkative people. At work I experience this a lot. I tend to be the foil to people after I figure out what a person’s demeanor is for the day. As they change, I adjust my tack. If they’re talkative, I’m quiet listening. If they’re quiet, I try to speak more to add to the conversation. If they’re aggressive, I try to chill. If they are negative, I try to be positive. Well, at today’s Jr High technology meeting, there were two people interrupting each other to speak, and to that, totally to get their across alone. They were not trying to understand; they were waiting for their point to be confirmed or for a chance to say, “here’s my anecdote.” I sat back, annoyed completely. Maybe I need to be more aggressive since I am a part of this committee. However, I think my personality keeps me on the reserve because of the strong personalities already there. The big change this year for me though is that I actually believe that I am just as important a part of this team as the loud ones. I’m a professional. It’s my job. But further, maybe I’m a grown up taking care of my responsibilities. So how do I deal with these talkative people? For now, I’ll just go with the flow. However, I know that it’s only a matter of time when they will really ask for my opinion. I suppose I should be ready to play their game too.

On multiple computer, older mind you, I’ve seen it where the hard drive not only is not recognized, but does not even spin. I can tell because there is a distinctive sound that it makes. A few years ago when I first began encountering this problem, I’d go as far as unscrewing the back of the comuter, take the hard drive out, and then drop it descreely in a corner of the hallway, away from curious young eyes and administrators. However, I’ve gotten lazy. I really can’t explain it another way. Today, I went in, didn’t hear the hard drive spin, tested the computer by booting with a CD, and then prepared for the hit. I turned off the machine and promptly SPANKED the right side rear of the machine–in plain view of children sitting next to me. I restarted the computer to the sound of a tired hard drive spinning for the first time in a while. It’s kinda like spanking a neophile to get it start crying simply to get it to start breathing.

So as I continue to employ the Fonzie Method of IT work here, today, we’ve had some nice simple “wins” to end the week–a week that started off looking more like a “no-win” week for me.

Today was one of those days where you work really, really hard, yet feel like you got nowhere. Today was one of those “no-win” days. Didn’t get anything really “accomplished” or completed here at work. There’s still a lot to do when I get home like writing tomorrow’s quiz, preparing sermon notes for distribution from our pastor, and pray about my life position and direction. Yeah, it’s like everything all at once.

My roommate and I have really clung onto comfort food as a crutch to some of our troubles. I suppose you can say that there’s a lot of depression going on in the apartment. We cook a lot. For him and I, we usually chime, “cooking is theraputic.” It’s also not that we need to eat it. We just like to cook when we’re depressed. It’s funny. I’ll even cook when I’m fasting. It’s just nuts.

I did have one other thought running through my mind lately. I’ll just share this before I hit the road. I’ve been very interested in fire these days. No, I’m not a pyromaniac or an aspiring pyrotechnic. However, I’ve begun a strange interest in watching the way fire works. My latest creation (or destruction, whichever way you want to look at it) was my “bonfire” of matches on a small incense stick holder. It was so intriging to me to watch how the fire might or might not jump from one match to another. Sometimes, it would reach out enough to light another matchhead and WOOSH! a burst of flame again. However, on the flip side, I’d notice the flame just peeter out and die right on the match, just short of another matchhead or match stick. I know that there’s a number of sermons done on the “flames of passion” and how fire is good if kept in the fireplace and not in the living room, per se. However, I’d like to add this thought. Although fire has this overwhelming, consuming nature at times, when it’s small at least, it’s very fragile. It’s very volitile. It has the great potential to simply die without warning. And even the “fanning of the flame” which is supposed to encourage it generally, only serves to put it out more quickly and suddenly.

I’m not saying that in my situation that the flame and fire is out. However, what I do realize today is that the fire is in the volitile state where even a puff of air could kill it. It’s in a state where even the putting on of more wood would actually stop the flame. Now, does this make sense to me? Absolutely not. However, it’s a sobering thought to consider in my life and my situation these days.

I’ve learned quite a bit over the last couple of weeks. Most notably, I believe that I’ve been drawn to an interesting place in my understanding of who I am. I realize that this sounds weird or maybe obvious, but it’s really profound. I’ve come to recognize that I am who God made me, not the void of what God didn’t make me. Often, I don’t make this mistake, however I think I’ve been drawn to this understanding because of my present circumstances.

I believe that people, if they truly love each other, because they love each other, would be willing to give up everything sacrificially for the sake of the other. It goes with an others-centered love. It goes with Jesus’ sacrifice for us. It goes against a selfish “love” that says “meet my needs!” It says, “what can I do for you.” It does require sacrifice. It is a very difficult thing. However, this is the kind of love, agape, committed love that I believe we’re all called to for God, but also for people. However, there is another side to it.

I am God’s workmanship (Ephesians 2:10). I have been created to be who I am. God is preparing me to do things. I am Jeremy Bautista. In a sense, although I might be willing to give up everything for the one I love, I still am who God made me. It seems like such a dichotomy, but really, it only works in the context of the two things being sincerely drawn out and balanced. In a way, it could work like this. If I truly love this woman, then I should be prepared to sacrifice everything I am and have for her. However, if she truly loved me in the same way, she would accept me for who I am not requiring changes in appreciation of understanding that although I might be willing to change, God has made me a certain way. And this works the other way also. She should be just as willing to sacrifice her hopes, dreams, plans, and will to me because of she loves me. Yet, in response, I could accept her for who she is because she too is fearfully and wonderfully made in Christ to be who she is. This kind of sacrifice in equilibrium would be the ideal situation.

In this context, I think that I’ve looked at my situation incorrectly. It seems to be a typical guy mistake to think that I can change completely for the woman. Again, I believe it’s biblical to do so, that is to sacrifice to such an extent. However, I also believe that it’s necessary to not look at myself for who I’m not entirely. It’s good to know that God HAS been at work in my life. It’s good to know that God HAS molded me and shaped me to be who I am today. It’s good to know that SOLEY by God’s grace there IS good that comes out of my life. I believe that in a down-troddened, pessimistic, half-empty glass, perfectionistic sort of thinking has impregnated my life that I forget that I am still a child of God. I am not a lost cause. I might be a work in progress, but I’m not simply a project that’s not done. Today, there is value to my life. I think I’ve forgotten that for various reasons over the last two weeks.

Back in terms of my relationship, I do also believe that it’s more than just our wills. If we really feel like God has called us together, then we really need to understand that as two become one, that one–that is a completely different and new life. Two into one would be an impossible situation to have the two remain the same. However, we’d both have to be willing to give up our previous lives and seek God’s will for us together. But that leads to one final thought.

I’ve also come to believe through a number of experiences this week that it’s not as much what we do, but who we are that really matters ultimately. Yes, it is true that different people are called to do different things. Yes, it is true that I am tasked to do some things others will never need to worry about. However, we are all still called unilaterally to love, to have joy, to have patience, to have hope, to be an encouragement, to be a comfort, to be a light, to be healer, to be more like Christ whenever and wherever we are.

I pray that God continues to work in my life in this way to teach me to be more like Christ.

“So how are you doing today?” someone might ask us.

“Physically or emotionally?” would be the appropriate response by us.

“Physically? How are you doing?” they’d say.

“Sore. Beat up. Tired.”

“Emotionally?”

“ACO.”

“Huh?”

And that’s the fact, Jack. There’s a lot of problems that I’ve been facing in the last couple weeks. I’m so tired of fighting them. I want to say that if there could be a way to have hope, yet have a growing lack of confidence in a successful outcome, I’d might apply for that theatre role. Unfortunately, I realize that both those things don’t really go together. Living in faith means having hope to go on. And so I live with the sliver of hope that things will be okay. Despite all that, emotionally, I am really ACO.

So because I’m ACO, I think I’ve decided that today, I’m going to continue to live my life. I have friends to see. I have appointments to keep. I have decisions to make. I have projects to complete. I have a life to live. I have to continue on and not be hindered by my sadness, frustration, anger, or the like. It’s just not productive. It’s just not like me. God has seen me through many a struggle. Today, I go on–I even bother to go on–because I have faith that it’s better ahead, with or without.

Today, I want to reclaim my day in self-determination rather than to set my day aside, defered to another’s understanding.

I’ve grown quite a bit over the last 7 months. However, in Christ this is nothing new. Thank God for that.

I am a believer in Jesus Christ. God sent his only son, Jesus to live a short lifetime as a human being amidst people like me, to then be murdered unmercifully on a Roman cross as the payment for all the sins that had and will be committed. Through that He paid the ransom for my life and freed me from having to have to pay that penalty—a life in hell forever. I am thankful to God that He calls me with love, just like he calls everyone else, and calls me his own.

I am a teacher. I believe that God has called me for this time in my life to work with young people, to raise them up to be good citizens of this community. I believe that children truly are the future of our country and an investment into the future of our country (and world for that matter) is necessary and important and a noble cause at that. I believe that I have been given gifts from God to work (and not just occupationally) with people closely and directly to raise their level of understanding about some topics. Sometimes it’s a matter of simple exposure. Regardless of whatever the educational philosophy I employ (facilitator, instructor, etc.), I believe that the satisfaction I receive when I see kids or adults “get it” comes from more than my job. It is innately in me, deep within the fiber of my being. It’s not always easy, but God gives me grace and strength to persevere.

I am an athlete. I believe that God has given me great opportunities to learn lessons from sport. Sports allow me to express the challenges in my life within the boundaries of a finite set of rules and time. Often these lessons rebuke me. Why can’t I persevere? Why can’t I fight? Why can’t I work together with others as a team? It’s not all about me, is it? I should have been more prepared. I could have been an encouragement. I should have just been humble and not argumentative. Why can’t I celebrate another’s success in the midst of my own failure? Am I truly loyal? Sport truly bring out the true nature of who I am. Yet, in the context of sport, there really is a growing process. I being a coach is a gift from God that intersects my life as a teacher and all that entails and my life as an athlete and all that encompasses. I am truly blessed to have such a context to learn within about myself and about who I should, could, and am.

I am a community servant. I believe that God points out to me the people within our community who are forgotten and glossed over. I did not live my life in the limelight. I worked hard in the backdrop of others. When given the opportunity to step up, I did without fanfare and did so looking for assistance always. So my heart always goes out to the guy selling newspapers on Peterson when I drive by every morning. My heart goes out to the custodians who take out my trash every night in my classroom. I feel for the hotel workers who share the freight elevators of hodge-podgy hotels moving loads of napkins, table cloths, and table skirts from one floor to the next heading for the laundry. I appreciate the handyman who comes in at odd hours of the day to fix my tub faucet and mailbox lock. These are the people I relate to. There are the people that no one sees, everyone mostly takes for granted, and definitely forgets. I’m of that breed. I work hard, and mostly I take others crap. Yet, I try my best not to let it bother me nor my work ethic. Why? Because this is the community in which I live. This is the place where I want to make a difference. If some day I might move, I’d be a servant in that community whether it is here, in the United States, or even overseas. I am not omnipresent such as the Lord. But, I believe that wherever God has placed me, I too have work to do in that community. If it’s setting someone’s printer up, then it is. If it’s moving people into a new apartment, then it is. If it’s lending a hand to encourage community kids, then it is.

I am a firm believer in love. I believe that love is defined very clearly for me and I try to live those things out because God does know best. Love ought to be patient. I believe that people will continue to make mistakes until the day of our deaths. No one is exempt from this. How do we deal with each other’s foibles without patience? As well, I also believe that people change. There is absolutely no one who does not change over time. Those people are dead. However for the living, we learn and grow and develop and are molded into a new person every day. Sometimes this is for the worse, but also this could be for the better. We need patience if we are to love. Love is also hope, which I believe goes hand in hand with patience. Why should I bother to persevere without hope? My hope comes from the truth that God has the ability to change me from who I am to who I can be. My hope comes from the reality that God is pressing on in His plan of sanctifying us to be more like Him. Every day, unless we’ve fallen asleep, it’s a fresh chance to learn, grow, be challenged, and be teachable to the lessons of God with the hope that we are maturing in Christ. However, this does not come overnight. These are things that are always in development. These are things that are always in transition. So often, people only see the present forgetting that it is only the foreshadowing of the future. I’ve heard it said that people sell out the present for the future. This often happens in coaching. But hope is not all about the future. Hope accepts the present in view of the future. That’s what requires patience.

I feel like I have been misunderstood for much of my life. I can’t say that everyone has misread me. However, I don’t believe that many people have a full appreciation of who I am wholly. Some of my closest friends and family understand me. However, I’m often looked at as the “computer guy” or the “mixer guy” or the “tape guy” or the “coach” or the “spastic athlete” or the “goofy kid” or the “really too serious person” or the “guy who has too many girl problems.” The thing is that I am all those things and somehow they all are carefully put together by God into this soul of mine inhabiting the frail human body. Maybe my hope is fleeting that someone will truly accept me for who I am, all of who I am. However, rather than selling myself out to be someone that I’m not for the sake of having someone accept me in that alternate state, then maybe I should live my life to the fullest in the only way I know how—in the grace of God, seeking his kingdom and righteousness first, and allowing God to take care of the rest.

Yesterday I really had somewhat of a revelation of sorts. I was talking to this person at church and for some reason realized that being the anti-social person that I have been lately, I really, normally, shouldn’t be talking to her. I see her every week, but for some reason, I only manage to say “hello.” However, yesterday, I stopped myself on my way out of the kitchen and chatted with her. We small talked about stuff. I realized that although I see her often, I don’t know her. So, I kinda caught myself up on who this “stranger” was beyond a name–which, I’m ashamed to say, I wasn’t 100% on either, so I simply didn’t mention it. Anyway, as we talked small talk, we eventually got to a point of metacognition. We both admitted our tendancy to be anti-social. She coined a phrase in my mind called “hiding behind the role.” I suppose it’s another way of me saying, “I prefer to be machinery.” She understood me completely on that. She thanked me for initiating conversation. I thanked her back for taking time to be social. I think it was good for both of us.

I think that yesterday this was the end of a pretty interesting day of trying to get out of my comfort zone. I’ve been trying to isolate myself for a while for various reasons, especially from people at church. I don’t have a problem reaching out to people at work or in the community. However, I can’t even reach out to people at my own church who are my brothers and sisters. I think the song we sang yesterday was very telling. “We are the Lord’s own family, ” I sang. Are we? Am I? This is the struggle I think that God is trying to teach me about. This is the struggle that I think God is going to show me grace to get through today.

This is one of the more difficult songs to sing. I don’t mean in terms of vocally. It’s low for me, but it’s fine. It’s that we’re saying quite literally, “We are the Lord’s own family.” One of the struggles I’m dealing with currently is my issue with being part of this church body. I so much want to hide and run and just be a worker. I have great mistrust for a lot of people at church. I’m beginning to even question my closer friends to their appreciation of our own friendships. This is a hard thing to have running in the back of my mind and heart while singing this song. I’m even singing with at least one person that I really don’t like. Is this the sign of a true family? Is this the hallmark of being brothers and sisters in Christ?

The more I sang, the more I began to realize that it’s really not about me and these people. It’s very important for me to get over these issues and to come back to scratch about these relationships problems. I think that I’ve burned some bridges myself. Others I feel have been just as foolish in their efforts to reconcile. However, in the end it doesn’t matter. What matters is that God’s disciples show that we are so by the way we love one another. That’s the whole point of this song. Great, so we’re God’s family, but if we don’t point to Christ in it, then of what purpose is it? Holy huddles? I don’t think so.

Today will be a struggle to sing this song with sincerity. However, by God’s grace, and in the great love He has for me, I need to come back to scratch and try again to be a part of this family, not just an unpaid employee to this church.

I think I literally said outloud, to myself really, “I’m not going to smoke cigarettes; I’m going to smoke Jesus!”

Promptly, I cranked up the music really loud with the windows open and began to scream the lyrics to the songs.

I think in a lot of ways, that’s how it’s been for me this week. I cannot begin to describe the lows I felt at the beginning of this week. I was stressed, discouraged, resigned, sad, upset, angry, frustrated, and busy like all get up at work. I drowned myself in work. In the coming days, things began to equalize in this situation, but the anxiety still remained because although the method of delivery was poor, the reality of the arguments were still true–happens all the time. However, I think finally I’ve come to understand the lesson I learned when I first became a Christian.

I can’t turn to the sin of my past. That’s all dead. My Bible reading in Ephesians has been talking about being dead in my transgressions and sins. However, I’m supposed to be alive in Christ. I need to turn to Jesus. I need to get back in touch with God. I can’t be avoiding that which is the only antedote for my illness. I need to begin to walk in faith and not by sight. I need to begin to walk with Christ.

I’m not going to trust my sins; I’m going to trust my Jesus. I hope to do more of that today.

I think that in the past I would have looked at this simply by saying, “if I followed God like this, I’d be a different person.” That’s still true. However, that’s just my perspective. What’s God’s perspective? I’m not saying that Nick is my analog for God wholely. Obviously, I don’t simply “work” for God. I serve because I love God. In the same vein, the analogy is that I’ve begun to really like Dr. Wahl. I believe that he garners the respect of our District and truly is the leader of our schools. You could call him “king” of District 201. Yet, although he really is the “high and above” administrator, he’s pretty down to earth. He recognizes my strengths and acknowledges them. I’ve rarely met a person who gave me such direct encouragement. However, as seemingly only a few of my friends really understand, this is the kind of thing that I respond to the most effectively. In a lot of ways, despite what our union contract states, I really don’t mind working on Nick’s computer late into the evening. If he asks, sure, it’s the superintendent asking and I could just as easily get canned if I don’t but, I’m almost glad to do it out of the response to the positive feedback I have already received. I don’t take this guy lightly. Apparently, the Board is out to can another employee in another emergency session. I’ve never seen so many people get fired since Nick has come on board. However, it’s so far good to be in good graces with the man in the front office.

As for how this has to do with God is that I often forget that God is the encourager not the discourager. God wants me to live a life abundant, fulfilled, purposeful, and meaningful. The devil says to me, “you can’t do it.” Or he might say, “you’re doing it for the wrong reasons, so don’t bother.” Maybe he’ll say, “wait, you’re not ready and aren’t really ever going to be ready.” Or even say, “you’re really not good enough.” God uses the weak to shame the strong, the stupid to shame the smart, the small the shame the large. Who am I? Who cares. Who is God? I think that’s the real question.

I see it like this. Working under Alan, my former principal, is far different than working for Ron. Alan didn’t support, encourage, protect, nor lead. Ron took ownership of our school on the first day. He set a vision for us and gave us tools to get there. Nick did the same thing. Now we have phones in our classrooms, keylocks to all our buildings, new maintenance equipment, etc. And because of that it’s different because of my leader.

God is my leader. And He IS the owner of it all. He IS the encourager. He IS the protector. He IS the supporter who makes my path straight and the tools to stay on it. Living life for me could just be living life. However, living life with the realization that Jesus is my king make it all different.

I love my girlfriend very much. However, I’ve found that in my prayers my heart has began to change. And this is for the better. I used to say:

“God, you know that I love her. However, I know that you love her more. I pray that she would love you more than she loves me.”

This has changed slightly. I find myself praying this prayer:

“God, I love you. Thank you for her. Teach me how to love her. I pray that she would love you more than she loves me.”

I think that I’ve been getting the whole thing mixed up. First, I need to love Jesus. Loving her will fall into place if I can get the first part right. It’s a change, but a change for the better. And as I begin to love Jesus more, I can begin to serve Jesus in the things that I do joyfully. This is far better than saying, “so am I doing this to impress her?” I refuse to have doubt in this area. I don’t fix Nick’s computer just because it’s my job, per se. I like the guy. He builds me up. He supports me. Jesus does a far better job than Nick at this. I should be honored and glad to work on and in His kingdom, whatever it may be.

I had a rough day. I didn’t want to see people. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I worked out with my roommate this morning. Skipped my big 5K race this morning. After working out some aggression, I came home, worked a bit, cooked a big meal for myself (it was really sad eating alone), and slept off the depression. Eventually I got back up, did more work and went to Borders to just get out of the apartment which was, for me, the scene of the crime.

It’s going to be a rough night. I’ll need to pray. Regardless of what’s going on, it’s always an occasion to reach out to God. Tonight is nothing new.

I don’t know what’s up or down or big or small or heavy or light. It’s all just minor diversions to the largest issue I’ve delt with for a while.

I said it before, but I wish I could just love enough for two people. It just doesn’t work that way. Love just ain’t enough.

Tough night of communication.

Love covers over a multitude of sin. Praise God, I have lots.

Kids coming.

I mean, we talk, but it’s not just talk. We’re serious. Our committment is so much more apparent. We’re not so concerned about “hiding” our relationship. And today, we both know, is just the “first” day to a long time together, Lord willing. I’ll ask the question often, “how did we get here?” And it’s not a question I ask looking for a negative answer. It’s a question of, “please pinch me, I can’t believe that I’m with the most wonderful person in the world?” It’s a question of, “how is it that I am the luckiest guy in the world?” And it leads me to say things like, “there is no way that I deserve you; thank God for sending you as a gift to me.”

Although we’ve both changed in our own ways over the last month, it’s still so apparent to me that the eyes that I stare into today are not “different” per se. They are deeper, as I continue to learn more about this wonderful woman God is still molding. When I hold her hands, those are the hands that have experienced so much more than I know, touched so many lives for God’s glory. Yet, she puts them in the care of my own hands. And when she smiles, the glow from her mezmorizes me because somehow she’s found joy in a world so cynical and sarcastic and insincere, and it makes me realize that God is at work in us.

I’m beginning to realize that we’re hitting a new level of our relationship. We’re deepening our understanding of each other. We’re beginning to change our personal perspective in light of our committment to each other. It’s such an amazing thing. I can’t explain it. I can’t simplfy it. I’m in complete awe and wonder of it.

It’s very surreal.

Maybe this is what it feels like to fall in love.

An awkward meeting. She had things running through her mind leading up to that moment where she pushed those huge bags through the security exit into us, the waiting crowd where I waited behind someone, peering for a glance of her. We talked briefly there and I went back home. When she called me after settling back in, I realized, at least for me, that this was something different. It was something new. Not so much that we were starting from square one, but that we were not the same people that we were 32 days ago when she disappeared into another crowd at another security checkpoint in O’Hare. She had experienced God in a way few Americans do. I was working through a milestone in my personal life by moving to Chicago and all that this meant for me. I didn’t and don’t love her less. In fact, I admire her more and, for all it entails, am still in love with her. However, I think this is the great blessing about our relationship.

I don’t know if I blogged about this before, but regardless. I think that it can easily be forgotten that the person that you fall in love with was single when you fall in love with them. She, even now, is still single. She has a job, a career, her dreams, her aptitudes, her friends, her family, and her unique personality. Me too. Yet, I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve never been drawn to before—with a reciprocal response in return! (That’s a God thing, in my opinion). And now, 32 days later, we’ve changed again—I believe for the better for both. Yet, we are still solidly together. We are still “her and I” and “me and her.” And so today, I’m so thankful that our relationship is proving itself to be mature enough to withstand changes. We’re both going to grow. We’re both going to change. We’re both going to transition. Our relationship is not to those things—personality, emotion, money, appearance, aptitudes, affinities. I love her, the person beneath all this superficial stuff. And, by extension of this logic, she loves me too in this way.

In a lot of ways I’m way too lucky/blessed/fortunate. On my ride home last night from dropping things off at church and at a buddy’s house, I got a call from another dear friend. In the call she cried her frustration at another failed relationship in her life. It was going so well and was so promising. Yet, it wasn’t to be. Crushed. Bad timing. Not enough prayer. Forcing the issue. Separation. Define what it means to be in the relationship, only to be forced to now redefine an awkward friendship. I prayed for her.

In the movie the Princess Bride, Prince Humperdink asked Wesley (while he was strapped down in the torture chamber) what the chances were for two people to experience true love. If I remember correctly, he asked, “a million, billion to one?” If this is how fortunate I am, I truly thank God for such a blessing to be with the most wonderful person in all the world, particularly of two continents.

My dear, if you’re reading this, six months isn’t long enough. However, I think you knew that already.

We use the school management software package called MacSchool/WinSchool by Chancery. It’s a great program, but it’s tremendously customizable and feature filled. It can be a bear to try to use. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that it’s a bad program. In fact, it’s a very good program. However, it’s so large in scope that we need help in training and consulting to get us by. Fortunately, we use an educational consulting firm called 8th Day Consulting. A little woman by the name of Sharon Pikul runs this small business that simply trains people on how to run the software, as well as how to maximize the use of it within the school structure.

I first took note of Sharon at the last users conference last year. After the opening morning session, Sharon got to the microphone and said (which I will never forget):

“Since we won’t have a chance to pray grace for lunch, let me pray for that now.”

And she went ahead and prayed grace for all of us. Even now, as I’m reflecting on it, I shake my head in shock and disbelief and awesome amazement at the woman’s boldness. The other day, she was helping us out with more scheduling issues at the Junior High. She was trying to calm the fears of some teachers that the schedule was not going to work out. Sharon told them it was possible, despite the teacher’s set understanding. The reality that they did not understand was the Sharon practically is ONE with the schedule. She said this (again, which I will never forget):

“I pray a lot and I can simply see the schedule and how one class change will bump this that will bump this that will bump this that will bump this…”

Again, wow.

I guess my point tonight goes along with what this lady that I met a few weeks ago at Greg and Celia’s wedding said. She was Celia’s Intervarsity Christian Fellowship staff worker who now supervises five campuses in the north part of Chicago. One of the schools is the Art Institute of Chicago. At that campus the question is: Are we bringing the gospel to artists or artists to the gospel? They are fundamentally different questions. However, it’s true. Artists need the gospel. And, worship of God can, and should, be creative in nature. So she said, “Architects aren’t always going to make churches. Engineers are still going to make bridges. Teachers aren’t always going to teach religion,” or something to that effect. Basically, being Christian isn’t just life in church or doing church things. Sharon as an educator and a consultant does just that, is darn good at it, yet glorifies God and points to God, even in the work that she does. She never loses her stride from the naming of her company, to her gentle demeanor, to her attributing of God to her success.

I want to be like Sharon. I might not be called to “full time ministry”–at the very most, maybe a tent-maker of sorts. However, in whatever I’m doing, I want to glorify God, point to God, and acknowledge that my success is just as much a gift of God as the breath I take to say it.

I’ve learned a lot in this last month. I’m looking forward to a very challenging year, but a year in which I will probably grow the most than I’ll ever have grown in a while.

I found out that our local school police officer is playing more than a handful of women through the school district. Not only did he date one of our track coaches, but as he tells one elementary school teacher that he “can’t believe that people think of him as a player” and is all over her only this past Friday, do I hear from the grapevine that he’s dating this young special education teacher from the Junior High who was among two girls that received “will you go out on a date with me” Christmas cards this past year. I just don’t get it. Is he really so naïve to think that the women in our (small) District don’t talk or won’t talk to each other? And, how did he think he was going to get away with this and still have enough integrity to go up in front of small children and speak on “Stranger, Danger.” It just doesn’t make sense to me.

Here I am, not perfect, but certainly feeling like he’s got issues of fidelity, integrity, and stupidity. Seriously, my girlfriend has been away for almost 30 days now. I felt bad hanging out with my friends who were women—and that was maybe once or twice. I almost avoided making new friends or re-establishing old ones because of my fear of my heart to wander. Again, I’m not saying I’m perfect, but I think that I’m on the complete opposite side of the world than our happy, local police officer—and I’m really okay with that. Dr. Tony Evans said in one of his sermons that a man is not defined by how many women he can be with, but how one man can love one woman over the long haul. I would consider myself as aspiring for the latter. There is something to making someone your one and only. I’m looking forward to it.

The other thing happened at lunch with the network administrator the other day at the deli. I had already gotten my food, prayed grace, and began to eat. Mark sat down, almost stops in mid-thought or sentence, closes his eye, and seemed to momentarily pray for his food. He began moving again a couple seconds later, and we began chatting about the morning that was. However, I must say, that this was one of the bugged eye moments in my summer. I know that I can’t take credit for anything. I know that he’s not anti-religious. However, people just don’t stop before eating to pray in our district. Food is very important to teachers and us network people. Praise God that He hears prayers. And, for what it’s worth, if God answers my prayers (which I do believe He does), then maybe Mark will also begin to believe that he didn’t just pause for dramatic effect, but that a real, living, caring God heard his 2 second prayer of thanks. Nonetheless, it’s a mind boggling thing.

Currently, I’ve hit this wall of stress that began the other day, but only now is really kicking into gear. I think that I get stressed out when I know that I’m just not physically capable of handling all of these tasks. There’s tape sermon series organization. There’s collecting the transcripts and notes for those. There’s encoding that on MP3 and finding all the recordings for it. There’s printing up pictures for the bulleting board. There’s getting artwork printed. And that’s just church! I also have to write 2 curricula for school by next Wednesday. I have a website to finish by next Wednesday (if not NOW). I have to organize my room, but am being hired to spend my time doing other things. And that’s just work! I also have minor things to wrestle with in my apartment like address changes for bills, repairs, networking problems, cleaning, laundry, cooking, etc. And then beginning on Friday, somehow, someway, I’d like to see my girlfriend again after being apart for so long. My life is spinning faster than it’s spun all summer. I’m not sure I can handle it anymore. I may just pop.

I can’t complain though, really. I think much grace and provision has been poured on me by God. My life could certainly be worse. I’ve vented far more in the past than I do now. I’ve also prayed far less in my past than today. I think God’s trying to teach me yet another lesson. I can’t think of what that is, but I’m not sure it matters so much as long as I’m experiencing God. And that, really, is what I want.

One final past thought that I’ll say in retrospect of the month that was. I was blown away by a good friend at church on Sunday, or was it last Sunday (I lose track). She said, “Jeremy, have you ever considered teaching overseas?” I was flabbergasted. I almost began to stutter for the loss of words that came over me. I smiled with compete understanding and frustration. I responded to her the truth of the matter, “I’ve never thought about it.” Can you believe it? Me, Mr. Bautista, teacher, aide, educator never thought about teaching overseas. How STUPID! Am I an idiot? Have I complete lost sight of the whole pattern that God has placed in my life? Sure, I can aspire to learn and run radio stations. However, wouldn’t I be starting from scratch to learn and to get connections and to be a part of something? I will be starting my 8th year in education. I’m a tenured teacher with a Masters degree in teaching. I have credentials and experience that put me far about a “beginning” teacher. People go overseas all the time to teach—not necessarily as part of a Christian ministry, but as teachers. Then I think about a friend in Singapore, a friend who went to Germany, and others who have gone to do missionary work simply by teaching English in China or Japan. Am I this clueless to not have thought about this? I’ve begun praying about it, but again I believe that God has answered another prayer of mine this summer: Lord, what is your will for me? Who knows where this will take me. Maybe it’ll take me as far as this job fair on February and that’s it. However, maybe this will take me into tentmaking work. Maybe this will take me to some overseas country. Maybe this will simply make me a better teacher. Maybe God is trying to tell me something.

For all the “opportunity” that I think that God gives me, I feel like I owe it to God that if I consider those things my signs and voice of God speaking, then I ought to take seriously the proposal that He offers. It may not come again.

Over the last three years, we’ve had a principal here that basically started with great ideas and ended with only having great ideas. You simply cannot run a school purely on theory. You actually have to do something. Somehow, He-Who-Will-Be-Left-Unnamed was able to be hired into this District, but got away with running a school for this long without doing anything. He didn’t take charge of discipline, curriculum, middle school transitions, technology, staff correction, parental pressure, etc. We were left out to dry. He knew everyone hated him; yet, he was able to squeak by day after day, week after week, month after agonizing month. He’s no longer with us today. Today, we have my former high school homeroom teacher running the ship.

Ron’s a great guy. He knows what’s right and not right, and despite going against the grain, he does his best to do what’s right. He tries hard and admits his mistakes. He can fly off the handle at times, but it more shows his intensity than his real heart. When he walked through that door, a collective sigh of relief came over the staff. You could almost hear the relief as you drove through the town as word spread. In fact, the day he started, we fielded a phone call from the newspaper congratulating him. He hadn’t even unpacked his laptop for the day.

Unfortunately, he’s going to have to give up his Apple PowerBook G4 to the new Assistant Principal at the high school, the position he left to take the helm of our building. I think that if they get the laptop and we keep Ron, we definitely get the better end of the deal. For the first time in 3 years, I’m able to say that I’m glad to be working at Westmont Junior High School.

As for current thoughts, I have many. Unfortunately, they’ve all been bottled up inside for the last month because of the move, two weddings that I helped out with, and the time of acclimation to my commute, my growing responsibility at church and work, cooking, cleaning, and basic stress that usually accompanies this month for all teachers. For those who are reading this, God bless you for caring to know. I’ll do my best to recap my life this past month, for my sake and your curiosity.

In terms of moving, I moved into my apartment building on Saturday 26 July 2003. My parents, brother, sister, and some friends from church helped out in moving the entirety of my life possessions into my new apartment. Interestingly enough, we were blessed to have a sufficient amount of furniture given to us by friends. We have a corner couch, a love seat, an easy chair, a big desk/table, and a card table. Then, my parents also gave us a toaster oven, rice cooker, and other assorted glasses, flatware, and pots and pans. As we cleaned up, my mom cooked dinner and we had our first meal around the desk/table. I had finally moved out and this was my send off. I locked the door and I was alone for the night.

A certain sense of pride filled me that night. I am living on my own. There are things to fix, and I’m going to fix them. There are bills to pay, and I’m going to pay them. There are people to meet and collaborate with, and I’m going to build those relationships. I was happy to finally get the chance, not to prove myself so much, but to challenge myself in living with the responsibility of real life. I slept soundly knowing that my future was ahead of me, and I could actually look with more hope than dread.

I considered the reasoning of why I moved out a lot these days. I think the main reason that I did was to really clarify that cut off between my parents and myself. I needed to self-determine my way. I needed to be cleared of any overhead and possible conflicts with them for things that I should be taking responsibility for regardless of where I lived. I was never going to be an adult under their roof. Because of that, I very rarely go home. It was strategic for me to bring “everything” with me to the apartment because I did not want to use my parents’ house as a place to have to get things. I think I have a box of floppy diskettes, over 150 cassette tapes, some hats, and plaques I’ve earned through the years. Oh, I almost forgot my box or box and a half of old college paperwork and “keepsakes” (as Ted calls them). I think I should just have a bonfire. Regardless, I don’t go home. My sister took over my room which is about 10-15 square feet larger than her current room next door and it’s warmer because it only has one exterior wall (not two). She’s very excited. I went from 144 square feet to 1800 square feet. I think she can have my room. And though I want to see how she’s coming along, I’ve been very hesitant to stop at home.

My mom is always inviting me to come in for lunch. I’m welcome at any time. I appreciate that. I know my mom and dad and family love me. However, I didn’t move out to come home every day for lunch. I moved out to live on my own. So, I sneak home late at night if I have to pick things up or drop things off–mail, little army toys, boxes, binoculars, etc. I refuse to do my laundry at home, even at the cost of handfuls of quarters a week. I don’t want to take drink or food from them. I won’t even keep any of my subscriptions or bills or anything at the Westmont address. I realized that this was going to be an issue when I changed my insurance policy address. An innocent phone call to State Farm alerting them to an address change into the city elicited the response,

“You’re premium is going to go up.”

“That’s fine.”

“Do you want to know by how much?”

“Sure.”

“It was $260 (or so), but because you’re losing your multi-car discount and you’re living in the city, it’ll be $530″

Silence on my part followed, quickly followed up with, “That’s fine.” And then my resolve in the reasoning for moving out came back to me. I wanted to learn about what it means to live on my own. If it costs me more, then those are the things I need to balance out in my life. I suppose I’ll learn my lesson, but I refuse to learn it by having someone do it for me. And I think that this is what responsibility is all about. Fortunately, this is the only big surprise for me so far. Cleaning is cleaning. Cooking is cooking. Laundry is laundry. Commuting is commuting. Groceries are groceries. And, bills are bills. I’ve grown a lot in the last month. This is only the beginning, I suppose.

I have more to say, but I’m going to have to take a break and move out from this office.

It’s strange in another way. Because of the transition, there is no phone service nor internet service at the apartment for the time being. Phone service begins next Wednesday. DSL service begins on the 2nd Tuesday after that. It’ll be mid-August before I’m fully operational at the apartment. For now, however, I can always go to work or come here to my parent’s house, like I am now. However, I’m not sure that this is the way I want to do my work. The whole point about moving out was to move my entire operation to Chicago. I am bringing just about everything. I’m kind of at a loss.

One thought that came to mind today was while packing, I said something that I heard my girlfriend say only on Monday morning, “it wasn’t supposed to go down this way.” She was refering to her almost completely missing her parents before she left for Ethiopia early Monday morning as they crossed paths on the street. For me, my occasion of making the statement was in my packing up in the middle of the night. I literally packed 75% of my stuff last night through the early morning. I took about an hour of a nap before Ador came and we went to get the U-Haul truck in Chicago. Into the morning, my sister and father both woke up at their normal times and left for work while I was still packing and preparing for my highly anticipated escape. My dad, uncharacteristically said nothing. And that’s when I declared to myself, “it wasn’t supposed to go down this way.” Let me explain.

For my girlfriend, I think we have different, polar opposite parents in this realm. For her, I think she was forced to be on her own long ago. Her folks don’t have much ties with her. For her, it’s a way to connect. For me, my parents have such strong ties that they are almost impossible to break. Let me go back to the illustration of the tied rope around the crates on the wired shelving. I understand that my parents mean well to protect me and provide for me. However, unless I did something, almost as “violent” or “dramatic” as moving out as abruptly as I am doing, I don’t think it would work out. I just finished an IM chat with one of my Asian students and she said that her parents won’t let her (and assumedly, her older sister) move out of the house until she’s married. The funny thing is that my dad said the same exact thing just under a month ago! So, I get an apartment. I pack my stuff. I make all the arragements. And, I move out as far away from Westmont as conceivably possible (I may have done too good on that step, in some people’s opinion). But, is this the way it’s all supposed to go down? I didn’t mean to make people mad or anything. However, how is it supposed to work? There’s got to have been a balance between letting kids learn how to mature without disowning them on one extreme nor over-protecting them to suffication at the other extreme. And so, in classic “Jeremy is an ass” form, I’m about 50% done with the move (with only trinkets left in my bedroom, old college artifacts in the basement, and my musical instruments) and I’m not looking back. I’ll have to return because of my lack of Internet access, but I’ve already begun to change so many of my bills and charitable organizations databases to reflect my new address. I’ll even be in the phone book. I just wish I didn’t feel like I had to diss my family to get to this point.

Anyway. Today, I went over to the apartment to clean up the floors before I got started with the big move tomorrow. However, I got too tired after the living room and my room. Never got to the rest of the place. While waiting for the Murphy’s Oil Soap to dry, I stared at the room silently to imagine what it would look like eventually. Those thoughts turned to the growing appreciation that I am beginning a life that’s “on my own.” If there’s no toilet paper, that’s MY problem. If there’s nowhere to put the garbage, that’s MY problem. If the garage gets stuck, that’s MY problem. Funny thing is that all these (and more!) occurred to me today after Ted went home from moving some of his stuff in. It’s really begun in earnest and the real life problems that I longed to have, thinking that it would make me adult, have now begun without any apology. I pray for grace to handle those things well. For now, a little shut eye would be good. Tomorrow, I begin to lay my head and my hat in Chicago. Then I can really say sincerely that this is my parents’ house and that I’m simply just visiting.

In a way, the analog is like this: If I want to give clothes away to charity, if I’m on my own, I can. To my parents, it’s a fight to throw it away because they either think it’s a waste or they want to keep it to send to the Philippines. I had a hard time convincing my mom that we should throw out some of the old stereo equipment that just sits in my bedroom. My mom refused and insists that we, at the very least, don’t throw it out lest it be revived. What she doesn’t realize is that you can get the same pieces, better quality, smaller, for cheaper than it is to repair. They actually are disposable. Can I be self-determined and define my own priorities? I think that this is a large aspect of maturing and growing up.

Finally, I consider her who just left for Ethiopia. Who did she consult to the level of permission to go? No one–just herself. There are people to consult about the capacity or capability to go. However, permission is her own call. That’s self-determination.

I have told her often that I don’t think that I’m good enough for her. Maybe there’s an aspect of it that I simply feel like I’m just not mature enough for her. I don’t mean to do all these things because of her or to impress her. She knows that already. However, I know that I’m reaching levels of understanding of the maturing process that I have yet to realize until now. Thank God for her patience. Thank God for these lessons.

At the posting of this blog, the move begins in earnest.

I’ve been praying for her constantly through my day. I have no idea what they’re doing. I only know their flight itinerary. However, I know that I have been called to pray for her throughout the trip. This is a good thing for a couple of reasons. There are obvious reasons for this such as wanting to see God glorified, desiring people to come to Christ, safety and strength to continue on. However, the clearest sign that God has called me to pray came from Sunday.

Normally, on Sundays, she plays the piano for hymns at church. Normally, I would pray for her towards the beginning of the song specifically. If it sounded like she’s doing well, then I begin to sing along with the congregation and just allow myself to be blessed in this time of worship. However, because she was getting all her stuff prepared for leaving on Monday to missions, she practiced only they introductions and only for about ten minutes. So, I set myself to pray for her through the entire song as she played. Through the first hymn, she did well through the first two verses. Then, for some reason, I began to drift in my prayer. I began to look at the mixer. I began to look at the computer. I just started to wander a bit. Then, I looked up and realized that she had stopped playing, the singer continued to sing while the congregation followed his lead. I immediately began to pray again, and she started playing again, picking up beautifully where he was going. Maybe she missed 3 or 4 bars of music. However, although she thought she completely screwed up, I realized that the lesson was mine, again.

While she’s on the mission field, I need to be in constant prayer for her. At any time that she’s not cover with prayer, she could be vulnerable. Now, this is not to say that God does not protect even without my prayers. Of course He does. However, this is not about God, per se. This is God calling me to pray continually for her during this entire mission trip. Actually, it’s a good thing too. We both realize that we’ll be apart for quite a bit of time–32 days. It’s the longest we’ll have been apart since we began our relationship. We’ve joked around about how we’ll remember each other, etc. I have a picture of us together that I have, even now, sitting next to my computer. I said that it’s the closest thing I’ll have. However, I correct myself quickly after those jokes. The reality is that I’m far closer to her in prayer than I am just reminiscing about her through a picture or a gift or an artifact of hers. Only through God have we been brought together. Only through God will we stay together. Why should it be any different whether we are in the same city or on different sides of the planet? God is sovereign over it all and will bring us two together again as He plans and allows. So as my confidence is in God, my connection with her is not drawn thin, but strengthened as I pour out my prayers to God in this month of time here as a sender to her missions work.

I love her so much. I already miss her. But still, my confidence in God must overcome my fears. So praise God for this time–only 36 hours into this missions trip, but already so much I’ve learned.

Again, if you are reading this, I don’t know. And if you’re amused by my life, I hope your smile lasts.

—

Last Wednesday, I took a bunch of kids to an informal mid-summer track meet in Park Ridge. I really didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. I thought for a moment that no one was going to show. I thought it was going to be cheesy. When we got there about 45 minutes early, my fears were confirmed. However, with a good group of kids who didn’t complain about much, things were not too bad. In, fact, just for fun, I ran a quarter mile also. I made it in with a 70 second 400 meter lap. That’s pretty fast, actually. I used to run it at about 58-62 seconds when I was in high school. That’s not too bad for an old guy like me. Then it got interesting… University High showed up.

I didn’t realize it, but the meet organizer was or currently is the cross country coach for University High School. He invited a bunch of kids from U-High to run. They all showed up late and began to challenge our Westmont kids in the relays. Now, this was getting fun! The girls had to run a real race to beat their 4x800m relay team. Their splits actually were not too bad either, most at 3:03 for 800 meters–one girl with at 2:55. It was good for us because I think it really gave me something to hype up for this week. Later today, Wednesday, we’re returning to that track. However, this time we’ll have some of our best runners, some who were state qualifying this year. As well, our entire complement of coaches will be there. I can’t believe it, really. It’s going to be a lot of fun. We walked away last week with a gaggle of t-shirts, coffee mugs, medals, smiles, and stories.

Thursday 17 July 2003, I had lunch with the mom and her daughter who hosted a sixth grade Bible study on Friday afternoons during the school year. Last year, I was involved with them by teaching them songs, leading worship, and sometimes preparing and facilitating discussion. I was so blessed by that experience. I learned so much from them. I knew that at the time, God had certainly brought me into that place for a purpose and that it was like a culmination of experiences for me to fulfill my desire as an educator to make education my ministry. Then, this entire sixth grade Bible study experience happened. And there we were again. As we sat at Baker’s Square, I really feel like I had to share my heart for that with them again. I believe that they thought that I was going to say “no” to them this year. However, the only hang up for me was that I didn’t want to start the year, and then not complete it like this year. This year, I had to stop because I began to coach in February. It’s going to happen again for us because I’m still called to coach track, as far as I know it. It’s a hard thing to discern. I can go into a whole discussion about it–maybe another day–that is, do I give up coaching track for an entire season only to free up my Friday afternoons for this Bible study? People, I’m sure will fall on either side of that fence. However, I have chosen too continue to coach. There’s a great possibility that a lady from a local AWANAS group can lead the group, at least on a part time basis. When I leave, her remaining would give the group more stability and consistency when I am inevitably leaving. This is the situation which I hope happened. I almost refuse to go it alone this year. It’s just not right to do this knowing that I’m going to leave in just a few short months. However, they were pleasantly surprised that I was willing to come back to the group. How could I not? They probably helped me to see the fundamentals of child evangelism and campus ministry (junior high) better than any talk, sermon, or discussion I’ve ever had in my life. I’d invest my time into that group again in a heartbeat.

Friday 18 July 2003, I met up with my former roommate from college. He’s got an amazing story about his renewal in faith of Jesus Christ through his experience at Seton Hall University where he was working in years post-UIUC. These days he’s on a short leave before he needs to return for seminary work that will, Lord willing, lead him into the priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church. This in itself is impressive. I am a firm believer that he has a relationship with Christ that, ashamedly, many Protestant Christians do not have. I realize that God will not divvy heaven by denomination, nor consider religion a replacement for a relationship with Jesus Christ. However, it’s so rare for me to find such evangelical, on fire, Bible reading Catholics. God bless them all. I pray that they will spark the revival of the Roman Catholic Church around the world and locally in the United States.

Well, we met up at the Field Museum downtown to see the Baseball as America exhibit. Both of us, being big baseball fans, were looking forward to it. We may not know who plays or what team is good or bad or what. However, we love the game and we walked around in awe as to what was there. There were moments that I’d find a toy on display that I used to play with. Other moments were my completely drowned stare at artifacts that talked volumes of a world that changed and the culture that was formed out of those world changes. Other time, I just broke out in random, silly smiling. I had never (except for when I’m with my girl, or thinking about her, etc.) smiled so hard for so long. Everything put a smile on my face. Letters of gratitude to baseball players. 9/11/01 tributes by athletes. Promotional material created by fans. Pictures of little kids at the ball park. Everything was so amusing to me. As we walked away, we got stuck in another exhibit. I really was in no mood to see anything else. In fact, I just wanted to soak in the exhibit over lunch without the distraction of everything else. I’m so glad I appreciate baseball even after years of not keeping up.

Most people don’t realize that my first love, chronologically speaking, is baseball.

Saturday 19 July 2003. The secret was not out yet for Praise Night 2003. Our friends have learned to wait until that final moment. Then, Jessica and I ran out on stage and began to swing dance our way into becoming the emcees for the evening. We both had a lot of fun up there on stage. I believe that Jessica agreed only because she knew that I would and could cover her if something went bad. Also, it kina worked too because our banter was a little too close to real. It’s kinda funny that way too. In a way, it’s good that I’m moving out, but in this, I really got so see how I personally fit into my own family, which I can begin to understand the messed up dynamic which I was working within. In a couple days, it really won’t matter. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe not. Too late either way.

The following entry is referring to Friday 11 July 2003. Subsequent entries will catch up since then. I realize that no one reads this, but for myself, I need to keep track.

Jeremy

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Somehow, this weekend turned into the crazy weekend from out of nowhere!

Let’s start with Friday. That morning, I picked up Ador to help me move furniture that the Candelaria family was giving Ted and me for our new apartment. Bright and early we showed up and they gave us a huge corner couch, a octagon card table, a couple lamps, and plates. They almost gave us the twins’ beds, but it started getting kinda strange. I guess it’s always hard to sleep on your friend’s old furniture. Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer that question since I have a queen size mattress to deal with now. Ador and I did a couple trips from Vernon Hills and Westmont, but in the end, it was all well worth it. For them, it’s less furniture to have to store. For us, it’s free furniture for an empty apartment. We all benefited. They were so very nice to us to give us this stuff for free. I don’t know how I’m going to repay them, however, I would like to do something for them. I know that they are going to moving close to us when we all eventually get settled into our new residences. Maybe I can offer them food? Then again, with my cooking… I did offer them Chili’s, to which they balked. I suppose I didn’t realize that it was the Chili’s in Vernon Hills that had the salmonella contamination this week. So maybe I will cook? Hmmmm…

I got home at around 4p on the road to relaxing when I checked my email and saw a distressing note. Apparently, an old project that we’d forgotten about has come back to surface. We were commissioned to put together a brochure for seminars that the Christian and Missionary Alliance (CMA, my church’s affiliation) were going to be offering at the District level. I got really mad–more at myself than anything else. I knew that it had to be done and I sat on it. Sigh. I resigned to doing it while trying to figure out if there was a better way–there really isn’t. As an Art/Media Team, we don’t have provisions to do larger scale desktop publishing. We have a newsletter committee (which has it’s own issues to tend to), however I don’t believe that they’d be the same people to eventually do graphic design layout for new brochures, etc. So, I worked on laying out the text through the normal large group meeting, and I got to church at around 10p.

When I got there, I passed the materials off to be packaged in a folder and I went to my next meeting–sharing/prayer with my prayer partner who is going to the Chicago Alive Youth inner city camp in Michigan. It’s been weeks since we touched base and I totally feel like a different person talking to him. I almost wanted to challenge him in the conventional ways of thought that he was going by in analyzing his personal situations. At the risk of being controversial, I think I wanted to make as strong a note as possible to him that living as a Christian does not always mean what we see in our church. Fortunately, that’s true because a number of things (not everything, but definitely some things) are looked at with such a narrow scope that people don’t think for themselves, they don’t try to discern the environment and situation that could call for another response, they don’t stand up for themselves, or that they simply just go with what everyone is doing. And, if everyone bought all these misconceptions of Christian life as seen in some people at church (and anyone could almost cite any church for some flaw like this) then we’d have a lot of wimpy Christians who can’t stand up for themselves. Unfortunately, American society has accepted this mentality as we see in the reluctance for American young adults (post-graduate, etc.) to move onward and upward with their lives–and that’s in the secular world. Sure it’s a bad economy, etc. However, as a country, are we growing up? It was this frustration that I ended up eluding to within my conversation with him. I pray that he will grow to stand on his OWN two feet as a man of God.

That night, I knew I needed to sleep, so I faked it. After driving that guy home, I tried to work, but couldn’t get anything together. This is bad because there’s way too much to do for work and I’m falling sorely behind.

Saturday morning became the crazy day. I knew I had to pack for 2 days of being out of the house, and thank God that I did. However, before I went out to my first big engagement, I ran a couple errands. The most interesting errand I ran was returning a cell phone that had been found while biking on Thursday along Lake Shore Drive’s bike trail. It had Verizon markings on it, so I dropped it off at the local Verizon store on Ogden. The guy looked at me with disbelief. It was almost exactly the same type of response that one gets when they correct the cashier when they give too much change. He almost shook his head, but then shook my hand in thanks. I walked out without further fanfare. I’m sure they had something to talk about.

Ultimately, after I packed, rushed, ran, sped, I ended up being late to the FABC church picnic–which had, about an hour into the time slot, only a couple dozen people in attendance. Kinda sad, actually. However, when the information that was supposed to get out isn’t passed on properly, then this is what happens. Oh well. Actually, the only reason I went to the picnic was to take footage for video. Is that a bad reason? I was very thankful that someone decided to play around with the video camera, film a bit, and do so for a while, allowing me to actually enjoy the fellowship. Maybe that’s the real lesson for me in going to the picnic. There really is more to church than meetings, logistics, and work. Maybe I need to get back to building relationships again? Sigh.

From there, I went to Chicago to pick up a packet for the Bastille Day 5K race, which is next Friday. I was still unsure if I wanted to actually run it, but as long as I got my goody bag, then at least I got my t-shirt! Of course, I’m sad that she can’t run with me. She’s got a retreat to go on. I was able to convince my former roommate who is visiting Chicago temporarily before heading back to New Jersey to begin his seminary work in the Roman Catholic Church. Because of my knee, I told him that my best hope is that I’ll be able to trot out the 3.1 miles. He, having only limitedly worked out up until now, will trot the 5K with me. I think that’ll be fun. I plan to meet up with him to see the Baseball as America exhibit at the Field Museum and then stay downtown to run this race. So I picked up our goody stuff. Only to have to face rush hour traffic to head back up north.

As a thank-you response, I offered to help the Candelarias with their move. This required another hour on the road to get me from downtown to their old house. I honestly wanted to help them move, but I also had ulterior motives. I needed to meet with my deacon and I knew that he was helping with the move. Go to the Candelarias, help with the move, and then meet with my deacon. It was efficiency at levels I often do not know! However, once there, the family had pretty much finished their move, leaving me with very little to do and very little to clean up after. Then, all the men helping out left for the new house in Skokie along with my deacon–who planned to not return to Vernon Hills. Basically, I ended up in Vernon Hills without any hope of accomplishing anything. Although feeling defeated, I had to move on. 8:00p, I had to be in Chicago.

My long time friend called me up late in the week asking to get a refresher course on basic swing dance because she decided to take an intermediate level swing class for the following week. She had danced before, but just wanted to refresh her memory. So, I agreed. Fighting traffic out of Chicago had prepared me well to fight traffic back into the city. Fortunately, she lives up north. Once at her apartment, we just put on some jazz and went over the few steps I know. I can’t say that I’m a master at any of it by any stretch of the imagination, but as long as it’s fun, I don’t mind.

I lament often when I go swing dancing because it always reminds me of dancing with my one real dance partner. I suppose that I have a number of people that I can go dance with, but there’s a difference when it comes to dancing with the one you love. I couldn’t look into my friends eyes and make eye contact the way I do with my girl. It’s just not the same–and thank God for that. But seriously, I hope that I won’t be relegated to dancing with just my friends. I have a special dance partner that I hope will last through the years.

After dancing a bit, we got some drinks and snacks and called it a night–just in time to head over to my girl’s apartment to get ready for the Late Ride.

I figured, a couple hours early is plenty of time to catch up, install bike lights, and hang before having to hit the road. It was a awesome to spend time with her. It always is. Sometimes it’s awkward seeing her after extended periods of time without, but we always end up warming up quickly and we can just be who we are again. That’s so valuable to me. Even if we’re just staring at each other, to me, that’s quality because inside and out, I want to know her more and more.

The ride itself was a heck of a lot of fun, actually. There were around 8000 people who started the ride. We went out in waves of 2000 riders. When we went, it was an amazing sight. Literally thousands of bikers in front and behind us with blinking red and white lights spattering the night as we made our way from Columbus Avenue to Lake Shore Drive. Then, when we got to the upper part of Lake Shore Drive, we saw the city in a way rare to even most Chicagoans–on bike. We had time to look around at the city and the lake from a new angle and perspective. There were three of us in our group, and as we stuck together through the ride, we kept each other company and encouraged each other through the night.

One sight I thought was really cool were little kids who rode along with their parents. You’d see a kid on a small bike, parent on the other side of the road, both talking into headsets that seemed to act as mini-walkie-talkies. What a cool thing! I hope to be able to do that with my kids in the future. What will they think of next, video conferencing over the Internet?

After a great night of biking more highlighted with the lateness of the event than our speed, we did have somewhat of a bittersweet end. Our friend who rode with us became a little too aggressive in her passing at around 430a by Oak Street Beach. I decided to follow her so I wouldn’t lose her in the crowd. After watching her pass about four bikers without a word of warning from her, she tried to pass this gentleman on the left, didn’t call the pass, and promptly got run off the road by him. At Oak Street, the trail drops off to an 8 inch step of concrete below, all of which was used to break the two bikers fall. They skid together for about half a bike’s length before stopping. She got a nasty road bruise on her knee and elbow cushioning his fall. The scary part was that she hit her head on the concrete. Praise God, she wore a helmet that night. She had a bit of a shadow on her right temple, but she was conscious, alert, lucid, and adjusted. As a precautionary move, they put a neck brace on her and she went to Northwestern Memorial Hospital to get looked at. However, she was quickly released. We picked her up without incident and she promptly went home to work out the pain. It was only 7a in the morning of Sunday.

After church that afternoon, I realized that I had not eaten anything significant since the picnic a good 30 hours before. I promptly ate 5 hamburgers that were among the plentiful bounty of leftovers from the picnic. It sounds disgusting, but actually, it was quite good. I almost wish I could have had more. I think I tried to do work when I got home, but promptly went to sleep (or at least tried) since Monday was going to be a 5a beginning.

My friend from high school came by that night, slept over at the house, and we got up around 530a and set off the Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio, arguably the roller coaster capital of the world. We arrived at the park at 1215p and lost no time in getting in line to hit only the best of the best of roller coasters. As another friend of mine suggested to me earlier, “no dinky rides.” No problem there. I didn’t realize at the time how much of an avid roller coaster connoisseur he was. We jumped in line to what was called “Raptor.”

This ride set the tone for the entire day. Raptor is a lot like the Batman ride at Great America. You dangle your feet and ride in a cradle of sorts. However, this ride was faster, taller, and longer than the Batman ride. On top of it, the peninsula that the park was situated on seemed so small that it did not lend itself well to the Six Flags style of fluff that usually accompanies the ride in the form of “in line” entertainment and eye candy. The ride simply spoke awe into our hearts as we all waited patiently for 45 minutes to experience in the flesh what we only saw from the ground. Imagination did not do justice to the actual rush of being on the ride. This could have been said for Millennium Force (think Raging Bull but longer, taller, faster, and smoother), Wicked Twister (think Vertical Velocity with two twists instead of only one), and the Mean Streak (think American Eagle but immensely larger in scope and turns). There were more rides that we rode. The one that stuck out was the newest ride there–Top Thrill Dragster.

It was completely insane. What kind of a ride do you take that creates such a situation that you could rip your arms off if you raise your hands at the beginning of the ride? However, this did. It shot off from 0 to 120mph in maybe 200 meters. Then, it shot up in almost a 90 degree angle to reach 420 feet in the air, only to come back down in a helix straight down. Oh, by the way, there’s only a seat belt and lap bar that hold you in for this magnetic impulse ride. It was really insane. I walked off the ride and literally did not know what had just happened. But isn’t that such with so much of my life?

I got a call from her while between rides and I asked her if she’d ever be willing to go to an amusement park. She said that she likes roller coasters. Hmmm… Another one for the list.

A thought from lunch was that despite all the meaningful philosophies that we’d like to say govern much of what we’re supposed to do, it really means jack until they are put into practice. I think it’s a classic case of “it sounds good on paper… but…” The reality of a lot of problems in that I’ve been seeing, personally comes from not really knowing why in the world we do certain things. However, a lot of that is a result of not having a central direction. We could have a mission statement, but if no one follows it, what’s the point? Do people even know it? It’d be one thing if one person, charismatic, could lead the whole group. They’d cast a vision and the group would follow. But, since we’re not ants at a picnic nor mice following the Pied Piper, I think it’s better to establish that vision corporately and allow everyone the opportunity to come into line with, not a person per se, but a movement of the church. Otherwise, we’re all going to do what we want. Currently, that’s the way things seem to be. Is anyone happy with it as it stands?

From dinner, I really was so glad to have another catch up time with another dear friend. She gave me so much perspective. I think it’s funny that she considers herself a Christian feminist. I really don’t have a problem with it. In fact, I need the kind of fresh perspective that she, and other Christian friends I have, can offer and give. It’s moments like tonight in conversation that I’m so glad that living life as a Christian is not confined to a set of four walls that most people mistake as the entirety of “church.” It kinda goes along with what was said yesterday at dinner–one sign of immaturity that is often seen among my peers is that we simply do not know the surrounding community around us. Living as a Christian can take on more than one face and speaks more than one language. It works many tools and reaches the diversity of life with using unlimited creativity. Interestingly enough, one concept that has been brought up this week a number of times was to recognize that if among my peers, it seems that more grace is poured out upon those committing blatant sin than those who are within the bounds of biblical truth, yet simply differ in style, opinion, or choice. Why is that? Perspective is so important. I’m so glad that I have friends who offer me their points of view, different, fresh, challenging, but always thought provoking.

Finally, tonight, I met up with a couple people to hit the lakeshore bike trail. They were a little late, so I actually went ahead of them. I started out at Irving Park Road and made it down to the Adler Planetarium. I really pedaled hard and felt the burn in my quadriceps. So, when I got to the Adler, I had to walk it off a bit. I snuck to the back of the building to sneak a peek at the salsa dancing inside. They’ve been doing that on Thursday nights, and will continue to do so through August. I’d love to go, but I know that I have to go for the free lesson first. Those folks inside were great! The band was hot! It was just cookin’ inside! How would a gringo like me look walking in cold? Yeah, right.

In the process of killing time before my friends got on the trail, I casually biked to the Buckingham Fountain. I took a lap around it, stopped, and just stared at the water shooting up and out before the backdrop of the Chicago skyline. As I was biking, I began to feel like this, but this moment in front of the fountain capped it off for me: this is my town. I live in Chicago! It sounds kinda cheezy, I realize. However, being the nostalgic guy that I am, this is a big moment for me. I think that this is the way it works. The more I understand something tacked on the more that I see my connection with that thing, all the more am I inclined to take ownership, take pride, and find fulfillment in that. I felt the same when I my small group began to meet in the same house with the same leader as the very first small group to ever come out of my church. It was as if we were tapping into the history of our church. That’s how Chicago is. I’ve studied Chicago from a distance. I’ve taken classes, read books, studied maps, toured streets, familiarized myself with neighborhoods, and loved every minute of it. Finally, almost as a fulfillment of years of waiting for the other shoe to drop, now I can Chicago home.

Other people may not find this very important. Other people have commented on the inconvenience of my location. Still other people have suggested that I should have thought this through better. I should have waited. I should have looked somewhere else. I should have done it their way.

To answer a question posed to me recently: I did not move because of a girl. I did not move because of convenience. I did not move because of money. I did not move because of anger. I did not move because of spite. I did not move to be different. I did not move to fit in. I moved to Chicago because I want to grow up. I moved to Chicago to face life head on. I moved to Chicago to learn about what my real priorities are without the pressures of my pampered life in the suburbs. I moved to Chicago to find out who I really am. I hope that people understand. However, if they don’t, there’s really nothing I can offer them except a cold drink in my living room. There will be ample parking for them.

Just to take note. My commute to Westmont tonight (starting at around midnight) was 40 minutes and 26.1 miles.

Years ago, a Rev. Jhan Moskowitz used to come and speak to us at church representing his ministry at Jews for Jesus. He spoke about Hanukkah, Passover, and various other topics. He was very clear and simple, yet profound in his explanation of the path and plan God had laid out for His people, the Jews and all the spiritual children of Abraham. It was interesting enough that often, quotes come through my mind. One quote that I really clung onto was that of the way that people see each other. He said that there are three types of people in the world: scenery, machinery, and people.

Scenery are people who we see on the street. We may see them in cars that pass by. Sometimes they are at a distance. Sometimes they could be standing on the train next to you without a word for ten or more stops. However, they are scenery because they are just part of the background of life. We don’t have a relationship with them. We don’t interact with them. They are just part of the scenery of life.

Machinery are people who you do talk to, but you have a set agenda and role to play in this relationship. These are people like the cashier. You talk to them, but only to pay for your stuff and then you guys are done. A waiter or waitress only is nice to you when they sit at your table. And often, we’ll joke back. When the check is paid, we’re strangers again. These can be people at work, church, play, and (unfortunately) home. However, in the world of role playing, we can easily recognize people as machinery.

Then there’s people. People are folk that we actually know as human beings. People we talk to. People we interact with at multiple levels. We converse, debate, argue, encourage, share, and build up those that are people. My friends, my girlfriend, my fellow coaches, my high school buddies… they are all people.

The way that Rev. Moskowitz describes it is that we see people in these three ways. God, on the other hand only sees people. He sees the hurts. He sees that pain. He sees the victories, big and small. He seeks to minister to people’s needs. He protects and builds up, regardless of their status, role, location, occupation, etc. He loves us all so deeply–deeper than we can ever hope to love.

To me, this is old news. I’ve known this for years since he’s preached this message to us. I understand the concept that I need to stop looking at people in my humanly limited manner, but to love people as people. I’m not always good at it, but I think I have the concept firmly planted in my mind. Strangely similar to the “am I an adult” concept that continued to weigh heavy on me, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. And, now the concept is growing. It used to be a concept that referred to the way that I looked at other people. Not any more. On Sunday, I came to the realization that I myself actually prefer to play a role–and it’s not of a person. I prefer, in my interactions with people, to play the role of machinery in other people’s lives. Let me explain.

I’m far too much of an extrovert to be scenery, even in other people’s lives. It’s hard to keep my mouth shut. However, I also know that I desperately fear (at times, of course) that my words to someone will open me up to a relationship that I did not foresee and did not want. There are times when that is a good safety valve. However, this is happening more and more to me these days. Am I losing my heart for people? Am I just cold spirited? I find it much more fulfilling to be machinery to them because there is a clear way out of the relationship. For example, I would rather talk business with certain people I serve with at church because I simply can’t or don’t want to involve myself into their lives nor want them to be involved with my life. I would much rather take care of business and be done with. In a lot of ways, my best friendships have been built off of work type relationships. We’d worked on the same project in college. Maybe we were at the same conference. In other cases, friends put me up for a night and took care of me. Sometimes we struggled through trouble together. Whatever it is, there were more defined roles that my current people status changed with them. I was willing to become a person to them, for them. However, with new people, people I serve with, people I have trouble with, I would much rather just do my job and go home. I would much rather take care of my business and walk away.

It’s kind of like the Shawshank Redemption concept of the walls. Most people look at those prison walls from the outside considering that it keeps the inmates from getting out and that they are a nemesis to them. On the inside, however, some inmate become so accustomed to that life inside that they can become institutionalized. They begin to need the walls per se. They need something to lean up against. They can’t live without the walls. The walls were not the nemesis we might think, but were the thing that gives people purpose. Without them, like that guy in the movie that got parole, some people just can’t live without the walls. I’m like that in a way. Take away my computer, and what am I? Take away my job, and what am I? Take away my roles of responsibility, and what am I? What am I? Am I machinery or am I a person? Don’t get me wrong, I’m still loved by God. Jesus is still here and will never leave. But, that’s not what I’m talking about here. What I’m saying here is that without the needed roles that I fulfill in my work, home, church, relationships, etc. would I still carry myself in my relationships in such a way that I would be a person to people or simply be machinery. I don’t know.

Obviously, this affects my life tremendously. How can I truly minister to people if all I’m thinking about is how do I do something within the protocols of my responsibility. How can I build relationships with people that only see them for what they can do for me and for what I can do for them. There’s a fine line between ministry and manipulation, as one pastor preached once. It’s a profound statement.

I hope that God has an answer for me. He teaches me in very interesting ways. I hope that I will grow through this struggle in ways that I am only beginning to understand with my struggle to grow up into adulthood.

In so many ways, I’m reminded about who I was. But, in other ways, I’m so glad that there’s still a connection there. I’ve always hoped that these types of relationships would yield benefit for God’s glory. And, at the most minimal of ways, I hope to be a positive influence on their lives directing them towards Christ. God is relevant to their lives too.

As I type this at 3:30 in the morning, the fireworks that went on this weekend were the amazing things I saw and experienced I guess, more so than the distant fireworks displays of Friday night. Even this thunderstorm was more spectacular than that. But what I’ll remember most from this weekend is the reconciliation of friends, the making of new ones, the renewing of communication, and how much it almost all felt meaningless without that one person to share it with. Isn’t it amazing?

I picked up my packet for the LATE Ride today at Sportmart in Orland Park. I picked up a headlight, replacement reflectors, and a seat pouch. Earlier today, I cleaned up my bike, pumped the tires, set the brakes, and even went as far as putting it on the car rack. I’m so excited about this bike ride! However, this morning, when I took my bike out for that ubiquitous first sprint around the block, I really was hurting. My knee was such that I can’t really fully extend my leg out. I also had some problems with going over bumps. This could get ugly. Why is it that I always find a way to enjoy the pain and torture that I put myself through? I’m so insane! I don’t think I’m going to do the 5k, but people who honestly and sincerely contemplate using handicapped parking spots (and have a permit, like me) shouldn’t be running 5k. It’s just wrong on so many different levels.

Yesterday, I must say was a day of coming around full circle. I really feel like God has answered my prayers for reconciliation between me and some of my friends that I have had the worst problems with. I’m not saying that the problems were theirs and I contributed nothing to the mess. I certainly did contribute. However, talking as friends, laughing, asking, listening, and eating (a lot of eating) all spoke to me saying that for as much hurt, pain, and torment we all went through, we’ve all come out of it, still okay. I can’t say that we’re all the best of friends without any trust issues at all. I’m sure there will always be a part of our relationship that will have problems because of that–it’s the price of sin. However, if we are able to just hang, even in the strange and different environment of complete strangers from Michigan, then definitely, there’s a start from which our friendships can go. I’m so thankful to God for His healing power.

It’s time to go hunting for furniture. I’m heading to IKEA from here to meet up with those Michigan folks from last night. Do they not have IKEA in Michigan? I don’t have a lot of money, but I really would like to have something to put my feet up on when we move into that stark, bare space in a few short weeks.

Oh, one last amazingly insane thing I’ve agreed to do. I called my old high school friend Tom to just touch base yesterday. Apparently, he is coming in from North Carolina to visit Chicago, as he often does at least once a year. He was so glad that I called at that moment, as he was actually going to call me to ask me this one special question: Wanna go to Cedars Point? Cedars Point is the amusement park that is world wide known for having the largest roller coaster in the world. We’ve talked about going there as a precursor to his arriving in Chicago in the past. The plan would be that I would meet him halfway in Ohio (about 30 min east of Toledo, 4 hours east of Chicago). We would meet there, spend the day there, and then travel back to Chicago that night. Of course, the issue is cash for me. It’s really tight considering the move. However, he said that he could cover for any excessive expenditure. “Besides, I have a season pass and have been there twice already,” he says. My shock almost was too much for me. I had to say it out loud a couple times to understand it fully. As a resident of North Carolina, he has a season pass to an amusement park in Ohio, 6 hours away. Huh? “Of the six parks I’ve been to this year, it’s the best, and I’d go again.” Wow. So, for the first time, I’m going. This is definitely the year of the road trip for me.

I must be insane.

Last year, 04 July 2002, I was on crutches walking/limping into Egg Harbor Cafe with this Chinese girl for a late morning breakfast that I really needed to have with her. It was to the point that I was willing to skip out on the beginning of my church leadership picnic to devote this time to talking with her. In the process of talking, I finally got to the point in my speaking that I had to finally bring it up. “Will you consider praying about a relationship with me?” Interestingly, she grilled me (somewhat) about why her, why now. After surviving that small pitfall, she agreed to pray about it. I was ecstatic! She was resolved. I was excited enough for the both of us. People get like that when they meet the person of their dreams, who for me (at this time) was sitting across the table.

Prayer, communication, arguments, studying, and food over the next few weeks led us to a situation that we could have never foreseen. The relationship that I had thought was growing was actually crashing before my own eyes. The bond that I thought could rebound back simply snapped back in our faces. Friendships that had gone through a lot already were heading into more trouble, heat, pain, and misunderstandings. And for months, apologies, explanations, and the like were shared between people. It was an ugly time for all of us involved.

Today, I was reminded of this in talking with her again. I’m glad that the anger and hatred she has had (legitimately) against me has fallen to the wayside of kindness, gentleness, and a couple smiles. “Does she still hate me?” I asked a close friend. She said, “no.” And so it was, a different circumstance. It was a different day. And although the story ended (if you want to think if it that way) rather poorly (which is the euphemism of the year), today, fortunately the epilogue seems to be a little brighter.

I realize that no one reads this anyway, but even so, I kinda don’t care what people think of me. Call me pathetic. Call me whipped. Call me whatever. I miss my girl. And today, I probably can safely say that I’ve missed her today more than every other day up to this point.

There’s so much going on in my life these days. I went to Canada. I just got back from Wisconsin. I went to pole vault camp and injured my knee. I just signed for an apartment in Chicago. I’m getting my kids to run a mid-summer track meet. I’m preparing for my own LATE ride bike ride and 5k Bastille Day race in the coming weeks. I’m purging myself of many remnants and artifacts of my past that have become dead weight in my life and bedroom. I’m packing up the rest of my life in such a way that my life, hopefully will be more streamlined. My relationship to the church in ministry has changed. And through it all, I’m struggling with finding “myself” as an “adult” in my growing into new responsibilities and pressures and roles.

I could chat with other people. I have many friends I could talk to. Some are on the inside and know a lot. Others, those on the outskirts of my life, hear things from a distance. All give me needed perspective on my life. However, I’m not looking for perspective these days, as much as I’m looking for companionship. I don’t need someone to tell me what I should think about this or that, per se. I’m looking for someone to share those experiences with and to struggle together with them through it. And, I think I’ve found that person. The only problem is, she’s over there, and I’m over here, and we’ve taken a voluntary break from our normal mode of talking for good, legitimate reasons. However, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re not getting the opportunity to communicate, which for me being the extrovert and people person, is killing me.

Today, I thought about heading into Chicago to see the fireworks (which are probably going on as I type this in Westmont). Since I couldn’t go with her, I had a couple options. I could go with someone else. However, that to me is really kinda awkward. I’m spending my time with someone that is simply just replacing the person I really wanted to be with. All the things I’d want to say would be spent on the wrong person. All the emotions and struggles and nuances of my recent days would be shared with… well, not exactly the one I intended to share them with. So, I could go it alone. I could ride into UIC and then bike the rest of the way. I could do something like that. However, because of the weather being so lousy, I don’t think it’s worth it doing myself, for myself. I really should go with someone. But again, without her, what’s the point.

Other things too. I woke up from a nice 3 hour nap this afternoon hugging my pillow. This is the second time I’ve done that this week. Look, I NEVER HUG MY PILLOW. But, she’s the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing on my mind when I hit the sack (that’s if I’m actually consciously going to bed as opposed to simple crashing). I miss her dearly. I even called her apartment, but got the answering machine. A stark reminder of the breaking of commitment I was making in the simple placing of a phone call (I can just talk to her at church on Sunday).

I miss her so much.

On Saturday, while at pole vault camp, I set up appointments to see 6 apartments for Monday after I would have returned to Chicago from Wisconsin. Come Monday, I saw these places. I nervously set up my clipboard with maps, phone numbers, names, questions, notes, and checklists. I was able to snag a couple friends to help me and to be an extra pair of eyes. I charged my video camera. And, I anxiously went to bed late Sunday morning, only to nap uneasily into the early morning when I got my first taste of the traffic I will probably face for time to come.

I had a 9a, 11a, 1p, 230p, 430p, and (set up at the last minute) a 6p. I had to pick up friends at 8a, 12n, and 5p. It was a packed day with one thing on my mind–where am I going to be living for the next 12 months.

Basically, every apartment that I saw was great. However, flaws were apparent. Uptown (9a)–no parking. Old Irving (1p)–narrow kitchen. Palmer Square (230p)–slanted sun room floor. Irving and Francisco (430p)–old carpet and stuffy rooms. Avondale (6p)–too small. It was the place in West Rogers Park (11a) that caught my attention. Not only did it have 1800 sq. ft., but the use of space was so good that you felt like it was tremendously huge. I couldn’t stop talking about it. I hyped it up so much. We actually ended up visiting it twice to bring Ted to see it at 7p or so. It was far too good to be true. 1800 sq. ft. for $1095, heating included. Parking garage was available, while street parking was adequate. Quiet neighborhood. Laissez-faire landlord. Nice neighbors. I basically fell in love with the place the moment I saw it… and nothing really compared after. So that was that. On Tuesday, I simply wrote out a couple security deposit checks to the landlord who quickly went back to her place to make lunch for her kids while I showed my mom the place. She liked it a lot, and received the same tour that I got from the current tenant. It has been quite an interesting 48 hours since returning from Wisconsin.

Wednesday, I don’t have much to show for my efforts in this or any arena. However, I think another nuance of my situation showed it’s roots. While trying to purge unneeded papers and materials from my bedroom here, I realized that it’s a waste to then put the remnants back on the shelf if in fact, they’re just going to get moved back out. Realistically, I should just pack them in a box now, especially if I’m not going to use them for the rest of the month. That made clear one of the most fundamental reasons for me to leave the house: space.

How can I organize things when I have no area to displace and sort? Every time I do that, I have to move something else out of the way. It’s like a hard drive that’s too full. That’s been my life here at the house for so long. This is why I can’t work at my desk. This is why it’s frustrating to be at home. This is why I don’t feel like I’m growing. I’m stifled, not by my parents, but my own inability to purge crap from my life. And that, right there, is my responsibility to do something about. It was too late in the day to realize this and to get boxes from U-Haul, but I know that tomorrow, after my lunch meeting, I’m going to be breathing a huge sigh of relief seeing things in the trash, recycling, or in boxes, confident that only the things I need or truly want (after standing the test of time) are within them. I’m looking forward to that. There are still many items to sort through; there are many piles to work down. However, this being a long process, is better started now than that last week of July.

Maybe I finally feel like I’m growing up.

In 10 minutes we’re going to get some lunch and then do awards. I realized this morning that when I still got the same response out of my left knee as I did yesterday, I figured out quickly that I was going to be skipping today’s jumping. Maybe it’s just irritated, however, I do believe that I’m going to have to see the doctor regardless, maybe even an MRI. Bleh. The foolishness of youth, I suppose.

I’ve learned a lot from this camp. I’ve prayed a little more once I figured out to take my morning walks with God. I have appointments for apartments tomorrow–all day. And, I’m about half way done with my typing curriculum. It’s been a long weekend, to say the least, and I, for sure, am ready to come home and get my life back in order in Westmont.

Time to check out and drive on home. Thank God.

Today, I woke up feeling kinda crappy. I am sore. I am tired. My back hurts from the face first fall. I forgot to ice my knee. All in all, a pretty crappy day going in. The morning session pretty much consisted of us pulling pits from outside indoors because of the torrential rain that was coming down. Even from 7a-730a while I was walking around, praying, I was drenched in the rain. It was kind of a nice way to start the day. Lunch came ridiculously fast and back to the dorms I went. Keeping in mind that I was able to secure five appointments for apartment viewing for Monday, that part of my life was rather productive, I should say. However, this is when my day began pole vaulting.

I really wasn’t doing well in my pit and simply sucked that session. However, Jan Johnson, the guy running this entire show, pulled all of us 10 feet and under folks and did basic drills with us. It was a gold mine for me as a coach. I need to pick up the first video in this series and review the ones I already have. We had dinner served to us in the gym, and we stayed for one last session. Then, something happened. I changed pits, saw a different coach, and all of a sudden, everything began to click for me. I was beginning to run harder. I was planting better. I was getting my feet up over my head. I began to nail my plants in such a way that the coaches were actually getting excited with my progress. Well, so was I!

Every run I was going faster. Every run I was swinging better. Every run I was planting higher. But every run, I felt like my knee was falling more and more apart. Although I was cruising, the pounding was so hard on me. I really was starting to limp. It was at that point that I stopped and began icing my knee, which is what I’m doing right now as I type in my dorm room. I’d like to go out to Taco Bell and get a late night snack, but maybe potato chips will suffice before taking more Advil. Either way, I’m sore. However, I think that I’ve learned things today in my mind and in my body that I will definitely be able to take home and back to the team.

As well, while icing, I just finished another chapter in Scribbling in the Sand. It’s really beginning to talk about radical obedience to God. It’s the kind of obedience that calls people to lay down their lives for God. It’s the kind of obedience that tells an artist whether something looks good or not. And now, I’m realizing that it’s the kind of obedience that really points people to recognize God, and not me. For a while, I used to believe that inspiration was that which God gives me ideas for. For example, I used to consider my 4am class lesson preparation “inspired” since I didn’t have the faintest idea what I was going to do the night before. However, at the stroke of 4am, God would plant an idea in my mind. And thus, it was written. But that’s not what Michael Card is talking about here. Although my lesson served others, it did not point them to God. In all that I do, I need to point the glory to God and away from myself. I need to be more clear that it wasn’t because of me, but because of Him. I hope that in the future, this will be more of the reality in my life as more than just school lessons will be at the disposal of God. It could be much more contentious than that. And that, I suppose is why it’s called “radical” to “die to yourself.”

Another cool thing this morning is that I was able to chat with Jim Lonegrand and Jan Johnson. It was nice to make acquaintance with them considering that we really are just people in the world. I hope to take my kids out to camp during July at Maine South’s open pole vault gym. So much to learn. So much to practice. So little time to do it all.

Time to keyboard a little.

It began to rain this morning and is coming down in bunches now. Everyone is soaked going to the cafeteria at Debot and our dorm here in Watson. It’s only about 2 buildings away, but still it’s in the rain. Is it any consolation to us that we’re runners? I doubt it. Also, breakfast was not announced correctly on our schedule. We all thought it was at 7a, but instead, it was at more like 730a or 745a. Because of that, when I walked over there at 7a, I had a couple options to either wait or to come back. I opted for neither and took a walk in the, then, drizzle. It was a good chance to pray and to try to put me in my place before God. We often pray to God a prayer of thanksgiving for the beautiful day. However, I like to think of my God as one who isn’t just the God who invented sunshine, but also the God who invented rain, wind, sleet, clouds, snow, thunder, and lightning. This to me, shows more of the fullness of God. It’s not all “love” and such. God is definitely not a God to be trifled with. With that established, I hope that I can go about these next few days with God more on my mind than in the last couple days.

Hunting around for an apartment still. I took a look yesterday at the Wednesday Chicago Tribune classified. Wow, there are some pretty cool places that I need to call today. I sure hope that I can get a hold of some of these folks during my break. If not, I’m sure they’ll be gone. These are just way too good. My future roommate and I are really not that concerned about the neighborhood. We’re not heading out to pick any fights or something, nor are we going to land in Englewood or Back of the Yards. However, Irving Park or Uptown or the like sound okay to us. Maybe Oak Park will still be an option, however, the ads don’t seem to point me in that direction. We’ll see what he can pull up today. I’ve already set next week to look at these places. I hope I can.

I’m a little anxious about one other thing. I feel like I’ve written a lot of notes to my girl lately. I hope she doesn’t mind. I’m not sure that I was supposed to or if it was wise considering that I’m not supposed to distract her. There is definitely a part of me that misses her tremendously. It’s not even a physical presence, here she is, sort of void (although, that’s there too). I just wish I could share with her things I’m thinking about, things I’m struggling with, things that I like, things that I abhor. I’m learning stuff, and realizing other things. However, all in all, because we’re taking a little time away, she’s not just not-there physically, but socially as well. I still pray for her. I still am emotionally there with her (that is, she is with me). So, spiritually and emotionally, I think is okay. But, there still a lot that I miss about her, in the simple fact that we don’t communicate except in person by accident. I know it’s for the best, but that doesn’t mean that I have to enjoy it–at least this part of it. I’m glad that we are both getting closer to God and relying on God to get us through this time–self-imposed as it is. And I know (not just hope) that it really will be the best for us for now and the future (good Lord willing).

Onward to day 3 of camp. Where are my dry socks?

Last night, while preparing for Bible study, I got a call from a good, dear friend. She really sounded in bad shape. She said that she just needed someone to chat with to just get back to even keel. We chatted for about an hour, and it really was good–for her and for me. For the moment, it helped me get back up, got my blood going again, and it jump started me back into my Bible study preparation. For her, I’m sure it was a needed distraction from whatever struggles she was facing. However, like her, there was something deeper than just the need to talk. It really reminded me of a life I used to have years ago. I used to be able to tell my friends, especially my close friends, that if they ever needed someone to talk to or console with, they could call me at any time, day or night. Some people took me up on it. I used to get calls from friends at 3a. That was fine, I had offered myself, and I was willing to follow through. These days, I’ve found myself really trying to hold back from investing so deeply into people. It’s too much trouble, I usually think. People really don’t care to be invested into, the other side of me considers. However, the irony is that I wasn’t a Christian when I used to make these outlandish offers of support so freely, yet so sincerely. It really was never a burden. Yet, now, having tasted and seen how good God is, how do I find myself so much more selfish? Maybe it’s the age and era that I now find myself in. Regardless of the excuses, I need to begin to once again be challenged by the humility, service, and grace shown by God to me. I hope that I can be as sincere with my other friends.

Another thought is that I’m really getting anxious about the many things that are going on this summer for me. And, now that June is practically over, I really need to get on the stick and get some things accomplished. Next week, I’m going to be looking at apartments in Chicago and suburbs. I’m going to be on call instead of having to have to come in because my supervisor will be out of town. That way, I can take care of this personal business. Also, I’m still not even at the beginning stages of my website. My plan is to finish writing my typing curriculum while at pole vault camp. I can do that in the dorms. I have no one to bug me, and I’ll have plenty of time to work on it. It’s almost just copying lessons onto Word documents. That shouldn’t be too hard. Much of it is already done from the past fourth quarter. That way, July and August can be dedicated to the harder stuff. I think I’m really nervous, but I knew from the beginning that this was going to be a hard summer. I just got to take it all (life) by the horns and just take over. I will control my life, not my life controlling me. Time now, to press on.

I’ve been reading through Time Magazine’s awesome special issue covering the last 80 years with highlights of 80 days that changed history. Jeff Greenfield writes the opening essay about how history simply does not follow anyone’s logical expectations. One day’s triumph is the next generation’s tragedy. One day’s failure results may usher in victory in the years to come. It simply doesn’t make sense to us, I suppose. However, Greenfield’s acknowledgement in his final paragraph simply explains it… At least to me.

Of course, revised views of history are what keeps successive generations of historians in business, continuously updating where the latest dominoes have fallen. Eighty years from now, scholars will still be debating the meaning of what happened 80–or even 800–years ago. We journalists like to say that journalism is the first rough draft of history–a rare acknowledgment, perhaps, that there is a Higher Authority in whose hands rests the final draft.

The other thing I realized today is that my final loan payment was debited from my checking account yesterday. On the surface and superficially, it means that I have about $375/month to play with in my budget. It also means that I can save that, and then some, towards my plans to move out in August. However, to me, it represent so much more than that.

When I look at my Quicken Net Worth chart, I can see the drop of my net worth beginning in 1996, to the deepest depths of my debt in 1999 and 2000, to return today to 1997 levels as my car loan is still outstanding. It would be ridiculous to say that it was simply a blip on the radar screen of my life. This was a rather traumatic experience for me emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually, and socially. My life completely changed because of God’s intervention into my life, saving me from this pit. Today, I feel like a big monkey is off my back. I feel like I can actually step forward in my life. I feel like I may actually be taking steps towards growing up and making decisions. I feel like I can stop running to stand still, but to run and get somewhere.

I realize that in this context, my family and some friends think it silly for me to move out of the house at this time, suggesting that I wait until I have enough money to purchase real estate. To that, I appreciate the suggestion. However, I think that there is more to it than money. This experience has taught me about responsibility, discipline, patience, delayed gratification, and abstinence. I need to continue to grow in these and other areas such as decision making, assertiveness, personal development, time management, and moral discernment. I’ve not been able to grow in these areas because of my time at home. I’m a person who learns by doing, and right now, I’m not doing. I’m just here.

So today, begins the transition time for me to an entirely new chapter in my life. It sounds somewhat overly dramatic, but even as I am typing this tonight, I can already feel the gravity of my public declaration of it.

I thank God for His faithfulness in seeing me through these last 2 years and 4 months. I thank my parents and my sister, to whom I’m still indebted to–more in love than in finances (although one could argue that it’s equal). I thank my friends who have kept me accountable. And I thank those who approved and managed my loan. I appreciate the infrastructure that keeps it all together. Like Greenfield wrote about in his essay, one day’s tragedy, in a world only truly controlled by the Sovereign God, can become today’s triumph and victory and celebration.

The other thing I was thinking about today was how I so desperately need to move out. And today, she was a part of it. I received a gift–a rather personal one in fact. I can’t say what it is for fear that people who read this would think I was making it up to cover for my girlishness. However, I can simply say that I received a bunch of wellness products today. So, ummm… what the heck does that matter? Well, first it matters because what the heck am I doing with a pumice stone (Do I need to go on about the gift now? Thank you.)? But then it matters like this… within my house, when am I going to get enough privacy to actually use this stuff? I think the Biore will be fine, but the facial clay masque? I don’t know how I’m going to get away using that without anyone finding out! Then again, what would my other option be? What would my future roommate say? Not quite the bonding experience for guys: “Dude, what are you doing later? Let’s exfoliate the bottom of our feet and eat granola bars.” Ummm… I don’t think so. A minor dilemma. However, it is again one of the ways that I know that she loves me and one of the reasons I know that I’ve been blessed by God with her in my life. I’d gladly endure getting caught rubbing my foot with a pumice stone, knowing that she loves me enough to even buy one for me. Which brings me to the simple thought for today.

I love her madly.

God has blessed me in other ways this weekend also. I went to an old friend’s baptism at Willow Creek on Saturday night. I can honestly say that I was so moved and blessed by God there to see the dozens and dozens and dozens of people dedicate their lives to Christ in baptism. Of course, having been baptized also, I knew what to expect to a point. Sure, it was awesome that they all had witnesses. True, they had a chance to share their name and the names of those who brought them along in the faith. As well, they had a tremendous number of people get immersed in the man made lake outside the church. Hmmm… I suppose that maybe I wasn’t ready to see the immensity baptism could be at a church. Kidding aside, it is one thing to see our friend commit herself, after 5 years of walking (sometimes stumbling, sometimes running, sometimes walking backwards) with Jesus. However, it is quite another thing to see a multitude (I’m used to baptism classes of around 12. This was more like 200 people.) giving their stories, pinning their sins on a cross, standing before God and men declaring their faith in Christ. As well, you’d hear stories like: “I want to thank my kids” or “I want to thank my teacher” or “I want to thank my wife.” Now, imagine 100 of these stories in a row. I was almost literally brought to tears. Ah, but the witness of a new believer, “I committed my life to Christ last week,” tends to bring me to honest worship of God who alone is capable of such miracles. It was so good! I wish every church activity for me was as mind blowing. I hope I worship God in that way in my future.

In this sense, I feel like I’m beginning to make good on my commitments. I’ve also read quite a bit this summer so far. I’ve finished up through the book of Job and am beginning to read Psalms now. I’d like to get to at least the passage that I’m going to be leading a discussion about by next Tuesday, but this weekend is looking rather packed already. I’ve also read up through chapter 5 in Scribbling in the Sand. That book is really beginning to change the way I look at worship. I don’t feel so weird anymore regarding how different I am than to other people. I think that this is a good development in me. I’ve always felt so distant to people because I simply don’t see the world the way others do. There’s only a select few that I’ve been able to really be eye to eye with on multiple levels. However, while reading this book, it says that God calls people to praise Him with a new song. That is, worship in the multitude of ways, forms, languages, methods are purely acceptable to Him. I’m not sure how I got into a rut thinking of worship in such a narrow window, all the while doubting myself that my worship of God quantitatively was lacking (qualitatively, that’s an entirely different question). But God is the one who puts a new song in our mouths. I’m so glad that I can worship God and still be outside the box.

Finally, yesterday, I had lunch with Sarah, our new teacher from Lisle. Since I helped her get the job at Westmont, we’ve become casual friends and chat when we can. Over lunch I asked her how it was to teach her summer school class. She described the absolute worst situations I could ever imagine a teacher–new teacher, no less–would have to face. She was physically threatened. She was sexually harassed. She was intimidated. And her methods of discipline are left unsupported by the administration. This sucks! I felt so bad for her. I called our union president and talked about the situation. I’m glad that we’re going to be able to help Sarah out. Poor girl. She’s probably only 5 years older than these punks sitting there in her class. Anyway, today, things apparently went better. At least, that’s what Sarah said. I told her that I told Rainy and we were both relieved at the potential resolution. I told her that we have to take care of our own. It’s kinda funny how that worked out. I’m not sure how she views me. However, in a lot of ways, it’s kinda like I’m the older teacher helping the younger teacher get through her first year. I’m not a mentor or anything like that, but it’s also not really like an older brother, little sister thing too. In a lot of ways, we were both doing what we needed to do in as professional a manner as possible. It really makes me feel like I have a chance to grow and take responsibility and mature. Or maybe, I’ve been giving myself a lot less credit than I really have deserved.

I’ve decided to just do things that I want or like to do. Sounds profound, eh? I think that I’ve become a victim of my own PR. That is, in terms of what I’m doing, why am I doing it? Do I always have to have an ulterior motive behind it? Am I trying to impress someone? Am I trying to gain prestige for myself because I’m “such a good Christian boy” or am I really just acting as my personality allows and as God opens doors. What’s so weird about that? I believe that the problem is not really out there. The problem is sitting right here, typing this out. I need to learn to be a bit more assertive in my life and to just go ahead, plan it and do it. It’s another way that I can begin to move in that campaign drive I’ve put myself through towards “growing up” and learning responsibility and being an “adult.”

In the practical sense, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to give a call over to Moody Radio tomorrow in the morning. I have a contact to the volunteer coordinator that Donald Strong gave me back in March. If it takes me until the Fall to work there, I’ll take it. This is important in my life. It needs to take priority. Also, I’m going to schedule out some time to do volunteer work on my own. I’d love to do it with other people, but I’m not going to take the time to set that all up. I don’t mind doing it alone. I’ve been itching for a long time. I ought to simply go. Finally, I’m going to get some apartments and stats on paper by this weekend. Next weekend and the weekend after that, I’m going to start looking at places. Hopefully, my future roommate can join me, but either way, I want to make good on August 1 as my move in day.

I’m glad that God is giving me the opportunity and means to break free and move forward with my life. And that leads me to the personal conviction that I have realized while working out today. I need to pray more.

For the simple fact that I am not basing my opinions on other people or actions on the probably reactions of others, etc. the only one that really matters to me in terms of pleasing ought to be God. However, I lack in prayer in so many areas, particularly for the areas in my life that are steps to future steps in my life. What’s my calling? God, what is Your vision for my life? Is this your will for me? What’s next Lord? I realize now, more than ever, that the closer I am to being alone, the closer I need to be to Jesus because no one–NO ONE–cares and is willing to protect me as He does. So the bottom line then is to pray, not just for my heart and my missionary friends, and my girl, but as well for my life, where it’s going, and how God desires to get me there…

I’ve got to pray more. I’ve got to read more. I’ve got to try harder at my job. I’ve got to be more healthy. I’ve got to be more forgiving. I’ve got to avoid sin more. I’ve got to be more faithful to my committments. I’ve got to plan ahead better. I’ve got to execute my plans more effectively. I’ve got to fight harder when I’m weak. I’ve got to be less of a whimp. I’ve got to make good on my promises. I’ve got to do it all in response to my God who is strong enough to be my fortress and loves me so much that I can trust Him.

In a lot of ways, I feel like I just live. Maybe I ought to live with a little more purpose in my day.

I finally am giving up tracking my blog site. I realize that no one reads my site anyway. What do I care if I don’t know who reads it or that no one reads it. In fact, it’s almost exactly the point that I write without anyone in mind. This site was meant to be my personal journal. Sure, it’s a window into my life for my friends who have are far away geographically or metaphorically. However, am I more obsessed with who hit my site than with being real and honest and true to who I am so that when I reflect back, I can see my life growing in Christ and my maturity building by His grace? I want this to be of benefit to me.

This kind of has to do with this new book I’m reading now. It’s called Scribbling in the Sand by Michael Card. It’s amazing. As I’ve been reading it (I’m on Chapter 4 now), I see that the creative act does not begin with creating anything. It’s actually about gazing at Jesus and recognizing how beautiful and inspiring that he is. After that (and only after that) do I get to respond to Him. That’s worship. When someone is in love, they respond out of love, out of joy, out of an inspiration. That’s worship. That’s art. That’s the beauty of art–that which points to the ultimate beauty of God. It’s that which is so moved by God that it makes us stop and consider this amazing God that we are responding to through the means God’s given. So, even as I write, do I write for the praises of man? Or rather, am I writing that God may be pointed to as the one that has true beauty and majesty and worthiness for praise? I hope that in all that I do whether it’s video, music, writing, acting, teaching, or serving that I do so, not so much for the needs of man but rather, as a response to this strong and loving God who is the ultimate creative being.

I also realized today that I need to move out and move out as soon as possible. Today I finally received a message on the family answering machine from my boss. Given that it was saved the day we left for Toronto, however since returning, I have yet to contact him. I didn’t realize that I wasn’t supposed to wait around for him–he had already called! And now, my call will be a week late. I’m going to get it tomorrow at work! Despite that, I talked with my future roommate about apartments and neighborhoods and price and space. God willing, our target date is 01 August 2003. I think it’ll be good. I can only hope for the best, but things look good for that right now, even financially. We both agreed that we need to get out of our respective parents’ house. I hope things will get better, however, I think that for my family’s sake, my own sanity, and maturity for all of us. It’s becoming a reality. And now, it’s about 45 days left…

I used to go running a lot. My best friend from high school and I used to run 4 days a week before going into work. That eventually stopped because of various reasons. Ultimately, he moved out into an apartment in the northwest suburbs. On my own, I wasn’t as successful, but I tried. When I did, I would usually use that time to pray. This started last summer when I was going through my physical therapy and I used to pray on the treadmill at Hinsdale Hospital trying to complete a full mile after my knee surgery. That’s the habit I got into. Since I began to be more and more active 6 months or so after surgery, I thought it was strange to be so involved playing tennis, weight training, and other sports but not run. So, I tried more to do that now, on my own again. Tonight was the first time in a while that I ran an extended distance on the road alone.

As I ran through Oakwood, one thought that came to mind was that I really had to mentally prepare myself to do it. I actually drove my planned course to get the mileage correct. By doing that, I also got a good look at the path I was going to take. I knew where the mile markers were. I knew the pacing I had to take. I saw myself feeling tired and planned ahead to fight through it and to simply finish. And so there I was, fulfilling my plan by actually doing it all, as planned. It’s so reflective of my life these days. On Monday, I had to begin to make good on a radical commitment that will last for a good couple months. All weekend in Toronto, I really had to mentally prepare myself to come back to Chicago and to this situation. I think I’m ready. I made it past Monday. Tuesday is behind me. Only 10 or so more weeks to go. *sigh* However, I think that this mental preparedness has been the best strategy for me in dealing with some of the bigger obstacles in my life. I think I’ll be using it more often.

Another thing that I realized was that I don’t know of any of my old friends to still be living in Oakwood. They have all moved out to wherever they are. In fact, I realized that the only houses that I knew of were those of people I work with or students that I have in class or on the track team. What in the world am I doing living at home? I’m almost 30 years old, and I’ve been living at home since college for about 7 years. This whole time, I have been working at the school (and for the first 3 years) I was getting paid less that if I was working at McDonalds, actually. However, when I think of the parity of it all, I think about what my brother said over dinner Friday night. He said that when he thinks about it, our father came to the United States in 1969. He was born in 1942. That means that he was the brisk young age of 27–the exact age of my sister, the middle child between my brother and I. My mom arrived in 1967 at age 23. If you think about it, that’s the age that I am at as well as my siblings. So aren’t we old enough to break out on our own? I realize that there’s current situations and social forces and economic issues and blah, blah, blah. However, the point is this: I need to move out so I can move on with my life. I sound stupid today; I concede. However, better that I do something about now than to wait any longer on this topic. I’m rather resolved that by the end of August, good Lord willing, I’ll have a new place in Oak Park.

Another thing I realized was that I really like running with someone. Monday’s conversation included a confession and determination regarding running on your own. She doesn’t like to run alone, but did so anyway. I really felt the same way today. I opted not to head for the club as I normally do. Instead, I decided to run through Oakwood. However, as I checked my times, I ran so slow today that I could have just walked it. This would not have happened if I was running with someone. That alone would help me run longer and faster. You can’t have it all, but a guy can dream. I suppose the bottom line is that I’m going to miss running with my running partner for a while. I also think that I’ve learned to fight through that kind of laziness. So, I suppose, I should begin again to let God be my running partner.

I like the way the best man ended his toast on Saturday…

“I hope that your marriage will be modern enough to stand the trials of today and old-fashioned enough to last over time.”

“Time of My Life”

Mark Schultz

He packed his bags when he was just 18

To see a world he thought he’d never seen

But he knew when he met her

That she was the girl

He’d been waiting for

And each night they spent talking on the front porch swing

Like it came straight out of a movie scene

But one night she stepped out as the sun began to set

And when she got to the porch she found a letter that read

You’re the only girl I’ll ever love

And I’d do anything not to give you up

If I could only stop the world

When you’re standing by my side

See I’m having the time of my life

Yes, I’m having the time of my life

The months went by it was their wedding day

A church on a hill, wedding bells rang away

She looked like a princess

All dressed up in pearls

It was her proudest day

And he stood all alone in a darkened church hallway

And he got down on his knees and he started to pray

He thanked the Lord for his family and the perfect bride

But he couldn’t hold back what he was feelin’ inside

And he said

She’s the only girl I’ll ever love

And I’d do anything not to give her up

If I could only stop the world

When she’s standing by my side

See, I’m having the time of my life

Yes, I’m having the time of my life

Forty years went by and she lived most of God’s plan

She stood alone in an attic, wedding dress in her hand

And she held an old letter written so long ago

But she’d never forget it

No matter how old

And as she turned to put the dress away

And pack up the years

He was standing in the doorway

With his eyes full of tears

And he held her

‘Cause you’re the only girl I’ll ever love

And I’d do anything not to give you up

If I could only stop the world

When you’re standing by my side

See I’m having the time of my life

Yes, I’m having the time of my life

I have gotten a few things worked out in my mind and in my life this trip, however. One thing is that I’ve come to a new level of appreciation for this topic of my adulthood that I’ve been struggling with for the last few weeks. It all kind of started with a conversation with a friend. Some of her recent discussions with mutual friends of ours have really brought into question whether or not our peer group really act or even really are adults in our interactions. I ended up taking that question a bit deeper as I examined my personal life. Am I an adult? How am I in my maturity? How am I in my self-sufficiency? How do I handle difficult situations? How do I see myself grow? There are a zillion different fronts and facets that I can address this question. However, as I examine my own life, I can definitely see that there are certainly areas in which I could stand to grow–more in some than others, I should add.

My latest realization is that my parents do not want me to grow up. I have to agree with external observations that my parents care deeply about me and my brother and sister. They provide for us and they support us. However, the problem that we are caught in a bind of appreciating our parents, honoring and humbly accepting that which they provide as we know that this is their way of loving us and in trying to establish ourselves as adults, bound as a family, but separate as individuals who need to be on our own to experience life as it is intended. Examples of this are the way my father gave me a hard time about the likely prospect of moving out of my house into an apartment at the end of the summer. “Why are you going to waste your money?!?” Another example is the way that our passports are hidden away by my mom when we have a big trip ahead into Canada. Needless to say, my passport had expired and I really have no idea how I’m going to make it back into the United States. Sure, it’s my fault it didn’t get renewed, but it’s not like the responsibility of the possession of my passport was passed down to me. My father continually tried to solve every problem we had on this trip instead of simply trusting my brother and I resolve the situations. Can’t we be trusted? Finally, maybe the most vein situation, but telling situation was the potential firestorm of a fight when my brother, cousin, and I suggested that we would catch the Cubs/Blue Jays game at the Sky Dome on Friday. It was a perfect situation. However, because my father is super paranoid about us getting exposed to SARS, his determination and seriousness to disallow us to go far outweighed the lighthearted nature of which the spirit of us going to the game led us to fight. It was just embarrassing that my aunt (my cousin’s mom) really wondered why we didn’t go. What were we going to say? Our dad is too afraid of us getting SARS? To which, I said to my brother, “How old are we?” It was really pathetic and sad.

So, tonight, I was talking with this guy at the reception who was in the Navy for a couple years after high school. He immediately grew in responsibility as his rank increased. This really led him to grow and mature at a very early age. We agreed that you simply cannot grow older and expect to mature naturally. It’s just not how it works. Maturity and age are not directly related. My thought at that moment was that I might be growing old, but not maturing in the situation of my life as it stands. I don’t seem to have any control over my age. However, I do have control of the development of my maturity. I’ve resolved to talk to my folks about this situation. I’m going to start with my mother, since I need to overcome a very stubborn father. I realize that the only way I’m going to grow is if I begin to take responsibility for my life. I can’t do that when my parents are reluctant to give it to me. I’ll need to talk to them about it. Additionally, I should add that I further realize that the problem in most situations, actually, is not the same as mine; it’s usually the opposite. There are many people who are either pushed into their own responsibilities gently or forcibly. Sometimes they are given with grace; other times, they are given with a whip; still other times, they are given without warning and disownment. Knowing that, I realize that I probably have a situation where it’s a “good problem to have.” However, it’s a problem nonetheless. I would like to grow up and mature. I need to take control of my life and get there.

Another thing from the wedding is the level of vein that is actually possible for human beings to have went up for me today. We all knew that my cousin is a princess. However, today was her fairy tale wedding. I think we were all pretty disgusted by it. In fact, my cousin asked yesterday if it’d be possible to use my laptop for a PowerPoint presentation. I reluctantly agreed. As we began to pack stuff up, I hear her say, “Princess gets her way again!” clearly and quietly. That really was too much for me. There was fog and bubbles for the first dance. There was an ice sculpture. There were huge rose displays on every table. It was an open bar. They served steak and fish. She was the only girl I ever saw who wore a tiara and wore it proudly. Please bear in mind, this is my blood. However, even my family has that terrible potential to be vein and self-centered and princessy. I realize that she is an only-child and that most of her side of the family lives in America. However, wouldn’t one think that a person could so full of themselves to allow that person to grow to such a level of high maintenance. *sigh*

My final thought for the evening/early morning is something that the priest at the wedding said. He told the story about his parents who were married for over 65 years. She was Catholic, but he was Protestant. The mother was in the hospital about 10 years before she finally passed away, because she showed serious signs of passing on at that time. The family would take turns to be on watch with her. One night, the priest, the couple’s son, while doing the midnight shift watch saw his father’s minister come into the room. He came in and held her hand. He told her that he and her husband’s congregation had prayed for her that night. She gently opened her eyes and quietly said, “Thank you.” She then went back to her resting, eyes closed position. Apparently, he was there to comfort her and bless her. The priest in the corner seemed to have been passed over in the minister’s take of the room. So, he heard the conversation which included his question: So how long have you been married? She said, “57 years.” The minister was taken aback in amazement! “Wow! That’s a long time!” She then said, “Not long enough.” It was at that point that I realized the depth of love that the priest was describing.

I have always wanted to marry younger in my life. My thinking was that the sooner I got married, the longer I’d have to spend with my wife. Today, I stand at a chipper 29 years of age. Not exactly the “spring chicken” of my youth, but not the “cooked goose” of my generation. I feel that I am growing and maturing and that I’m dealing with issues of preparedness of married life on my own. However, after that statement, I thought about her, my love and joy. Could I describe my desire to be with her in this way? Do I have the longing to be with her in this way? Is 57, 60, 65 years simply not enough time together with her? I hate to say that it’s hard to say because we’ve only walked such a short time together. However, is she someone that has grown and could be my best friend? Absolutely. Is she someone that has the heart of longevity to be committed to a relationship? I believe so. Is she the person that I can look at straight in the eyes and know that this moment really should never end if I had it my way? Yes, period. It is true that in a way, we have a life together so far that could be described as “not long enough.” However, I also feel like we need to look at our futures together and ask this same question, is the rest of our lives on earth the time too much time to be together or will the rest of our days be “not long enough?”

The priest said that if three words could replace the phrase “I love you” he would propose the use of the phrase “not long enough.” When I look into her eyes and I hold her close for a hug… When we talk on the phone at lunch or at 6am… When we run together or run errands… When she is nearby physically and when she is only near because she is in my heart… my consistent response is that the time I spend with her is simply “not long enough.” However, I believe that she has heard it far more often from me in the terms “I love you.”

Couple funny things happened at the District Year End Social that I wasn’t planning on going to, but did anyway since I skipped the Jr High Yearbook Signing Party. #1, Mrs. Van Erden decided to take pictures for the newsletter or yearbook today. She caught me with my ubiquitous stack of half a dozen chicken wings on my little hors d’ourves plate. As I was munching away, talking with Mrs. Benson, a Christian lady who teaches music at one of my elementary schools, Mrs. Van Erden snapped a shot of me “tearing” into a drumette. Of course, for those who know me, that’s a winner shot right there: Jeremy eating chicken. However, she put a new twist on it for me. She told me the caption: Mr. Bautista sucks on the bone of a student who went on an inappropriate website at the school! I kinda like that one too…

I guess I have to agree with some previous statements about me “loving” Track and Field. I devote so much time into it. Not only do I spend the time and energy required by the paid job aspect of it, but I totally go above and beyond what I need to do just for the sake of Track and Field. I think about it when I’m doing other things. I put together videos and a website that are dedicated to it. I sleep on the couch to keep close to my work instead of affording myself my mattress. There are very few things I think I’d go out of my way like that for.

This video is coming out to be really cool. I’m happy that it’s not like the other videos in terms of pacing and style. The footage was done almost completely by students. There’s going to be a lot of longer segments representing spoken parts by people. The clips that I have so far are really neat. I got that teary-eyed feeling again while watching my video. The way I describe it to people is that when I do a video and it’s coming out really well, I can feel the tears begin to well up inside. It’s kinda weird. But, the first thing that runs through my mind is “I love my kids.” When I did the 10th Anniversary video last year, I felt the same way. I said, “I love my church.” Last year’s Track video made me say, “Don’t they know that I’m their biggest fan?” I have the entire season running through my brain, with every detail the camera can capture, all at once. It’s always a very retrospective time for me, but also a very excited time for me because it’s my way to telling the kids that I paid attention to their season and that I’m proud of them. I always take the shots that make them look the best. I don’t know about still pictures just yet, but for sure, I hope that they are all represented well. They all occupy that little cubby space in my heart already.

In other news, I’m thankful that God affords me second chances. Apparently, for as good a “people person” people claim that I can be or that I believe I am, there is nothing like trying to communicate to someone who has a completely different style of communication. Then, what happens when is the closest person in your life that you have this difficulty? There’s no walking away. There’s no giving up. There’s no such word as failure at this point. We have to work it out. We can’t be “half-way dedicated.” Oh, but how difficult it is. It’s not her. And, per se, it’s not me. We just have to learn, like all people do when they want to get past “So, how’s the weather?” to communicate, to listen, to remember, to be sensitive, to care, to support, and to love. Again, I’m so glad that God grants to me second, third, and fourth chances. However, in the sometimes contentious nature of conversation, there is a peace that I come back to. Most people would just concede (or fight), pick up their ball, and go home. We’re not doing that. The peace is that we’re past the small talk. The peace is that we’re not afraid to be ugly and nasty as the real human beings that we are. The peace is knowing that she still accepts me, as that I accept her, for who I am, and for who she is. I really liked Pastor Steve’s semon once quoting a definition of “home” once. He said that “home” is where when you knock on the door, they have to let you in. In a lot of ways, I am very much at home. I’m very much comfortable with her, willing to be rebuked, willing to listen to her, willing to share with her, willing to be dedicated, not in spite but rather, despite all the differences that we have between us. I hope that she feels this way too.

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As always… What a weekend!

Friday night was another night to be remembered out on the track, the field of dreams for those kids. It was the conference meet. Like last week, this is the meet where everything is laid out on the line. Frosh/Soph and Varsity alike, all had their shot that night to put or shut up for the season that is about to be a had-been. Out at the triple jump pit, I saw the dog fight of season with my jumper extend and extend his personal best by over a foot. I asked him facetiously whether he planned on qualifying to the State Finals next week. He said “no,” so I told him to let it ALL hang out. And so, he did. 37′ 7″. It was an attempt that got him past fifth place and in forth, leading a pack of 3 jumpers all within 5 inches of each other. However, that wasn’t all. The final few jumpers, particularly from Ridgewood decided to fight it out at the 40′ 2″ mark. They ended up tying for second and third place. Watching that was quite the dog fight. Rare in the Triple Jump–awesome in the moment.

However, in another moment tense for Westmont, we came into the final event 9 points ahead of Elmwood Park. We were in third place, exactly where we expected and wanted to be going into the much storied 1600 Meter Relay. Every meet, that event gets more and more exciting. I find myself screaming in amazement more than in agony watching the hand-offs race past the finish line. And, always amazing but inevitable, the lead teams all were handing off within 2 seconds of each other to the anchor leg. Wow! Watching those guys literally FLY through the exchange and into the first turn makes me shake my head in bewilderment and awe. And Phil, in classic Phil-style, incrementally pull away to pull out the definitive win into the home stretch to the screams of joy and excitement of the Westmont parents who came out to cheer on the team. Seconds behind us, Elmwood Park. Victory! Until…

Rainy and Steve pulled the relay team aside and told them of the ruling. Runner number 2 was not in the exchange zone when the baton was being passed. Basically, they were disqualified. Zero points. All that effort; no points. Elmwood Park; first place–10 points. In the end, the final standings were: Riverside-Brookfield, Fenton, Elmwood Park, and Westmont. The points: Elmwood Park (85), Westmont (84). The thrill and excitement of one of the best races that I’d seen in a while, lost in a frustration only worth responding to with a head drop and a quick shuffle back to the bus.

I thought about that moment for a while afterwards, and not to be overly spiritual about it, but it was telling me something that I think I knew but was willing to ignore as of late. There a lot of awesome things people can do. There’s a lot of amazing feats one can accomplish. However, particularly in sport, despite all your talent being put out on display for people to gawk at or to envy or to have as tableside or water cooler conversation tomorrow, it doesn’t count unless you play by the rules. Milica “jumped” a 15 foot long jump a couple weeks ago–on a scratch. Ben threw a 41 foot shot put last week–with a foul. These guys ran a 3:33 1600 meter relay–with a disqualification. There’s a lot that I can do and a lot that can be done. However, if not by the rules, it’s really a waste and for not. And this is not too much different than real life. The thing is, the rules don’t come from the IHSA book or the NSF book. The rules come from God and there is always a judge overseeing the activities. Let’s face it, I can always get away with a mistake if no one is looking–yet God is always looking and always aware. This is a fact that I have been avoiding as of late. How can I honestly live knowing that God knows every sin that I’ve committed–not because I’ve confessed it, but because HE WAS THERE! And then, I have to hold account for this. This is insanity to live as if I can “get away with something.” I’ve been a judge before. I’ve bent rules before. But God is not that lenient. His law is exactly that: His law. I have to begin to take sin much more seriously in my life.

I remember little league baseball games of my past. I may have had an awesome game pitching or a lousy day at the plate. It could have been the day I crashed into the first baseman for a pop-up or the day I hit three long balls past the left fielder. It could have been a day my friend Mike was announcing or the day I struck out as the last out of the season. Whatever day it was, the ubiquitous location to meet after the game was Stop ‘n Chat. We didn’t have anywhere else we could call ours. We couldn’t go anywhere that allowed us kids, dirty and grimy, to be kids, dirty and grimy. We’d wait in line to get a twin-twist of soft serve vanilla/chocolate ice cream. And when strawberry came out or they tested a mint ice cream, it was something definitely to try. It was our place. It was my place.

Recently, probably around 3 years ago, Stop ‘n Chat closed up that small shack there on Cass Avenue because they lost their lease. It was a sad day. However, as surprising to me as anyone else, when the new Ty Warner Park opened up on the north side of town, the concession stand was emboldened with the words “Stop ‘n Chat.” And there began it’s small revival. Apparently, since then, something else happened and again, this location was vacated by the establishment. However, with the removal of the old building south of the tracks, a certain amount of nostalgia filled my heart as I drove by the pile of wood and concrete. I’m sure that lot, previously filled with kids at Stop ‘n Chat and shoppers at the Aldi’s, will without doubt become something like a Chipotle or some other trendy chain restaurant getting a piece of the Westmont main street action. It won’t be the same. It’ll never be the same.

In other news, I’ve been on somewhat of a struggle these days with where God wants me to be in life. At my work, they continue to rewrite my job description. This year is no different. I’ll be teaching enrichment classes and keyboarding. I don’t even know what enrichment means. Unfortunately, neither does our administration. It’s a throw-away class to put kids who are not in band and chorus. And, on top of it, these are the same kids I just saw this year. That means that I can’t teach the same stuff as I’m currently teaching now. I have to completely write a curriculum from scratch. That’s never fun. However, it’s potentially $3000 worth of curriculum writing stipends. So I suppose I shouldn’t complain, really. But, because of the scheduling, these four classes fall in the morning of my day: first through fourth period. Then, I get a lunch and a plan. The end of sixth period goes until1p or so. That leaves me heading to the elementary schools to do technical work so late that I only have 1.5 hours in most cases to do work. That’s barely enough time to collaborate and discuss the issues with each individual school facilitator. I thought that I was being given the choice to go technical or teaching this year. However, either way, I though that we had wanted to focus only on one. They really need help on the technical side. But, if I were not to go that direction, then they’d need to hire someone new. Instead, they gave me both and made both jobs harder–again. There’s going to be an expectation to do training of other staff members. There’s going to be a HUGE web component. There’s my constant self-learned training of Novell and Apple server and client software. And that’s only on the technical side! I still have to figure out how I’ll teach keyboarding in such a way that it leads to the high school program. I have to create a new curriculum for these “enrichment” students. Maybe a Mars land rover? Maybe radio broadcast? I don’t know what I’ll do with these students for a semester. But this is my work.

Tack onto this my involvement at church. There is this continuation of small group ministry and relationship building within the church. I’ve been serving in it for about three years and it’s been admittedly difficult as of late. However, I’ve decided to stick it out, tentatively, through the summer so I don’t make any rash decisions because I’ve recently had a bad experience. I, however, could just as easily walk away and take a break. On the other hand, there is this developing ministry in Arts and Media that still needs attention because it’s in a state of growing pains. As what was said recently, we (as a ministry) are like toddlers trying to do adolescent things. There are some major leaps to take in our ministry to grow and to mature. We’re just not there as of yet. So can I really leave this ministry as it is? I don’t think so, not right now. However, where is my spiritual gifting? Where is my joy? Where am I going to grow the most? Where is God calling me to? Where does this lead to in the future? What’s most insane about this situation is that I can’t ask this in the vacuum of church based ministry. These are questions that I need to consider in the greater context of my work life and my personal life and my future.

What is God’s calling on my life?

I hope and pray that through this summer, God will lead me to see where I will be going. Where does God desire to use me to glorify His name? Is it here in Chicago? Is it there overseas? Is it with an established ministry? Is it with the poor starting from scratch? I hope and pray that this will become so much more clarified to me because the more and more that I go on I realize that without this clearer direction, the muddle that I’ve become so comfortable in will that which will suffocate me with its consistent nagging. God did not bring me this far to simply kill me. I know He has a plan. I would like to be a willing participant in it.

I would like to think that I’m a loyal friend. I would like to think that I’m one that tries to paint people in the best possible light when at all possible. I would like to think of myself as one who is always hopeful that God is going to redeem even the most screwed up lives–based on my own experience with God. And I would like to think that this is the proper way to consider situations like this. But, as someone who tries to be a realist, it’s very hard. I want to call it like I see it. I want to come to a situation without spin and without coloring. I want to be impartial and dispassionate about disagreements of opinion. But I’m not sure that these things can co-exist.

I know that people stick up for me. I also know people criticize me. I suppose that either way it really doesn’t matter which they do, but rather if they were sincere in their actions. Because I’m not there usually when it happens, I’ll probably never really know for real. However, I hope that in my life when faced with these circumstances that I will be sincere in all I say about my friends, my family, and my colleagues.

It’s not that God doesn’t know me. God does know me. He understands me. He created me. He redeemed me. He is working on me. The problem is not that God is catching up with me. The problem is that I am not bothering to try to catch up to God. I’m not the standard; God is. I need to know this God who already knows me. I need to come back to Him who has already openned the door for me to walk back. I need to listen and obey this God who has allowed me my freedom to choose my way. I really pray for God’s forgiveness. I really pray for God’s mercy on me. And I realize that I must live life His way–not my way. it won’t happen over night. But, the alternative to walking towards God is to walk away from God. And as I understand it, that’s not an alternative at all–that’s suicide.

Time for another day. I pray it’s one I that I can walk with God through.

Today, I received an email from Sarah Jakalski, the track coach from Lisle looking for a job as a high school reading teacher. I was really excited to hear that she was offered the job and has accepted it. She’s going to be a Sentinel! The Track and Field coaching position was not promised to her, however, it’s always a possibility. She emailed me to thank me because I was the one who got the ball rolling for her at Westmont (little did I know that Yorkville was in the hunt for her also at the time). At 9a this morning, that was a great little pick-me-up! The other coaches were really excited too! Except for one: Jen.

Jen came up to me between classes and said, “So then what happens to me now?” Jen and I have been coaching together for 3 years now. She’s not the most outgoing of people, but she can quietly relate to the kids, take care of personal issues, be a supporter to the quiet athletes, and be a figure of authority. I know that often, because she’s not skilled in the specifics of various events, she feels a little “useless,” however, we as the core coaching staff have always considered her as part of the team and a valuable one at that. However, the question she asks is legitimate: what does happen to Jen? Steve does distance and long hurdles. Rainy does sprints, relays, and short distance hurdles. I do long jump and triple jump. And in theory, Sarah could do pole vault and high jump. We would still need someone to do shot put and discus, but Mr. Fisher could easily take that job if another coach doesn’t come around. but where does Jen fit in? It’s frustrating to say the least. She’s put in her time and effort. I’d hate to lose her as one of our coaches.

Despite this minor snafu in our Track program, I’m hopeful that things will work out for the best. I often tell kids who get frustrated with the other coaches that this is the only sport I will coach for because it’s the only group of coaches I can get along with. I don’t have another choice. I’ve never met people who cared so much for kids with such a passion to see them succeed, not only in athletics, but in life also. Rainy keeps track of the kids grades. We keep up on their behavior and family patterns and try to focus them on what’s important–often it’s not Track, and it’s okay. It’s not even a matter of being overbearing or manipulative. I really see the concern (sometimes overly) and love (often times hard) they have. It’s again, one of the ways God has taught me about Christian life outside of my church and typical Christian experience. They really are my heroes and the ones I would want to emulate as a teacher, a coach, and a friend. It’s true that they may not be Christians (in fact, I doubt it), but God is sovereign and has certainly blessed me through my coaching career.

Out on the track today we had the Girls Conference Meet in Elmwood Park. We all knew that we weren’t going to win up against such large schools such as Fenton and Riverside-Brookfield. However, we were not about to go down quietly. With the option to officiate High Jump or Long Jump for Westmont, I chose to run the Long Jump and Triple Jump for varsity so Steve could be free to coach the rest of the team. At the Long Jump pit today, I witnessed breakthrough after breakthrough with my girls.

The drama that surrounds my girls has gone on all year. I don’t know if it’s because I’m young or because they think I’m the “cool” coach or whatever, but I feel like the girls try to get my attention in various ways, above and beyond each other. It’s kinda funny. Milica always asks me, “I’m your favorite jumper, right?” She jumped for me last year and easily became our #1 jumper. Then there’s Erin who is the “life of the party” girl who came right out of the starting blocks of the season beating Milica in the first couple meets. Then there’s Natalie who acts like she’s as if she’s hurt all the time who has yet to impress anyone with any fulfillment of the potential she showed early on. Through the season, Milica resented the fact that Erin could outdo her without really having any technique or commitment to the sport. Erin, on the other hand, acted like she could continue to maintain or even improve by simply showing up without striving for more in her training. And then today came.

Milica and Natalie came out and jumped amazingly. They both broke their personal records and did so resoundingly. Milica, if it weren’t for a slight scratch on her final jump would have probably come home with a first place medal and an all-conference victory. However, she came in second, only behind by 2.5 inches. I was so proud of her. After working so hard through this season, going through frustration being the “second” jumper behind a paper tiger, she finally showed what kind of a jumper she really was–a champion jumper! Against all social morays (and probable legal advice), I gave her the “I’m proud of you” hug. She really rocked! And then there was Natalie. Not impressive at all over the weeks. She barely tried, and rarely performed well. However, with her last three jumps for finals, improved her best mark by over 2 feet! She finally began to “feel” the experience of flight that I had so tried to ingrain into their minds. She actually began to fly instead of just jumping and landing. To her, I simply said to her, “Did I ever tell you that I am proud of you?” She responded, “Now you did.” To which I said, “I am.” Wow! Investment and investment and investment comes to fruition. And there they are, successful, proud, and edified.

And then there’s Erin. Out of 9 girls in the Triple Jump, Erin did not make the cut out of preliminaries. They only took 8, and she was number 9 with a jump 3 feet short of what she was capable of jumping 3 weeks ago. Erin was distracted. She had a bad run-in with an exchange judge just minutes before jumping. But regardless of that, I know that she’s feeling the frustration of being at the top and watching someone slowly progress beyond. It was kinda sad to say the least. It is the fulfillment of her choices to not try hard, to not work out, to not be serious when she needed to be. It is what happens to people when pride takes precedence over training, commitment, dedication, sacrifice, good choices. Don’t get me wrong; I like Erin too. She’s someone that I think is young and could grow to be a really nice person, even though her choices make her out to seem otherwise. However, the difference is striking. Yesterday at the Junior High track meet, Milica came up to me immediately after her workout and said that she was going to change and then come back right away. While she was gone, I asked Erin at a distance if she was doing anything. “Nothing!” she yelled back while she walked back to the school. There is something to be said for working hard and not being so self-serving or self-absorbed.

I suppose that God is teaching through things like this. My prayer (that I often pray during the National Anthem) is that God will use these moments for these kids to be those that will be used by God to show that He really is the Way, the Truth, and the Light. I pray that God will use this all for His glory eventually and in His time.

Last night I stayed up to a chorus of heavy raindrops landing on my house and window. Because of that, I was inspired to add a weather link to the Track website so people would be more prepared as the meet day approached. However, I did not expect the beautiful weather that God has blessed us with today. Right now, I’m sitting in Oak Park on a park bench along the walking mall on Lake Street just east of Harlem. Elmwood Park is about 10 minutes away, and because the weather was clear and in the mid 70s, I had to go outside and just spend time just enjoying the beautiful night. I’m not alone. There are dozens of people outside (not inside) the Daily Grind Cyber Cafe where I bought my SoBe. They’re talking, playing board games, smoking, and carrying on as friends would on a night like this. Small groups of people, usually couples, continue to walk by my park bench talking and sipping on iced coffee or some other beverage they picked up from whatever is still open here in Oak Park. I could sit here for hours just people watching. I could also see myself being one of those people walking hand in hand with their special someone talking about the day and all its glory within a night just as beautiful as the one you love. These are nights that are not meant to be spent alone. I just hope that I’ll get to share more than stories about my future night in person with her, that special someone, rather than having to have to relate them in the retrospect.

One final thought that I have is about this whole “love thing.” How does one really know that they are in love or that they really love someone? When I was a younger, different person, I think I was under the impression that I would just know. When I became a little older and eventually a Christian, I think that this mentality changed. I think that I became more agreeable that one could logistically come to love someone. It was a process. A friendship. A mutual interest. A chemistry. An attraction. Add it all together and BAM! it’s love. Is it? Can love be so logistical like following instructions to put a table together? Can love be so processed, like getting the perfect blend of oranges, strawberries, and bananas for juice? Can love be so dispassionate that only the clearest of minds and discerning of people can find it? And even as a Christian, is love something reserved for the perfect and holy, outside the recommended bounds for those who are still working on their lives and struggling with the rigors of every day temptation and life? Today, maybe I’ve got this whole thing wrong. Maybe I’ve been taken off the track going from one extreme to another.

In many ways, I believe that the spark alone will not keep a fire burning in someone’s heart for another. It just won’t last. However, I also believe that just because on paper, everything adds up to be a “perfect” match, without a spark, it’s just a transaction, a deal brokered by two people wanting the appearance of a perfect match without that “above and beyond” love that makes the passion and person worth fighting for, dying for, loving.

These days, I believe that there is an in between. I’m no expert and certainly no counselor. However, I don’t think that you can have just one without the other. There’s got to be both. I’m not saying that simply by gut feeling do I know that we have something special. However, it’s there. I’m not saying that because we match up with so many similarities in interest and calling that it’s a done deal. Yet, that’s there too. However, as an adult who has now gone through the experiences of life that I have gone through, I feel like I can say confidently that I simply know. Is there a spark? Yes. Is there substance? Yes. Is there commitment? Yes. Are there differences? Yes. But, is there grace? Yes! I’ve come to the point where I believe that only by God’s good grace have I been given such a privilege…

—I would go on, but at this point in my entry, I got interrupted and simply can’t go on with this particular entry.

I will simply say that God knows what He is doing. I hope that I will be faithful enough to seek His will, avoiding going down a road away from that, and to do so humbly with grace and without argument.

It’ll be an interesting weekend starting tonight as it’s the Chicago Christian Co-Ed Invitational. There’s a lot of memories that go along with this meet for me as an athlete and as a coach. However, it also marks the beginning of the end of the Track season for us. Now, our schedule bombards us with Tuesday and Friday and Saturday meets all through the month of May. It’s wild and exciting and stressful. However, I know that as much as we need to push on as a team towards the State Meet, I have to push on in school, in faith, and in my own life. It’s just the beginning, and I intend to be as hopeful at the end as I am now. Something’s gotta fight off this feeling of dread!

I need so much of God’s grace.

I pass the Laurel Motors on Ogden Avenue every day as I go to work. Now, I know it’s a car dealership, but you figure that some things are just “sacred.” However, as I passed today, I noticed one of the workers putting balloons on all their cars. How pleasant and happy and joyous. It envokes thoughts of the sincerity of children and the niceties of neighbors. However, that was all before I then saw the guy take his last puff and hastily toss his cigarette butt to the ground as he went on to the next car grasping a gaggle of helium balloons for the next row of cars. Ah, American marketing. Maybe it really is about as sincere as used car salesmen.

And that wasn’t all. When I opened up my work email for the first time this morning, I noticed the usual spam email. Often, I delete it without much thought and reviewing. However, every once in a while, I get entertained to see what people have the audacity to sell via direct email. Is it another septic tank? Maybe it’s for Iraqi playing cards? Maybe it’s another get-rich-quick scheme? Or maybe, it’s just every day porn mail? But this one, struck my curiosity. it was from “Nick” and the subject said “It’s been a while.” Okay… What in the world could this one be… So, I clicked in. There, presented to me was a big picture, split into two sides. There was no text to the message, just this picture. On the left was this skinny guy with an oxford shirt opened displaying his flat chest and thin physique. Above him were the words, “Do you like Twinks? Click here” with the appropriate button for further investigation. On the right was this big muscular looking guy without a shirt and his arms folded in front of him. Above him were the words, “Do you like Studs? Click here” with his appropriate button available. It was bad enough that I get porn mail almost on a daily basis. However, I’ve finally hit my limit when I today, I received my first volley of GAY PORN SPAM EMAIL. Yuck.

Delete. Purge All. No thanks.

Today’s track practice came with sad news. One of our best girl sprinters came in with notes from the doctor’s office to lay off athletics for a month because of a ruptured Achillie’s tendon. She’s out fo the season. When we spoke about it in our coaches’ meeting, it was another Westmont runner going down that we have to work around in our line-ups. However, there’s always a human aspect to the story.

I was about to leave the school and began to pack my car when I realized that the equipment shed was still open, although the elementary/jr high kids from the parochial schools were practicing. So, because I was the last coach out there, I figured that I forgot to close up shop and went out to lock up the shed. On my way there, I saw one of of the girls sprinter’s mom. She asked for her daughter, but I didn’t know where she was. She muttered to me that her daughter was going to be sidelined for the rest of the season because of her Achillie’s tendon being ruptured. Sad, but since I had already heard the story, I simply directed her back inside where her daughter might be. Turned out that the frosh-soph discus boys were out practicing their throws. I saw them for a bit, talked with our throws experts, and bidded them farewell. That’s when the girl came out, limping, in a therapy boot right towards me. I had no idea why she was coming out this far. Maybe she wanted to be with the throwers, I didn’t know. However, all she had to say was “I’m finished for the season,” and I knew that this was far more than a simple injury to the body. I gave her a small hug and we began to talk.

Having talked to her in the past, I know her to be kind of emotional. She puts her 150% into everything she does. She fights hard and competes with heart and spirit. She’s considered one of our best sprinters on the team as well as a respectable thrower. And, for as much passion as she has for the sport, she can be quite thrown by emotion depending the situation. For example, the other day she almost began to cry during the cool down lap telling me (and those around) that she wanted to quit track altogether. After talking to her, it turns out that she was upset at the “insensitivity” of one of the other coaches. “She doesn’t care if we’re hurt; she’ll make us run anyway!” I explained to her that the people on the coaching staff care so much for the kids that we are willing to say harsh things to make them be better. As a person on the outside with knowledge of how it really is, I tried to explain that there’s a well thought out plan behind our coaches actions. With their experience, they know when a little harshness or tenderness is what is needed to encourage the runner on. Yet, it should never be mistaken that if harshness is chosen as the method of edification, that the coaches don’t care. All the more, it is because they care that they might seem harsh or rough or insensitive. Then, it comes to today when she tells me that when she told the other coaches of her medical situation as told by her doctor, that the coaches said, “it’ll be okay.” She was taken by surprise by the reaction. I, on the other hand, was taken by surprise by her doubt. So I re-emphasized that for as much as the coaches care about Track, we care about people. And this is where I begin to have to try not to cry.

She went on about how she couldn’t understand why God would give her such talent only to take it away. I can totally understand her after going through my own surgery that put me out of commission, potentially for a year. I told her that it is true that God can give and take away, but all of it is done with a purpose. God intends to teach us something through it. God just might be changing our role to show us something new and different. I told her to have faith because God knows better than we, and that in the end, ultimately, we’ll understand why God put us into these situations. I told her of my recent battles with that and the unexpected ways that my life has changed only to teach me through my new roles in life. I think she was receptive to that as well as the kind of person who will take it to heart, battle and wrestle with it, and try in her heart of hearts to understand and accept. However, when you’re a high school runner battling the frustration of not running, only to watch kids who have not even half the heart that she has taking her place, I can see the difficulty in accepting. I hope that she just doesn’t lose heart. She’ll come to realize that having it will be more valuable in life than she can ever imagine.

If I haven’t said so today, I love coaching. It’s one of the greatest things that God has allowed me to do. And when it comes to moments like these, I really have to hold back my own tears because I can feel the opportunities for God to be presented to these kids in a way that is not forced nor theoretical. God is real. God works. God cares. And, in a natural place I can present the love of God to my kids. I’m so thankful to God for this birthday gift as well. And so today, I hope that God has received the glory. I may get the attention, but God deserves the credit.

Despite all these little things, I truly am thankful today. It’s actually not as much for my birthday as it is for some of the small things. Thank God that He woke me up early enough to get to work despite me not setting my alarm correctly. I woke up at 545a for my 730a meeting. Thank God that He didn’t allow me to give up my good laptop for the BPA competition. Thank God my car still runs okay in the rain. Thank God that I have a job next year. Thank God that He’s given me, even if few, very good friends. And thank God, most especially for that one person, special and dear, that God has placed on my heart more than anyone else I know. I’m glad it’s my birthday–it’s a good excuse to blackmail my students and athletes. However, I’m just thankful because I’m not sure it gets much better than being blessed by God every day like I do.

Thank God in Heaven for protecting me today from giving my PC laptop to the Business Professionals of America (BPA) high school students for their national competition in Texas. I mean, I was willing to give it to them. However, for some odd reason, my boss suggested that I offer my old laptop instead of my new one. Makes enough sense to me. So, we all worked it out. As I was driving to Bible study today, I realize that had I given them my new PC laptop (this one I’m using right now), I’d be completely screwed for grades which are on this computer and are due Friday morning. They don’t return until next week. God is so good to me. God is way too good to me.

The other thing is that for turning 29 today, I really don’t feel like it’s very eventful or going to be very eventful. Maybe it’s possible because I don’t really make a big whoop about other people’s birthdays or I simply forget. Either way, I was somewhat surprised that the people in my small group remembered and got me a cake. I guess it was kinda wierd too because everyone thought that I was 30. They should have just asked (or did the math). I’ll be 30 soon enough. It’s not even a big deal to me.

Finally, it’ll be nice to go out to dinner with the family later tonight. After Track, my mom wants to go out to dinner for me (and assumedly, my brother too–02 May). We rarely go out to eat. We did to to Joe’s Crab Shack for dinner on Easter, but that was without my dad. This time, it’s everyone. Oh boy! I don’t know sometimes. I realized this the other day. I was talking to a friend and she said that she loved me like a brother. And, because I do, I told her I loved her as a sister. And, in Christ, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. But, as easily as I can say to my friends, “bro,” can I as easily look at my own blood brother and say the same thing? I really don’t think so. I look at my own blood brother to be much more distant to be called my “bro,” even though he is totally my brother. I wish that things were different, but they’re not. I hope God can continue to work on my heart about it…

Happy Birthday to me… Happy Birthday to me… Happy Birthday dear Jermball… Happy Birthday to me.