Rules were made to keep the right things sacred

This morning I went to hear Gordon MacDonald speak at my school. So, grabbed my Starbucks togo cup filled with London Fog and headed off to school. I went up to the balcony and took my seat. Seconds later, an usher came up to me and asked if I could finish my drink on the steps out of the chapel area.

I was kind of perturbed. My cup is really big, and I had planned ahead by bringing it. I'm not a gulper. I drink my tea. I enjoy it. And so I brought my tall red cup, so familiar to those that know me, so that i could drink it throughout the morning. And it had a lid. I'm not a spiller but am cautious.

I was thinking ahead.

But here, I was denied. I mourned for my tea, but knew that I should probably not argue or rock the boat. Perturbed, but not weighed down. Its just a cup of tea. A really good, well-looked forward to cup of Early grey with milk and just the right amount of vanilla. So, I put my tall red cup on the table outside of the chapel, and went inside.

When I came back out after the first session, I was ready for my cup. But where my cup was had been replaced by a tablecloth, and cookies and coffee pot and cups and plates and donut holes... Where was my cup?

I turned to the usher, who seemed to have been waiting for me:

"Don't worry, your cup is right here."

and she pointed at the really old antique desk that sits just outside the chapel.

It took me really by surprise. I almost want to say incredulous. My tea was barred from the chapel to make sure the chapel stayed nice looking, I'm assuming. But no one cared about the antique desk that sat with the antique Bible and the antique glass lamp that sat on it.

It seemed weird to me that they were willing to protect the carpet of the chapel on one side, but not the desk. What makes the chapel space more valuable than where someone may have studied the Word, preparing for their sermon, or just doing daily life? Maybe they were so concerned about following one rule that they could not recognize the value of something outside of their domain.

Prayer

Here is the prayer I presented last week in chapel:

Father, Holy One,

You are mighty and awesome, beyond our understanding. Infinitely above us, you have ordered all life and nature to bring you praise!

Thank you for who you are.

Thank you for drawing us to you, for being intimately close. Thank you for being the light in dark places, and the one who readies the soil.

We need you, and confess our need to you now.

You are Life Giver. You have heard our cries for mercy, and while we were far off you came to us. You redeemed us from hands that were too strong for us to master. You touched our limbs and from our grave, we danced. You have touched our eyes, and now we see. You have touched our lips, and now we sing. Thank you, Father.

You are our Redeemer. Ransoming us, you have called us to follow You and you have made it possible for us to do this. Thank you, Father.

Son of David, Lord Most High, Jesus, have mercy on us. You became nothing, making yourself a servant, we are humbled by such knowledge. We are silenced by such love. And by calling us, and making us alive, we run after you. As we turn our collars to the cold and damp, we turn to the reminder of the warm season that means new life, your resurrection. Let us be made radiant in You.

Consuming Fire, Holy Spirit, give us words to speak praise. Give us eyes to see where you are working. Open our stopped up ears to hear the cries of those around us in need that we may help. And give us fast limbs that swing into service and to outstretched praise.

We ask help for the needs amongst us. For those sick, may we be healed. Let us find peace in you. Let us truly understand what it means to be pursued by you.

Thank you for hearing us.

Amen.

it's been awhile...

It's been awhile since I posted on here. Guess nothing clever or witty has occurred in my life lately. hmmm.

My hair is acting goofy. Very Edward from Twilight -ish.

I can't brood or shimmer in daylight to save my life.

That's all I got. Gotta get back to my paper.

I run so others can eat

Well, it's fall and that can only mean one thing: I'm running a race of some sort.

I caught the bug two years ago when I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in DC. It's tough to shake it once you get it. I think the only sure way to break free of it would be to irreparably break my legs. And then I'd hire someone named Dragon to carry me across the line.

This year, I'm running with a group. A pack. A herd of people from Devonshire running a various assortment of distances: 1 is running the full marathon; 5 are running the half marathon; & 2 are running the 5 k. As we each finish, I'm sure we'll make our way over to cheer on the marathoner... it is a joy to see them finish. And sometimes to carry them.

Well, this year, the gaggle of us have decided that our running should be worth something. You know, you finish these things and you get your mylar blanket and your medal, and though a feeling of accomplishment is great, what has it mattered? So, we decided to run to raise money for WorldVision's efforts to dig wells in Africa.

After a race, all you want is to sit down and to have a drink of cool water. What a blessing it is for us to live a part of the world that water is abundant & CLEAN! The organization that we are raising money for uses vast resources in order to dig wells in Africa, so that the children and families there have a chance at a healthy life. They walk miles a day to get water from ditches that is not fit to be our sewage.

If you would like to sponsor us, please give here: http://www.firstgiving.com/dmcteamworldvision. If you cannot give at this time, please keep us in your prayers.

I think its weird...

I think its weird that we won't raise the Titanic to respect those who died inside, but we'll plunder the tombs of pharaoh... Is there some kind of rule about this?

No one will ever put Baby in the corner again...

Patrick Swayze may have been the first sex symbol for my graduating class. I was reflecting on Swayze's passing and thinking about when I first heard about him. I was in fourth grade, in Mr. C's class at Linglestown Elementary, and I remember Beth Ryan talking about him in ways that I don't think I had ever heard someone else my age talk about anyone, celebrity or otherwise. I did not have these feelings towards anyone, and here was Beth talking about her deep colorful love for him. Oh, and George Michael. They were both on the same level, and she would gladly makeout with either of them.

Weird.

I was just trying to figure out how to get through multiple levels of Legend of Zelda, and made sure I got to the mall to get the new Spider-Man (there was even talk of a grey Hulk!) I had no clue you could talk about adults like this. Sure, in third grade I had been in the "congregation" of many a "wedding" held on the back porch of our playground. But whenever it came time to "kiss the bride", all of our faces got tied up, like we had just eaten a lemon, and the boys ran while the girls chased. It was one of those "free-for-all/defend-yourself-to-the-last" type situations.

But fourth grade, things changed and I think Beth led the way. She seemed pretty ahead of us. At least, she talked like she did. She had seen Dirty Dancing a lot, and would continue to see it, she said, until she knew exactly what to say in case she ever did run into Mr. Swayze. I even remember for a day she wanted us to call her Mrs. Swayze!

I'm really not sure what happened to Beth Ryan, or a lot of the kids I went to elementary school with. I don;t know that she ever got her shot to talk to Patrick Swayze. She seemed so much older than us, like she actually knew what she was talking about. I had no clue about a lot of what she talked about. Maybe she just wanted to be rescued. Like Baby, maybe she was put in the corner and she saw her knight in tight jeans and rolled up t-shirt sleeves.

Or maybe she was just a fourth grader with no clue about she was talking about.

(For the record, I really thought she did, though.)

On 2nd Street last night

It was very surreal seeing Joe last night. Joe and I had been friends from kindergarten 'til about 6th grade. I was on my way to see Luke's show at Dragonfly last night when I got called over to that new Orleans themed bar by a guy I had not seen since he had a slight mental breakdown while we were in high school. I hadn't even noticed who was with him until he told me. There was Joe and another guy whom I had also not seen high school, a bully if ever there was one. Joe was surprised to see me, perhaps as mush as I was at seeing him, now confronted with one part of my past I had been unwilling to give up but was, instead, wrenched away from me.

Joe and I grew up in similar sets of circumstances. We were those kids who were never out of each other's sights. For 5 straight summers we alternated between each other's houses for sleepovers. He went down one path, and I went another. I might eb bold enough to say that he went down a path I was not allowed to go down.

I remember the first time I was offered a cigarette. Joe and I were walking with two guys through the old neighborhood. Actually, the guy who was with him last night, was the one who offered me my first cigarette. Joe grabbed it out of his hand before I could even answer and said "No" for me. I didn't know it at the time but Joe had already been smoking for about a month.

For whatever reason he wouldn't let me join him.

As we went through school I barely saw him in junior high or high school. Our schedules separated us, as I took harder and harder classes, and Joe ended up playing catch up. We were friendly, but his new friends kept offering him new things, things I didn't want to be a part of. Not because I was better or stronger in any way. I was scared of those things and their consequences.

I never saw Joe scared.

Except for that one time when we were gonna spend the night in his backyard in the tent until we saw the bat. We slept inside that night.

It was surreal seeing him there under the gaudy lights. They related stories that they had heard about me, that I was married, but they didn't know for how long, thinking it had just occurred. Or that I had two girls.

There was so much I wanted to ask him. Where had he been? I had heard stories, were they true? What about that job I got for you, but that you never showed up to for training? Given the chance, I would've sat down all night and just listened as he told me where he had been, and what he had been doing.

I don't think he owes me an explanation - I'm just curious.

What happens to the kids that didn't fear consequences? What happens to the boys who weren't aware that they were growing up while they made their decisions?

If I ever had the sense of Peter Pan's Lost Boys, I met three of them last night.