We Bought a Zoo

We just saw ‘We Bought a Zoo’. A great little feel-good movie. Jo cried through most of it. I teared up a couple of times as well. While the movie was great, the soundtrack was actually better! There is an official soundtrack done by Jonsí, but this is the complete soundtrack in the movie.

“Don’t Come Around Here No More” – Tom Petty
“Do It Clean” – Echo & The Bunnymen
“Airline To Heaven” – Wilco
“Don’t Be Shy” – Cat Stevens
“Go Do” – jónsi
“Living With The Law” – Chris Whitley
“Last Medicine Dance” – Mike McCready
“Buckets of Rain” – Bob Dylan
“No Soy Del Valle” – Quantic Presenta Flowering Inferno
“Sinking Friendships” – jónsi
“Like I Told You” – Acetone
“Ashley Collective” – Mike McCready
“For A Few Dollars More” – The Upsetters
“Hunger Strike” – Temple Of The Dog
“Ævin Endar” – jónsi
“Mariachi El Bronx” – Mariachi El Bronx
“Haleakala Sunset” – CKsquared
“Boy Lilikoi” – jónsi
“Cinnamon Girl” (Live) – Neil Young
“Holocene” – Bon Iver
“Throwing Arrows” – Mike McCready
“Work To Do” – The Isley Brothers
“All Your Love (I Miss Loving)” – Otis Rush
“I Think It’s Going To Rain Today” – Randy Newman
“Hoppípolla” – Sigur Rós
“Gathering Stories” – jónsi

Crazy Love: Profile of the Lukewarm

From Francis Chan’s book Crazy Love:

In the United States, numbers impress us. We gauge the success of an event by how many people attend or come forward. We measure churches by how many members they boast. We are wowed by big crowds.
Jesus questioned the authenticity of this kind of record keeping. According to the account in Luke chapter 8, when a crowd started following Him, Jesus began speaking in parables – “so that” those who weren’t genuinely listening wouldn’t get it.
When crowds gather today, speakers are extra concious of communicating in a way that is accessible to everyone. Speakers don’t use Jesus’ tactic to eliminate people who are not sincere seekers.

The Windmill Farmer

Sacrifice

This quote was posted by my friend Steph, on 9/11/11:

“– we can not hallow, this ground– The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have hallowed it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here; while it can never forget what they did here.” –Abraham Lincoln

Recall

I’m in Wilmington today and, per the usual, I drove around to see different little places that were rather important or only vaguely important in the history of me. I’m sure it seems like I’m overly nostalgic for this place. That’s because I am. Many of my best memories in life thus far were created here.

Obviously I’ve created many since then, most of them involving my wife, but the majority of the great memories created in Wilmington were during my single days.

Now before you start a long tirade of how my best days should have been after my wedding, I have to say that we had a couple of years in there that were some of my worst ever. To be fair, they were some of Jo’s worst as well. We were only here for three and half years as a married couple. Two were ball-busters and the other year and half was foreboding.

What can I tell you?! Marriage is tough sometimes. If your heart and mind aren’t straight, most of the time.

But this is all a tangent. The real point of this began with me driving past the Port City Java on Independence Drive today. I saw a guy standing outside, we nodded at one another. I don’t know that he recognized me since I’m overweight and had on glasses, but I knew him all too well.

I spent tons of time at this joint after Jo and I moved back, but I had first started frequenting this particular location while I lived with Adam & Travis in ’02. It was the “other office” for tons of staff and attenders at PC3.

I had been attending PC3 for about two and a half years when I started meeting with one of the Executive Pastors at the church, Mark Tippett. Mark was one of the most godly guys I’ve ever come across. Unlike many, he was also a regular guy. He didn’t always fit into the regular pastor type of mold. He was a good dude. He took non-believers fishing on his boat for the day…..just to hang out. I was in a small group of guys that he lead. He started discipling me soon after I joined.

I had been in a discipleship relationship once before. The previous time with was with a guy named Reid Satterfield. It was good during round 1, but round 2 was extremely short-lived. I made the excuse that I couldn’t deal with him being so depressed. I mean, sure he’d been shot in the leg by Kenyan rebel thugs or something. But you’re back in the U.S.! Cheer up, dude!!

Admittedly, not my finest hour.

So, Mark was my second shot at discipleship. It was really good. He helped me with some pretty big dealings in my life. He walked with me through my decisions on what to do about school. What to do about JoAnn. But I never let him in on my true desire to be in ministry. I never let him in on my ongoing struggle with pornography. Not once.

I was finding life difficult by autumn of ’02. JoAnn had moved back to Creedmoor, living with her parents and working at a Credit Union branch in North Raleigh. Matt Vana was still in Wilmington, but he was married by then, and for one of the first times ever I felt dreadfullly alone. I was failing nearly every class I was enrolled in at UNCW. I was no longer in Intervarsity. My hopes of going on staff with Intervarsity were now a fleeting memory as I saw my time at UNCW coming to a grinding halt. I had pissed away tons of money that my parents had poured into my education. Continuing to try to bring up my GPA, with the massive amount of pointless hours I’d accumulated, was no longer feasible. I had no clue what to do. I just knew that I didn’t want to go home, tail tucked between my legs.

It was around this time that Mark started talking to me about becoming one of PC3′s small group coaches. I would be one of a handful. I said I thought I could possibly do that.

But the pressures of life that I had swirling around me were overwhelming to say the least. It was the end of the semester. I had stopped going to my classes. I had stopped sleeping for that matter. I drove to Raleigh on the weekends, I worked 3rd shift at the Fairfield Inn on the other weekends. I had seen countless friends leave town. They had plans. Jobs. They had places to be. This was just part of it all. Finish school and head in a particular direction.

There was nothing else to be done. It was my turn.

I went to see my sister in California, returned to Wilmington and packed my stuff. I told Mark that I was sorry I wouldn’t be able to help with the small group coaching thing, but I essentially had no job and no real reason for being in Wilmington anymore. He asked me to try to find some means of work and reconsider. I told him I didn’t see how that was possible.

It wasn’t long after I moved back to Davidson my last roommate Evan was brought on staff, and shortly after that a guy named Richie started coaching small group leaders and was in short order put on staff as well.

My heart thudded to the ground when I heard. My only thought was, “that was supposed to be me.” Of course, that’s not totally true. The Lord obviously brought Richie into where he needed him. If he had wanted me there, he would have put me there regardless of my tweaked state of mind and whacked circumstances.

But that’s me talking now. If you think for one second that wasn’t a major player in why I went through about 6 years of rebellion, you are gravely mistaken. Between that seeming missed opportunity, the idea that I was back doing what I’d done before I went to school, that I had accomplished nothing, that I had lost 50% of my friends in my break-up with Carmen, that all of my good times in Intervarsity were like a mist, and that I had left behind my favorite church ever, I was destroyed. And it wasn’t my fault. No no!! It was God’s fault. A loving God wouldn’t have allowed me to lose so much in such a relatively short amount of time.

My left arm just twitched in 3 places typing that. I know what’s true. I know the sin in my life was a massive barrier between me and the Lord. I was fooling everyone but Him.

Things are different now. But seeing Mark Tippett today made me wonder all over again…….’Lord, what is it that you want from me? Is this all that you had planned?’

Proportional Response

(Inside the Situation Room)

Bartlet: What’s the virtue of the proportional response?

Admiral Fitzwallace: I’m sorry?

Bartlet: What is the virtue of a proportional response? Why’s it good? They hit an airplane, so we hit a transmitter, right? That’s a proportional response. They hit a barracks, so we hit two transmitters.

Admiral Fitzwallace: Yes, that’s roughly it, sir.

Bartlet: This is what we do. I mean, this is what we do.

Leo: Yes sir, it’s what we do. It’s what we’ve always done.

Bartlet: Well, if it’s what we do, if it’s what we’ve always done, don’t they know we’re going to do it? I ask again, what is the virtue of a Proportional Response?

Admiral Fitzwallace: It isn’t virtuous, Mr. President. It’s all there is, sir.

Bartlet: It is not all there is.

Admiral Fitzwallace: Just what else is there?

Bartlet: The disproportional response. Let the word ring forth, from this time and this place, gentlemen, you kill an American, any American, we don’t come back with a proportional response. We come back with total disaster! [He bangs the table]

General: Are you suggesting that we carpet-bomb Damascus?

Bartlet: I am suggesting, General, that you, and Admiral Fitzwallace, and Secretary Hutchinson, and the rest of the National Security Team take the next sixty minutes and put together an American response scenario that doesn’t make me think we’re just docking somebody’s damn allowance!

Bartlet

Bartlet: “Can I tell you what’s messed up about James Bond?”

Charlie: “Nothing.”

Bartlet: “Shaken, not stirred, will get you cold water with a dash of gin and dry vermouth. The reason you stir it with a special spoon is so not to chip the ice. James is ordering a weak martini and being snooty about it.”

Sounds like a dream…

“You must take a year off, one of these days, before you’re old and tired and weighed down by responsibility. Go away somewhere, and read. Read all the important books. Educate yourself, then you’ll see the world in a different way.”

— from Oil on Water: A Novel by Helon Habila

Mother’s Prayer for her Daughter

By Tina Fey from her book “Bossypants”.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half…..And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her:
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers, And the online marketing campaign for Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

Quote for the Day

“Education is the silver bullet. Education is everything. We don’t need little changes. We need gigantic monumental changes. Schools should be palaces. The competition for the best teachers should be fierce. They should be getting six-figure salaries. Schools should be incredibly expensive for government and absolutely free of charge to its citizens, just like national defense. That’s my position. I just haven’t figured out how to do it yet.”

— Sam Seaborn, The West Wing