Field of Dandelions

Church Design

2012-01-10T11:35:00.000-08:00

During my post-Christmas vacation, I finished reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Steve Jobs. Different chapters focus on Jobs’ personal life, his love/hate relationship with Apple’s board of directors, and his personality flaws, but what I found most fascinating were the chapters that focused on how important important design was to Jobs.

I’ve never been much of an Apple person. Actually, I’ve always been more of a “take whatever you can get” person. Which is why I have a cell phone has more buttons than I’ll ever use or need. I’m convinced that the only reason some of those buttons are there is to keep me permanently befuddled. But I keep it, because I'm far too afraid and intimidated to get a new phone, and have to learn all over again how to accomplish even the simplest tasks with it.

Steve Jobs insisted that all Apple’s products be as easy to use as possible, with as few buttons as necessary. This would make them friendly and non-intimidating. Jobs said that figuring out how to use one of Apple’s products should be “intuitive.” In fact, when an Apple board member visited an African village and showed his iPad to a child, the child picked it up and immediately figured out how to use it, even though he was illiterate and had never seen one before.

When designing Apple stores, Jobs insisted that the layout be simple, inviting, and open, so that a customer walking in would immediately perceive the layout and be reassured that this is a friendly, non-intimidating place to be.

Reading this made me think of Disneyland. When Walt Disney designed his magic kingdom, he wanted guests to feel that same reassurance. Thus the buildings are almost, but not quite, full scale. There is only one entrance, and only one way to go after you do enter: toward a charming (not intimidating) castle you see in the not-too-far distance.

Attending a worship service can be an intimidating experience for someone who’s never been or who has been away from the church for some time. One of the things I turn my attention to every now and then is the “design” of our church, especially the Sunday morning worship experience. From the moment a person steps out of their car, do they experience a sense of welcome? Is it immediately clear which way to go? Does the layout of our building provide a sense of reassurance? Does the bulletin give a clear indication of what is about to happen in a simple, easy-to-read format?

Of course, the absolute best way for a person to feel welcome and reassured is to be accompanied by a friend who has invited them to worship. Helping people feel “at home” when they come to worship is one way we can be a movement for wholeness in our community.

Hike: Stough Canyon

2012-01-05T14:32:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned, the weather was remarkably warm and clear in the days following Christmas. For those who are interested, here are some more details about a wonderful place to go on a day hike in Burbank....

The trail begins at Stough Canyon Park Nature Center, where there is a parking lot and restrooms. The parking lot gate closes at 5:00pm, so if you plan on being on the trails later than that, park along the street below the parking lot gate.

Parking below the gate would, in fact, be recommended in the summer, as evening hikes allow you to avoid the hot midday sun. However, it was a pleasantly warm winter morning when I began my hike. Actually, I hiked this trail two days in a row; the first day, my companions were my family, my brother-in-law, and my two nieces. Some of them weren't in a hiking mood, however, so I returned the following morning with my dog Saydee, who is always in the mood for a good walk.

I was worried about it being chilly. It was December, after all. I contemplated wearing a long sleeve shirt over my t-shirt, but upon stepping out of the car I decided it wasn't needed. In fact, after Saydee and I began running up the wide trails in the morning sun, my t-shirt soon came off as well. In the summer, when the sun's rays are harsh, I tend to avoid sunlight, or at least slather on a thick layer of sunblock. But the gentler winter rays of sunlight felt good as Saydee and I made our way to the top. And as you can tell, a little sunlight might be a good thing in my case...

The trails continue along the ridge, giving views of both sides of the Verdugo Mountains. (As a kid growing up in Burbank, they were known as the Verdugo Hills, but I guess they have since been promoted to Mountain status.) It is here on the backside that the trail Saydee and I followed nestled itself briefly into a few ravines where the sun's rays didn't reach, and there was a bit of a chill there, but the shade didn't last long. We were soon back out in the glorious southern California sunshine.

On previous hikes in these mountains, I followed a side trail to the ruins of an old youth camp. A building foundation and chimney are all that remain. Saydee and I did not go to the youth camp on this trip, although from a few spots on the main trail I could see the chimney rising above the sage scrub.

One option for hikers here is to continue along the ridge of the Verdugo Mountains and descend through Wildwood Canyon, and then cut through the golf course to return to Stough Park. Because we (well, actually, I) had plans to see a matinee in Hollywood later that day, Saydee and I did not make the whole loop, but returned back the way we came. As we came down the trail, views of Bob Hope Airport (as a kid growing up, it was Burbank Airport) and the San Fernando Valley stretched out before us.

Outside

2011-12-31T11:04:00.000-08:00

This last week of the year has given us some incredibly great weather, even by California standards. With our family taking some time to visit friends and family throughout the state, I've tried to find activities that would allow us to get outdoors as much as possible. Here are some "postcards" from our week...

Toyon (aka "California Holly") in the Verdugo Mountains. It is from this plant that Hollywood gets its name.

A trail in the Verdugo Mountains above Burbank on a beautiful day. Downtown Los Angeles is in the distance.

Tristan and his friend (who we only see about once a year) on downtown Sacramento's Discovery Park Trail.

Happy Hannukah

2011-12-22T09:14:00.000-08:00

Inspired by his best friend who is Jewish, my youngest son is curious to learn about his friend's faith. His best friend's mother gave us a menorah to use in our home, and we've been lighting candles.

Winter Solstice

2011-12-20T06:41:00.000-08:00

Here in the Pacific Time Zone, the Winter Solstice occurs late tomorrow night. The days are short, the nights long. What a good week for a festival of lights and celebration of Christmas....

Garland

2011-12-15T12:26:00.000-08:00

It seemed a shame to me that every year, we decorate the inside of our church so beautifully -- especially the sanctuary -- but do nothing on the outside of the building. Were we reserving the joy of Christmas for ourselves only, keeping it locked away as if it were our little secret?

I suggested to someone that we should add some decoration, some garland perhaps, to the front exterior. A day or two later, a box of garland appeared in my office. A few days after that, some lovely bows were brought in to adorn the garland. I purchased some hooks, and spent some time figuring out how far apart they should be in order to fit perfectly. (6 feet 10 inches, in case you are wondering.)

Then I spent 3 hours going up and down a ladder, measuring the distances, putting the hooks in, and hanging the garland. I'm very happy with the result, and am glad that we are able to now share some of the Christmas joy with our community through these decorations that all can see.

Red Leaves

2011-12-13T01:55:00.000-08:00

Here in southern California, we don't get the colorful displays of fall leaves to the extent that other places do, which makes dramatic displays of color like this stand out all that much more. The fact that these leaves waited to turn a brilliant red until just a few weeks before Christmas makes it even more special, I think.

Scarcity Vs. Abundance

2011-12-08T01:25:00.000-08:00

Last week, I wrote about the Wednesday Night Dinners I started at my church. My reflections were influenced by a book I was reading: The Abundant Community, by Peter Block and John McKnight. Well, I've finished the book now, and it has led me to do some more reflecting on the dinner gatherings that I've come to find so meaningful.

At these dinners, the group that attends basically creates its own entertainment. We're not paying someone else to provide us with their idea of a "good time," which is what happens when we go to a movie, a theme park, watch a DVD, or even eat at a restaurant (especially a chain restaurant where the meal you order in Long Beach is exactly the same as the meal that is being served to hundreds or thousands of other diners in restaurants all over the continent).

It's nice to pay someone else to entertain us once in awhile. However, paying someone else to entertain us is an idea based on scarcity. We can only experience as much entertainment as we can afford. Also, when we pay someone else to entertain us, we are living out the belief that our own gifts aren't good enough to share. Our own gifts aren't good enough, so we have to pay someone else who is "gifted" to entertain us.

Creating our own entertainment, on the other hand, is an idea based on abundance. Every person has gifts, and is empowered to share them. The amount of entertainment we can experience is limitless, as long as we are willing to share our gifts.

Christmas is approaching. For some reason, we believe that the best gifts are ones that can be purchased from someone else, gifts created by someone we don't even know. Thus, our generosity and gift-giving is limited by the money in our bank accounts. Christmas shopping is an exercise in scarcity. We can only give so much before we run out of money.

Why is it that we think that paying for a gift that was made, created, or cooked by someone else is preferable to - and more meaningful than - a gift that is made, created, or cooked specifically for us by someone we love?

Brothers

2011-12-06T02:10:00.000-08:00

You're Invited to Dinner

2011-12-01T01:21:00.000-08:00

Six months ago, I announced that from now on, I would be cooking and eating dinner at church every Wednesday evening - and that anyone who wanted to join me was welcome.

A few people accepted my invitation. Throughout the summer, there would be seven to ten people joining me for dinner on Wednesdays. I put out a basket and invited those who had come more than once to put a few dollars in to help pay for the food. The money received almost covered what I spent.

The meals were simple: quesadillas, hamburgers, spaghetti. Later on I would get creative, trying new recipes, like the time I made Turkey & Vegetable Chili Verde from scratch. Delicious, fun to make, but still simple. The only beverage I provided was ice water, although our church does have a vending machine with reasonably priced beverages. We ate on paper plates with paper napkins.

At the end of summer, the number of dinner guests began to grow. Soon we were 15, then 20. One week we had 25. Some of those who came said they wanted an opportunity to cook, so I got to enjoy some Wednesday dinners without having to plan, shop, and prepare the food, which was nice. And the money in the basket soon began to surpass the amount that was spent.

As we begin our seventh month of Wednesday night dinners, I'm surprised to discover that each week is more enjoyable and satisfying to me than the previous week. I'm surprised, because I've been trained to expect just the opposite from life. Normally, satisfaction decreases over time. The new clothes I bought six months ago don't bring me nearly the same level of satisfaction today that they brought me when they were new. The DVD I bought over the summer now sits on a shelf collecting dust. I can say the same for just about everything I've ever bought. They quickly become old, tired, boring, or obsolete, and never bring me the long-lasting satisfaction that I crave.

But Wednesday night dinners remain fresh, exciting, and deeply satisfying. I figure this is true for several reasons:

It's REAL. So often we seek to amuse ourselves with things that are VIRTUAL: TV, internet, tabloid magazines. But the people we encounter there aren't real. They're not there with us. We can't interact with TV and movie personalities, and we can only interact in a limited way with people via the internet. This leaves us dissatisfied.
It's ORGANIC. By that I mean it's something we create ourselves. We're not dependent on someone else (TV producers, fashion designers, or corporate advertisers, for example) to mass-produce entertainment for us. This is something we've created. It's unique, and it's ours.
It's DYNAMIC. The shirt I bought six months ago, it's still the same. The DVD I bought: the story never changes. But an experience that is real and organic will always be changing, different every time. It's dynamic, not static. New people show up, and the old people have new stories to tell. The menu changes from week to week, and so does the location where we eat: outside on the patio when it's warm, inside when it's not. In conversation around the dinner table, we listen and respond to what's going on in our lives and in our families: births, deaths, lost jobs, new jobs, new relationships, and the joys and challenges of raising children or caring for parents.

This is community at its best. This is LIFE at its best. It's much more satisfying than anything I could buy. And it just keeps getting better.

So: Who wants to join me for dinner?

(For those seriously interested in coming, yes, the invitation is real. Weekly updates are posted at www.facebook.com/bixbyknollschurch. If I'm organized enough, I'll even post the menu there. Everyone is welcome.)

Vasquez Rocks

2011-11-29T07:13:00.000-08:00

The day after Thanksgiving found my family and my sister's family climbing around at Vasquez Rocks. Does it look familiar? You've probably seen this place before even if you've never been here, as numerous movies and TV shows have been filmed here. Often it is used to portray another planet (as in Star Trek), and there are many camera angles that do not include green foliage as in my photo above, giving the rocks a desolate, other-worldly appearance. (Look closely, and you can see someone standing near the top of the rock formation.)

Hiking Zuma Canyon

2011-11-24T01:11:00.000-08:00

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the United States, an official holiday to remember all the blessings we have and to give thanks. There will be parades, football, and family gatherings. We will feast on turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie.

And then we will realize that all the blessings we have aren't enough, and we will rush to the stores to start shopping for Christmas. (There's a sermon there for sure, but you can be thankful that I'll save it for another day.)

Being thankful is an act rooted in the present. Living in the present can be a challenge. Our minds are filled with memories and regrets of the past, as well as hopes and anxieties for the future.

This is a challenge for me just as it is for most people. One of the best ways I know to overcome this challenge is to go for a walk, preferably in nature.

Last Saturday my friend David and I went hiking in Zuma Canyon, near Malibu. Turning inland at Zuma Beach, we quickly arrived at the trailhead parking lot. Surprisingly, it was almost empty.

The trail we followed was a sinuous loop, meandering clockwise (more or less), in and out like the outline of an amoeba or an oak leaf. As a crow flies, we didn't go very far, and only at the end did we rise above the canyon floor to reach a low ridge. This was fine with me, as I have learned to appreciate the beauty of a riparian woodland, and have outgrown the need to climb to the top of a mountain just so that I can say I made it to the top. I still hike to the tops of mountains once in a while, but for me it's the journey that matters more than the destination.

Hiking through Zuma Canyon, I am at times nearly overwhelmed by the abundance around me. (Zuma is a Chumash word that means "abundance.") My thoughts remain in the present as I notice the sounds of crickets, birds, and the soft whisper of the gentle breeze. I see green grass and green leaves, new growth now appearing as the vegetation revives following its summer dormancy. I feel the soft leaves of various types of sage, velvety smooth, then smell their wonderful aroma. It's the best smell in the world. I could live off that smell.

At times, in sycamore groves, yellow and brown leaves rain down on us. Unlike the scrub plants at the edges of the canyon, sycamore roots go deep to a year-round water source, and they lose their leaves in fall/winter. And at the "end of the trail," (so designated by a trail sign), there is even a trickle of water flowing over the rocks and sand.

At the trailhead there are picnic tables nestled in a grove of towering sycamores, diffused and dappled sunlight giving the area an open, friendly feel. Sitting here at the end of the hike provides the perfect opportunity to give thanks for the present moment and its blessings.

Thanks to ADKinLA whose trip to Zuma Canyon a week earlier inspired my own visit. More info about Zuma Canyon can be found here.

Green Hearts

2011-11-22T01:31:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken on a hike in Zuma Canyon this past weekend.
I'll share more photos and a description of the hike later this week.

Authentic Living

2011-11-17T00:59:00.000-08:00

As a child, I worked hard to please my parents and my teachers. As an adult, I find that I am still working hard to please others. And as a pastor, I often feel that the way to do that is to make sure I live within the expectations of how a pastor is supposed to think and live.

On the one hand, living to please others and meet their expectations can have social benefits. I'm currently reading the biography of Steve Jobs, a man who, despite his greatness, didn't give a shit (to use his language) about what other people thought. Thus, he was often rude, tactless, and offensive.

On the other hand, always living to please others and meet their expectations can be incredibly confining. It can lead one to feel trapped, captive.

A few weeks ago, I sat down and wrote a few paragraphs that reflected the real me - not the me that I feel compelled to present to the world. I found it to be a liberating experience. I was able to be authentic and real. Here is some of what I wrote:

I eat, sleep, fart, feel lazy, dream, stare too long in the mirror, relieve myself, have sex. I have questions regarding God that I doubt will ever be answered; questions about eternity, questions about sex and sexuality, questions about meaning and purpose and good and evil. I have questions about the existence and nature of God.

I find exploring these questions to be fascinating. The questions always lead to more questions, and yet I feel that simply by asking them, I learn more about God and more about myself.

Pastors are supposed to be better, holier, and more spiritual, but I do not feel that I am a better person than anyone else. I am happily married, but I'd be lying if I told you that beautiful women don't cause my head to turn; or even, sometimes, beautiful men.

I'm not sure what is good or moral 100% of the time. I sometimes recognize that both sides of an ethical debate are valid. However, most of the time, I think I do have a pretty good idea what is good or moral. Faith helps. Scripture helps. But even when I do know what is good and moral, there are times when I'm not sure I want to be good and moral....

If these words strike a chord with you, then welcome to the conversation. Together, let us continue asking questions and exploring what it means to be human.

If what I've written here offends you or disturbs you, then I invite you to take some time to explore who you really are, deep down, and to ask some questions that you probably have never dared to ask yourself before. And why haven't you? Are you afraid of the answers? Are you afraid of discovering who you really are?

Join the journey. It may be risky. But that's what living is all about.

Baptism Walk

2011-11-15T01:33:00.000-08:00

Some youth in my church had been asking me about baptism. I needed to schedule a class to talk with them about this, and what better classroom than the outdoors? So invited them to go on a walk with me, at one of my favorite places: El Dorado Nature Center.

We arrived, and two of the youth (who happened to be brothers) looked at the spot at the edge of the parking lot where the pavement ended and a dirt trail disappeared into the woods. "Are there bears in there?"

"No. I don't think there are any bears anywhere in Long Beach. The biggest thing in there might be a coyote."

"Will it hurt us?"

"No. We probably won't even see a coyote. But if you're quiet, there is a good chance of seeing a rabbit or a turtle."

Almost immediately after starting our walk, the kids spotted a squirrel. Then the path crossed a bridge over a pond, and they eagerly pointed to some ducks. We also saw egrets, turtles, butterflies, and a hawk. We even saw some trees with orange leaves, surrounded by a forest of leaves that prefer to remain green. (Yeah, that's how nature does fall here in southern California.)

But for me, the best sight of all was watching the kids get so excited over spending a few hours in nature.

Stop. Breathe. Be Aware.

2011-11-10T01:29:00.000-08:00

I was in a foul mood, but unsure why. There was an uneasiness that had settled in the center of my chest. I found many reasons to be discouraged, but few reasons to be optimistic or hopeful.

Finally, a voice inside my head said, "Stop."

I did stop, and took notice of my foul mood. I hadn't even realized I was in a foul mood, but now I realized that it had been hovering over me for hours, like a cloud casting a dark shadow over my day.

I'm not normally in a foul mood (at least, that's what I like to think), and so I began to wonder what was going on. Why was I in a foul mood now? Where did this particular foul mood come from?

For the first time that day, I paid attention to my state of mind. I examined it carefully and gently, much like I once examined my crying baby, searching for the cause of his discomfort. After a few minutes of searching, I found the source of my discomfort.

I had started my day checking email and facebook. Someone had posted a link to a video of a race car crash in which a driver was killed. I rarely click on such links, but I did this time, and watched the video.

The video showed a horrific scene of carnage and destruction, but at the time I didn't realize how disturbed it had left me. Hours later, when I finally stopped and took notice of my mood, I discovered its cause. This made it easier to deal with. With new understanding, I was able to treat myself and the mood I was in with kindness, which in turn eaased my suffering and helped lift my mood; and this, I'm sure, helped make me more pleasant to be around, bringing joy not only to my day, but to the day of those around me.

Are you in a foul mood? Is your fuse short today, for some reason that you can't quite figure out? Are you feeling on edge?

Stop.

Take a breath.

Acknowledge the mood you are in. Gently examine it and seek to understand without judging. Treat yourself with kindness, and allow your foul mood to slowly melt away into contentment.

Buddhist Drums, Lutheran Church

2011-11-08T07:31:00.000-08:00

One of the most surprising and exciting activities I'm involved in is serving on the board of directors for the South Coast Interfaith Council. Last Sunday, the Council held its annual Music Festival, which this year took place in an old Lutheran Church near downtown Long Beach. Before the concert began, I snapped this photo of the sanctuary, with taiko drums set up for one of the acts.

Be a Blessing, Not a Complainer

2011-11-03T02:49:00.000-07:00

People who use social media like facebook, twitter, etc. know that it can be a mixed blessing. This is true for a number of reasons; one of them is that social media can be a tool for positive blessings, and it can be used as a tool for negative whining and complaints.

Not long ago, I noticed that the posts and status updates of some of my social media friends were really bringing me down. Every post seemed to be a complaint about life, about the government, about society. Eventually, I began to "hide" the updates from the most consistently negative of my friends, as they were starting to make me depressed.

Then there are those friends whose social media updates are a breath of fresh air. Postive. Uplifting. A blessing to the world wide web. Occasionally there would be a prayer request for a hospitalized family member or for getting through a particularly difficult situation (which is certainly fine), but generally speaking, they were free of complaints.

Politicians and government in general get a lot of the complaints. We sure do like to criticize and ridicule our elected officials! The elected officials, likewise, like to criticize and ridicule each other. I wonder, though: are the politicians following our lead, or is it the other way around? We complain about the partisanship and bickering in government; we complain about anyone who thinks differently than we do. If elected officials are there to represent the people, then perhaps their partisanship and bickering are an appropriate reflection of the people they represent.

What I'm saying is that if I want my representatives in government to act more civil toward those with whom they disagree, maybe such behavior needs to start with me.

Last week I spent a little time in downtown Long Beach, and in walking the streets I passed by the Occupy Long Beach camp. A part of me really wanted to engage these folks in conversation, and let them know that I think a lot of the stuff they are trying to bring to society's attention are the same things that God wants brought to our attention.

However, they seem more "anti" than "pro." There is a certain level of anger and even animosity that made me slightly uncomfortable as I passed by. So I smiled and said hello, and kept walking.

It's similar to the situation of the lobster protesters I've written about before.

I know, some things are worth getting angry about. I just think the ratio of positive thoughts and constructive action to complaints and snarkiness needs to be greater than it is. Starting with me.

Update: Here's a news article about a local Long Beach resident who, I think, exemplifies what I'm talking about here.

Breakers at Dawn

2011-11-01T04:51:00.000-07:00

I kind of took a little break from blogging, but I'm back now.
Here's a photo I took on an early morning walk in downtown Long Beach the other day.

Watching the Waves

2011-10-18T09:35:00.000-07:00

Jesus and the 99%

2011-10-13T12:52:00.000-07:00

Am sick & in bed today, so please forgive the lack of eloquence here. However, I was reading a book by Corssan and came across this: "The Roman Empire was characterized by an abysmal gulf separating the upper from the lower classes. On one side of that great divide were the Ruler and the Governors, who together made up 1 percent of the population but owned at least half of the land. Also on that same side were three other classes: the Priests, who could own as much as 15 percent of the land; the Retainers, ranging from military generals to expert bureaucrats; and the Merchants, who probably evolved upward from the lower classes but who could end up with considerable wealth and even some political power as well." On the other side, Crossan goes on to say, were the Peasants, the ARtisans ("below the Peasants in social class"), and then the Degraded and the Expendable classes.

Jesus, as a carpenter, was in the Artisan class, in "the dangerous space between Peasants and Degradeds or Expendables." The gospels clearly set Jesus' ministry & message of the kingdom of God as an alternative to the kingdom of the Rulers, that 1 percent who oppressed the other 99 percent.

Just sayin'.

Now back to resting and drinking my fluids.

Source: John Dominic Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography. p. 21

Singing in the Sun

2011-10-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

The stage was set up in the only logical spot given the layout of the grounds, and it was a good spot, except that the sun behind the stage made it difficult to get decent pictures of the performers. But with a little creativity, it also created some unique opportunities for photos.

This week, the planning team for our regional church's first-ever outdoor music festival met to evaluate and consider the possibility of hosting a similar event next year. Based on the success of this year's event, it appears that next year is a "go."

Thinking About Christmas

2011-10-06T08:34:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I started to write a post about how I have decided to let Santa bring my family a new TV for Christmas this year. But before I say any more, here's an assignment: Grab a pencil or pen (go on), and write down a list of your ten favorite things. And by ten favorite things, I mean, if you were moving to a new city and were only allowed to take ten things with you, what would you take? What ten things that you own would you not be able to live without?

OK, put that list aside for a moment. Grab a new sheet of paper, and describe the one or two or three happiest places you've ever been; places where your soul was at rest, where you felt free and alive and peaceful.

Now take both lists and put them side by side. How many of the things on your first list did you have when you were in the places you listed on your 2nd list? How many of those things are what made those places so special to you? Was it those things that put your soul at rest, that made you feel free and alive and peaceful?

Now, about that TV...

There's just, oh, one or two of fifteen problems. One, Christmas is still three and a half months away. Well, it was when I first started writing this. Now it's only two and a half months away. A month ago, I was finding it hard to wait for a new TV, because I saw all those beautiful, large screen TVs in the stores, and I wanted one NOW.
After all, compared to our giant box of a TV with its cathode-ray tubes and un-sharp picture and off-color images and permanently-on captioning (the color and the captioning the result of having broken the remote which is the only way to adjust such things), the wall of new TVs at the Big Store down the street sure do look cool. "Let's go get our TV!" My wife said to me. "Yeah, but then what will Santa bring us?"

"Oh yeah."

I went to the public library the other day, intending to return a giant monster of a novel that took me all summer to read. (I mean that literally. I renewed it once, then tried to renew it again but was told someone else had placed a hold on it. So I turned it in and immediately placed a hold on it myself, so that I could get it back and finish it.) I didn't intend to check any new books out, but on the shelf I saw "The 100-thing Challenge."

Perhaps it goes without saying, but it's about a man who decided to live a whole year with only 100 "things" in his possession.

Reading the book reminded me of the lists I've made for myself, the same lists I assigned you at the beginning of this essay. And I remembered then that none of my "happy places" made my list #2 because of anything that was on my list #1.

Not even a fancy TV or any other electronic device.

In fact, at the top of the list of happy places is a cabin with a bare plywood floor and a canvas roof - more of a tent, really than a cabin - where I spent several summers while counseling summer camp back when I was in college. Everything I had with me while I lived in that tent-cabin came with me in a duffel bag.

In the month since I first started writing this, it has dawned on me that we don't really watch TV all that much. At this moment, I can't even remember the last show I watched on the TV. I think it was some DVD movie from Netflix that none of us remembers requesting and which was incredibly boring, despite having some big name actors in it. (Incidentally, it is also the last DVD movie we'll be watching from Netflix, since we, like so many others, have cancelled that service.)

I mentioned this to my wife. Together, we then decided that Santa could bring us something else for Christmas, something that isn't really a "thing," but more of an event, an activity that our family can do together. Santa has already paid for this, in fact, and it's just waiting for Christmas day. And, unlike the TV, this gift might actually make our family happy.

Storms Are Coming

2011-10-04T03:21:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that posts have been appearing here less frequently. Well, I've been taking care of sick family members for two weeks, and making trips back and forth to the hospital to visit my mom the week before. So I've not been writing much.

But I have been taking pictures. The other day, I stepped outside the house and the rainbow above me took my breath away. There wasn't really any rain reaching the ground - just a few drops - but our first real storm of the season is expected to arrive tomorrow.

Guitars

2011-09-27T07:23:00.000-07:00

For the past year, I've been on the planning team for an outdoor music festival held at my church's camp in the San Benardino Mountains. It was the first time anyone had planned such an event in our church region or at the camp, and I, for, one, really didn't know what we were doing. Fortunately others on the team did.

The big day was this past Saturday. The day was beautiful, with somewhere around 300 people enjoying music on the meadow and experiencing or re-experiencing our beautiful camp, a place where young people (and even not-so-young people) experience complete acceptance and the unconditional love of God. During the planning process, I told myself that this is a one-year commitment from me, that someone else can plan the "2nd annual" event. Now that it's over, I'm reconsidering.

Snapshots

2011-09-20T10:06:00.000-07:00

Young Jeremiah

2011-09-15T01:43:00.000-07:00

The book of Jeremiah begins with the prophet's call. God appoints Jeremiah "a prophet to the nations," to which Jeremiah replies, "But I'm just a boy!"

Jeremiah's exact age is not mentioned. No doubt he was young, but how young? Was he, in fact, just a boy? Or is the reference to his youth more of a figurative, poetic way of saying that he lacked experience? Scholars may not know the specific answers to these questions. However, I am convinced I know exactly how old Jeremiah was.

He was 14.

Furthermore, I am convinced that not only was Jeremiah 14, but that he was a 14 year-old who lived with attention deficit.

In the book he wrote, Jeremiah's complaints are frequent. He argues constantly with God. He feels sorry for himself. He casts blame on others.

All this will sound familiar to any parent of a 14 year-old boy.

Some examples, with the chapter & verse cited:

"God, you lie!" (4:10)
"People are stupid." (4:22)
"The world sucks." (4:23)
"Everyone hates me and curses me." (15:10)
"God, it's all YOUR fault!" (15:15)
"God, you're deceitful! You're a deceitful brook. You're a failure!" (15:18)
"I wish I'd never been born!" (20:14-18)

And then, right in the middle of all this, in typical teenage-boy-fashion that gives parents mental whiplash, Jeremiah says:

"Sing to the Lord! Praise the Lord!" (20:13)

I am aware that reading and interpreting scripture is never done in complete isolation. It can never be completely objective. What we see in scripture is always influenced, to some degree, by our present context.

Nevertheless, it's nice to know that even God's efforts to raise a teenage prophet had its own ups and downs. And it's nice to know that, even though God must have known in advance of the challenges that would arise, God still called Jeremiah to a special, important role as a prophet.

For more fun, listen to this song in which some teens sing the praises of their "mama."

Pink

2011-09-13T02:25:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I rode my bike over to Rancho Los Cerritos, a historic home/museum not far from here. This flower was floating in a reflecting pond/pool. For a larger view of the pond from a few years ago, visit this older post.

Guide to Middle School

2011-09-08T07:33:00.000-07:00

So, while last week my oldest son started high school, this week my youngest son started middle school. All summer long his big brother had been telling him his favorite horror stories about how bad middle school is, and how his younger brother wouldn't survive.

Turns out this was just his way of showing brotherly love.

On Tuesday, the night before classes began, I saw this "survival guide" written out by my oldest son for his younger brother. It says:

Bob Lucky's Guide to Hughes Middle School
[Bob Lucky is an alias my older son likes to use for himself]

Backpacks: Five folders or one folder with five dividers. Do not use a roller.

Locker Room: Don't play or mess around. Get in, change, get out.

Passing Period: Five min. is enough tiime if you don't stand around. Go to class. You even have enough time to use the restroom.

Restrooms: They are clean but if you have to go number 2, go during class.

Seating: Don't wait for others to sit first. Sit first and let people sit by you, not you sit by them.

Bullies: Avoid them. Have a friend. If a bully is following or chasing you, go to the library or a classroom.

Crushes/girls: good luck.

Teachers: Mr. Dekrai and Mrs. Bowley are cool. They know luckies.

Lunch: Eat with (a) friend(s).

Other: Chaske can help.

Light Show

2011-09-06T01:41:00.000-07:00

The lights dimmed, signaling that the show was about to begin. Except I wasn't in a theater; I was sitting by the window in my living room, and the "lights" in question came from outside. Clouds had moved in on this end-of-summer afternoon.

Then the show lights came on. These were different than the regular "house" lights because they were distinctly yellow-orange. That's when I realized that a show was beginning.

I went outside with my camera, and this is what I saw. The colors in this photo are unaltered. The rain that can be seen coming down from the clouds arrived at my location a few minutes later.

It was the first rain we'd received in Long Beach in several months. And it was beautiful. I immediately shared my photo on facebook, and noticed that about a dozen of my local friends had shared their own pictures of the show as well.

Haircut

2011-09-01T07:56:00.000-07:00

School began this week for Ethan. He's now a freshman in high school. The school he is attending is a private Christian school, which we enrolled him in because of its small size and good drama program.

(The city of Long Beach has some excellent high schools, but all but one have several thousand students in them, and we couldn't get him in to that one.)

A few weeks ago we attended new student orientation. At one point the office secretary pulled me aside and said that Ethan would need a haircut in order to comply with the school dress code.

Personally, I've always thought Ethan looked good with long hair, as long as he took care of it. It was a conditional approval. The conditions were rarely met. So I had no qualms about telling him that the hair needed to be cut.

"So when do you want to go get it cut?" I asked.
"I want you to do it."
So I did. The night before school started.

Waterfront

2011-08-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

About a week ago I had the opportunity to take this photo of downtown Long Beach, looking across the harbor from just north of the Queen Mary. If you've never been to Long Beach and yet are wondering why this looks familiar, TV studios like to film here, including the crews of C.S.I. Miami and Dexter.

Hike Report: Mt. Whitney Trail

2011-08-25T01:29:00.000-07:00

I set out on the hike with two goals, which were: #1 - Enjoy myself and be renewed by spending some time hiking in the Sierras. #2 - Reach the top of Mt. Whitney. Having hiked to the top of Mt. Whitney before, goal #1 was much more important to me than goal #2.

It takes an average of 16 hours to hike from the trailhead to the top of Mt. Whitney and return. Some folks take longer. The group I was with began hiking at 4:15 a.m. last Friday morning. It was dark, but dozens of eager hikers, along with a few bears, were at the trailhead, the hikers making sure their water bottles were full and their flashlights working, and the bears waiting for one of the hikers to set down their pack and turn away for a moment. A moment is all the bear needs to sneak in, grab the pack full of food, and take off.

As we started hiking, we were surprised to realize that the openness of the forest and the nearly-full moon made the flashlights almost unnecessary. What an amazing experience it was, to hike by moonlight, hearing the sounds of distant falling water. It was warmer than we expected; the long sleeves quickly came off and we hiked in short sleeves, even though we were at 9,000 feet elevation in the darkness before dawn. (It was warmer in the pre-dawn darkness at 9,000 feet than it would be in the middle of the afternoon at the top of Mt. Whitney, which is just over 14,500 feet).

A few weeks earlier, strong storms had sent a flash flood down the slopes of Mt. Whitney, washing away parts of the trail, and scattering the pieces of what one of my companions called the lincoln-log bridge. The day before our hike, we saw notices at the ranger station warning that due to the recent storms, hikers on the Mt. Whitney trail should expect to get their feet wet. However, when we came to it, the pieces of the bridge were back in place, and at no point did our feet get wet.

Slowly, the sun began to rise above the Owens Valley to the east. We emerged from the forest above the treeline, but the high mountain peaks kept the sun from reaching us until we were quite a way up the mountain. We passed Lone Pine Lake, Outpost Camp, and the trail became rockier and the plants fewer. Eventually we arrived at Consultation Lake, which is over 11,000 feet in elevation.

Consultation Lake. Definitely a place where you want sunblock.

I was feeling really good, and thankful to be hiking the bare, rocky slopes before the sun's rays became too intense. Leaving Consultation Lake, we continued upward. A small stream flowed down the canyon below the trail, emerging from a number of small snow fields. The steps (and they really were steps, carved into the rock slope) became more difficult as the oxygen levels decreased even further. I began to feel slightly lightheaded, but continued on to the small lake next to Trail Camp at 12,000 feet.

Here, I was thankful to sit and rest for a few minutes. Breathing, I noticed, was becoming difficult. Sitting for a few minutes did not stop the lightheadedness. My body wasn't excessively tired from what I had done so far, but the altitude was getting to me.

From Trail Camp, the trail rises steeply through a series of switchbacks, the most grueling part of the hike. The sun beats down on you here, and there are no trees to offer you relief. Just rocks and snow. At the top of the switchbacks, the trail skirts along a ridge for some distance before arriving at the peak itself.

I didn't make it to the ridge. I started toward the switchbacks, but the lightheadedness remained. I quickly realized that as I climbed higher and higher, it would only get worse. It was clear to me that I would only be able to achieve one of my goals. Since I had previously decided which of the goals was more important to me, the decision really wasn't that difficult. For just a moment, I was sad that I would not be standing upon the summit of Mt. Whitney on this day, but I took comfort in knowing that I would achieve my #1 goal, and I immediately felt comfortable and happy with my decision.

Had I not set my priorities before beginning the hike, I probably would have continued on with those in my group who did eventually make it to the top. I congratulate them on their achievement. I know that if I had gone with them, I would not have enjoyed it, and would not have achieved what I set out to accomplish on this trip.

So I and one other in our group headed back down the mountain. Instead of a 21 mile hike with 6,000 feet of elevation gain, ours was a 13 mile hike with 4,000 feet elevation gain. Good enough for one day, I figure. On the way down we looked at the flowers, took pictures, and even saw a deer. We got back down to the trailhead picnic area in time to soak our feet in the stream and enjoy a soda while sitting on the store patio beneath towering pine and fir trees.

And we waited, for the rest of our group to return, which they did at 7:30. Then we drove down to Lone Pine, ate pizza, went to a hotel, and slept.

The view from the Owens Valley, just outside of the town of Lone Pine, the day before our hike. Mt. Whitney is in the center of this photo, shaded by the clouds. Lone Pine Peak, to the left, appears taller, but that's because it's closer.

Night and Day on Mt. Whitney Trail

2011-08-23T01:19:00.000-07:00

The hike on the Mt. Whitney Trail began in predawn darkness. After about an hour of hiking, a glow in the east signaled the start of the new day.... In the afternoon, we returned back down the trail, and could see what we couldn't see before.

What's Your Goal?

2011-08-18T01:36:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I will be hiking Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in California, and the tallest mountain in the United States outside of Alaska. It's almost 22 miles roundtrip, with 6,000 feet of elevation gain from the trailhead to the summit, which is at 14,500 feet.

As the date for this hike drew nearer, I became increasingly anxious. This didn't make much sense, since I am an avid hiker. Finally, a few weeks ago, I pondered the source of this anxiety, and realized that what I was most worried about was a hike that wasn't consistent with the reason I hike.

The reason I hike, I've described on this blog before. Mostly, it's a form of spiritual renewal for me. Walking, hiking and even running/jogging by themselves are great for my mental and spiritual state. They help clear my mind and allow it to relax even as my muscles are getting a workout. To be able to do so in a beautiful, wild place adds to the sense of spiritual renewal. Hiking is thus enjoyable for me.

It's not about conquering a mountain peak. It's not about conquering anything. To be honest, I don't even really like the word conquer. That's not why I hike.

A trip up Mount Whitney, I realized, is about conquering. Or at least, it can very easily be about conquering, if the goal of reaching the mountain top is the #1 goal of the trip.

For me, the goal of reaching the top is not my #1 goal. My #1 goal is spiritual renewal. Spiritual renewal is why I hike.

Reaching the top is still a goal I have for tomorrow's hike, but it's not my first priority. I know that I am physically capable of making it to the top (I've done it before), but if the level of exertion is such that I am not being spiritually renewed, then my #1 goal will not be met, even if I make it to the top.

Having realized that, I now feel that it will be OK if I decide not to go all the way. That doesn't mean I'm not going to try, and I think there is a good chance that I will, but the internal pressure to make it to the top no matter what, and sacrifice the real reason I hike, is no longer there.

And neither is the anxiety.

Since coming to that realization, I've noticed that this same anxiety is present throughout our culture. So many people feel pressure to achieve certain goals in life. People work hard, night and day, to achieve a certain standard of living, because other people or society at large have led them to believe that a certain standard of living is worthy of being your #1 goal in life.

A better goal, however, is to have peace of mind. A better goal is to be able to find happiness, and enjoy life, and to share that happiness with others. If endlessly working to have a certain standard of living is keeping you from enjoying life and finding happiness, then perhaps it's time to consider which goals in life are really worth pursuing.

First Loop

2011-08-16T01:34:00.000-07:00

It was the first looping roller coaster ever built. And yesterday, it was almost Tristan's first ride on a looping roller coaster. Almost.

Definitions of God

2011-08-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

I'm currently reading Speaking Christian, the latest book by Marcus Borg. Today I read the chapter where he talks about "God," and specifically the various definitions and meanings of the word "God."

Before reading further, ask yourself: What is my definition of "God?"

Borg and I agree that one reason a lot of people have a problem believing in God is because of the definitions that are commonly used to define God. In his book, Borg cites these examples:

Oxford American: “Without an article: In Christianity and other monotheistic religions the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being.”

Random House Websters: “The creator and ruler of the universe; Supreme Being. One of several immortal powers, esp. one with male attributes, presiding over some portion of worldly affairs.”

American Heritage: “A perfect being conceived as the creator of the universe, and worshiped in monotheistic religions; the force, effect, or a manifestation or aspect of this being; a being of supernatural powers or attributes, believed in and worshiped by a people, esp. a male deity.”

In sermons, I've shared my own definition of God, which is a little different. I've said that God is the "lifeforce or life-energy which binds all of creation." I've quoted (as Borg does) Acts 17:28, which says that God is "the one in whom we live and move and have our being.” These definitions define God as being more "in here" rather than "out there." The "out there" definitions seem more common in society today, and yet I think they also present a God who people find hard to believe in.

What definitions of God are problematic for you? What definitions do you prefer?

Signing the Register

2011-08-09T09:04:00.000-07:00

A group of boy scouts sign theirt name in the register at the top of Mt. Baden-Powell. Tristan, at left, was the youngest scout on the trip, and although he was tempted to give up on the 4-mile, 3,000' climb, he was happy to be on top.

"Da Plane! Da Plane!"

2011-08-02T01:23:00.000-07:00

A week of General Assembly in Nashville, followed by a week of Vacation Bible School (which was in addition to my usual workload) followed by a week of caring for my wife following her surgery (in addition to my usual workload). In case you're wondering why my blogging has been a little lacking lately, that's why.

Sunday, my wife conspired with some leaders in the church to force me to take a day off, which I did yesterday. I grabbed my bike, a map, and hopped on the metro rail to the L.A. County Arboretum, where I met my sister (who just happened to also be taking a day off), her 9 month-old daughter, and my father.

The L.A. County Arboretum, incidentally, is where they film(ed) many TV shows & movies, including
"Fantasy Island."

Shoes

2011-07-21T01:31:00.000-07:00

It's a week of Vacation Bible School at my church, and it's keeping me busy. I know, most pastors leave VBS for others to run, but I can't let them have all the fun, can I? I've been running one of the "stations" as well as taking pictures that will be made into a slide show at the end of the week....The past few days have been long, but now my focus is shifting, to taking care of my wife who is scheduled to have surgery this morning.... Is it strange that, of all the pictures of cute kids and smiling faces I've taken this week, I'm drawn to this one? Is it because of the simplicity of it, in contrast to the hectic complexity of the week? Or maybe it's just that it's different from all the much more action-oriented photos I've snapped these past few days....

Seeing Double

2011-07-19T07:20:00.000-07:00

In a dark, cavernous convention hall, 5,000 people gathered each evening for worship. On the last night, a number of the youth from all over Norther America formed a choir that led us in song, their images projected on large screens throughout the hall so that even those in the back could see. In the center, with his mane of curly hair, was my son.

Nashville

2011-07-07T15:22:00.000-07:00

It's been an eventful week for me. I hosted (at my church) a community meeting concerning city council redistricting, which is a highly controversial issue in this neighborhood right now. I thought about writing about that this week, but the truth is that I'm busy preparing for my trip to Nashville. The pieces have fallen into place, and our plane departs tomorrow morning.

Most likely I will not be blogging from Nashville. I will return to blogging in a week or two.

In other news, it appears something funky is going on with my blog's layout. Something else for me to work on. When I get back.

Captivated

2011-07-05T08:16:00.000-07:00

Ginger and Tristan were at camp last week, and took the camera with them. So today I'm sharing one of Ginger's photos from camp. I know this location well, having been to this camp many times, but I do not know anything about the situation or the kid in the photo, which, in a way, makes it all the more interesting to me. I wonder if this kid gets many opportunities to just sit and observe nature, as he appears to be doing in this photo. I know so often kids will complain if you tell them you are going to make them "experience nature," and that they are to leave all their electronics behind. Yet, once you get them there, and they are immersed in the beauty of creation, a miracle occurs: they're captivated.

On the other hand, he could just be bored, or in a "time out" ... but I like my first explanation better. :-)

Preparing for a Trip

2011-06-30T02:30:00.000-07:00

Ginger and Tristan are at camp this week - Ginger as counselor, Tristan as one of 58 4th-6th grade campers - so it's just Ethan and me at home. Ginger left on Saturday (staff arrives a day early) and Tristan on Sunday, and it took me until Wednesday to get caught up on the dishes and laundry.

It's fun to watch Ginger prepare to leave on a trip, as long as the watching is done from a distance. She thinks she can do more in the time she has than is actually possible, a trait she shares with many people I think. That's one of the difference between her and I; I tend to overestimate how long a given task will take, intentionally, so that I have some breathing room. Ginger finds this annoying, because it often means arriving someplace ten or thirty minutes early, and having to sit and wait. Oh, the horror of having to sit and wait because you arrived too early! She would rather not start getting ready any sooner than she has to, so that she doesn't have to leave too early and arrive at her destination too early.

So. After she left on Saturday (an hour late) I began cleaning the dishes, which were extra messy on account of the scones Ginger made from scratch Saturday morning. ("Of course I have time to make scones!" she told me when she saw me raise my eyebrows.) There were a lot of scones, and I figured that at least I would get to start the first couple of days of the week off with a delicious scone for breakfast, but alas, the dog (her dog, I might add, the one she got when I was out of town one weekend) ate them all while I was at church Sunday morning.

Three days this week, Ethan has summer school, although he stayed home sick yesterday. Also, he has three doctor appointments. I was only aware of one of them when the week started. (We went to two of them; I cancelled the third.)

As we were leaving the first of his appointments, on Tuesday, I noticed the unusual clouds. They weren't the normal marine layer that we get most morning this time of year, but splotchy, clumpy patches of white. They were clouds that Ethan saw shapes in: clowns, animals, etc. (Our normal morning clouds don't look like anything, except perhaps a gray blanket that slowly disappears as the day progresses.)

It was a pleasantly warm day, and I told Ethan that the clouds reminded me of Indiana, where we lived for three and a half years. I wondered out loud if we'd get to see clouds like that in Nashville.

Yes, Nashville. We're going there next week for our church's General Assembly. When we made the decision to go, all four of us, Ginger was working, so we bought our plane tickets and reserved a hotel room.

Then Ginger stopped working.

We've been doing everything we can to save, and have even received a little help from others, but it looks like this trip will erase what little savings we have left. I've also applied for a new credit card, which I guess isn't such a bad thing since I personally don't have any cards except for a few store cards with no balance on them. But still, I hope Ginger can find a job soon.

I'm trying not to be too anxious about all this - but since I seem to live off of anxiety, it's not easy. On the other hand, I'm currently reading a novel (Shantaram) that's set in the slums of India, and it makes me feel better. Whether that's good or bad, I don't know, but it helps to know that I could have a lot less, and still find happiness.

So next week, we head to Nashville. If you're there, you'll recognize us: we'll be the Ron Weasleys of the assembly, carrying around our ziploc bags of peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.

Like Snow

2011-06-28T07:18:00.000-07:00

These flowers, which I came across at the nature center recently, didn't look real to me; almost like snow, or white crepe paper that someone left laying around. I don't know the name of these flowers.

Guardians of the Breakfast Table

2011-06-23T09:59:00.000-07:00

Unsure of what to post on my blog today, I looked on the camera to see if there were any pictures there that hadn't been transferred to the computer. I found this one (and several like it).

Lego figures like these are a common site around the house ... and even my office, as I currently have several guarding the table where we hold our weekly staff meetings.

The owner of these figures, incidentally, is about to begin his freshman year in high school, and went on his first (group) date the other night.

Purple

2011-06-21T03:33:00.000-07:00

Yerba Mansa

2011-06-14T02:06:00.000-07:00

Taken near the south pond at El Dorado Nature Center in Long Beach this past Saturday. A sign in the nature center points out that the roots to this plant are aromatic and were once chewed to relieve sore throats and were also applied to the skin for skin problems. However, the picture accompanying the sign was not as good as this one. :-)

Last Week of School

2011-06-09T03:23:00.000-07:00

The photo below shows my wife and I with our oldest son on the day he graduated from elementary school three years ago. Now he is finishing middle school, and next week will be considered a high school freshman. (His younger brother, meanwhile will move from elementary school to middle school.)

As the picture shows, some things change, and some things don't. My wife still blinks for pictures, but if the three of us were positioned the same way, you'd never know it, as our son is now as tall as she is and would completely block her from view.

Twilight Tower

2011-06-07T01:05:00.000-07:00

This weekend our boy scout troop joined dozens of other scouting units for the annual Scoutorama. Our troop builds a tower for this event every year, using large wooden poles lashed together with rope. Scoutorama begins early on Saturday morning; since it takes several hours to construct the tower, the scouts gathered the night before to build.

After the event, the tower came down much quicker than it went up.

In Search of a Prophet

2011-06-02T01:01:00.000-07:00

I should start by pointing out that what follows isn't the "part two" promised in last week's post. That "part two" will come in this Sunday's sermon, and it will be far less political than what you are about to read here. However, I couldn't help but be inspired by a number of different thoughts and ideas as a result of the books I've been reading lately....

Here in California, César Chávez's birthday is a state holiday. César Chávez was born on March 31, 1927, and he died on April 23, 1993. Today he is studied by public schoolchildren, but since Chávez's death came as I was studying for final exams in my last semester of college, I neither studied him in school nor paid much attention to the news of his passing.

Several weeks ago, I decided to do something about my ignorance concerning César Chávez's life. As I mentioned in my previous post, I began reading The Moral Vision of César Chávez by Frederick John Dalton. As a result, it is now easier for me to appreciate the extent to which César Chávez is worthy of having a day set aside to honor him. He worked tirelessly on behalf of the poor and oppressed, speaking against oppression without denying the oppressors' humanity. He organized farm workers into a strong union, but while many leaders of other unions commanded six-figure salaries, he chose to live in voluntary poverty. Not only was Chávez a great cultural and political figure; he was also a true Christian prophet, basing his work on the teachings of his Catholic faith, and framing the movement he started and guided in terms of God's passion for justice as well as God's particular concern for the poor.

César Chávez saw clearly the disparities of power and wealth that led to the oppressive and dehumanizing working conditions for farm workers. "The government represses our people and millions of farm workers are trapped in poverty while the growers lavish in the riches we have earned for them."

Conditions for farm workers have improved thanks to César Chávez and the movement he founded. However, the disparity of wealth and power in this country has not improved. In fact, it has gotten worse.

Looking at America as a whole, in 1965 - when César Chávez was just beginning his work at organizing farm workers - the average CEO earned 24 times what the average worker earned. By 2004, that number had skyrocketed to 431 times as much. Among some companies, the disparity is even worse; Walmart's CEO, for example, earns 900 times what the average Walmart worker earns.

It is the rich who make the rules, and the rules benefit the wealthy. In the 1950s, when republican president Dwight D. Eisenhower was in the White House, the tax rate for the wealthiest Americans was at 91%. Democrat John F. Kennedy thought this was too high, so he lowered it to 72%. Today it is at 35%, and still the politicians (influenced, no doubt, by their ties to welathy, corporate America) say it is too high. We have a budget deficit, but they refuse to raise taxes on the rich, choosing instead to further cut programs that help the poor.

And so, for the vast majority of Americans, life is getting harder and harder.

In his book Rediscovering Values, Jim Wallis points out that the biblical prophets appeared only in times of great disparity. [Most of the statistics in the previous paragraphs come from this book.] In times when the gap between the rich and poor was not too great, no prophets were heard; but when that gap grew, the prophets spoke out about society's failure to maintain God's justice.

César Chávez organized workers to overcome injustice. This was done primarily through strikes. I wonder if it would be possible to organize all the workers in America who work for companies in which the CEO earns more than, say, 100 times what the average workers earns; organize them, then call for a one-day strike in order to draw attention to the injustice and oppression of America's poor which continues even today.

If only we had a prophet....

Hike Report: LA Zoo to Amir's Garden

2011-05-31T01:30:00.000-07:00

On Sunday afternoon my son and I joined my friend David for a short hike in L.A.'s Griffith Park. It was an unusual hike in that we didn't begin until after 3:00, and it was entirely within the city limits of Los Angeles. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful hike on a trail lined with beautiful wildflowers.

We parked at the northwest corner of the LA Zoo parking lot. From there we followed a chain link fence around a maintenance area to a horse trail that passed under a bridge.

After passing under the bridge, the trail climbed to a ridge, then followed the ridge which provided some awesome views of Glendale to the east and Burbank to the north. To the south, through the trees, we could catch glimpses of the zoo grounds. On prevous hikes on this trail, I could hear occasional sounds of exotic animals echoing up, but on this day, only the sound of the strong wind could be heard, and the views were often looking through wildly waving grasses and bushes.

Eventually the trail leads to Mineral Spring picnic area, a popular picnic area in a ravine that can be accessed by car. We crossed through the picnic area and continued on a trail on the opposite side of the ravine that led up a short way to a place called Amir's Garden.

Amir's Garden is a wonderful place to explore, with numerous trails twisting around the shady hillside. After wandering around a bit, we headed back the way we came as the sun sank lower in the sky.

As we neared the parking lot, just before descending back down the ridge, we saw downtown Glendale and the intersection of the Ventura and Golden State Freeways (Hwy 134 & I-5) gleaming below us. Urban sprawl never looked so beautiful...

Read about a previous trip I took to Amir's Garden here.

Kindness & Human Dignity (part one)

2011-05-26T11:19:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been reading several books. One, a book on kindness, is by Nawang Khechog, who spent a number of years as a Buddhist monk and who studied with the Dalai Lama.

I chose this book for several reasons. One reason is that I heard an interview on the radio with Sylvia Boorstein. At the time I didn't know who she was, but listening to her talk, her gentle voice that emanated wisdom and gentleness, I was captivated. Sylvia Boorstein was raised Jewish and now practices Buddhism and has written several books herself including one on finding happiness, and another titled, That's Funny, You Don't Look Buddhist.

Now it happened that I was in the car when I heard this interview, but I couldn't hear very well what she was saying because the rest of the family was in the car as well. Even the dog! And everyone was talking (except the dog), and asking to listen to something else, and complaining about why we all needed to be going where we were going ... and finally I yelled, "Shut up! I'm trying to listen to this! Just shut up!"

And then it got real quiet, except for Sylvia Boorstein on the radio; and she was talking about kindness. And I realized that maybe I should learn a little more about kindness, and try to practice it more.

Another reason I chose a book on kindness is that I realized that kindness has been the most overlooked of all virtues for me. The call to act with kindness is everywhere, but I didn't see it. It's in my church's vision statement, which is based on Micah 6:8: "What does the Lord require of you? Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly..." It's the sixth point of the boy scout law: "A scout is kind." It's one of the fruits of the Spirit Paul writes about in his letter to the Galatians: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness...."

And not too long ago, at the end of one of our worship services here, I almost stopped cold in the middle of the benediction, because I was startled to realize that kindness is one of the blessings mentioned in my paraphrase of Numbers 6:26, which I use quite often: "May God bless you and keep you, may God's face shine upon you and be gracious to you, may God look upon you with kindness ... and give you peace."

I had always thought that kindness was kind of wimpy when compared to other virtues, like love, boldness, justice, and peacemaking. But suddenly realizing that the call to kindness surrounded me, it seemed to me that perhaps I should explore that.

Another book I've been reading is a book on the moral vision of César Chávez. My daily prayer book featured some quotes from César Chávez recently, and it seemed to me that I should learn more about this influential and inspiring Californian of the 20th century.

Normally, I try to focus my attention on one book at a time; but for some reason I found myself alternating back and forth, reading one chapter from the book on kindness and then one chapter about César Chávez's moral and religious convictions. And in my mind, these two books started conversing with each other. César Chávez's Catholic faith taught him that every human being has worth and deserves to be treated with dignity; and recognizing one's God-given worth, I realized, is made possible when we learn to practice kindness. Treating people with kindness, and treating them with dignity, are almost the same thing.

And they are much more important than I realized.

This is the beginning of a sermon that I'm working on for June 5. Hear the rest (which I've not written yet) by coming to worship, or by following the link at the top of the right-hand column.

Spring Flower

2011-05-24T01:52:00.000-07:00

A Good Turn Results in a Good Picture

2011-05-19T02:46:00.000-07:00

The boy scout camp where I spent last weekend is a beautiful place. Located 6500 feet above sea level, it is a cool refuge from the cities and deserts below.

One downside, though, is that a highway runs through the camp property. At the camporee this past weekend, scouts had to cross the road in order to reach several of the activities.

After lunch on Saturday, I and another leader were abruptly given reflective vests and bright flags, and told to go to the crossing to assist scouts crossing the road. Scouts were already on their way to activities, so unfortunately this meant we had no time to grab a book, a lawn chair, or anything else to pass the time in those periods when we were waiting for scouts to assist across the road.

Fortunately, though, I did have my camera. After assisting a number of scouts across the highway, I had some time to look around and see if there was anything picture-worthy. I noticed to the west, set back a short ways from the road, a wooden fence meandering across a small grassy meadow, around some ponderosa pines. I took several pictures, experimenting to get the right balance of light between the sun and the shadows. The best one is posted below.

It's May ... Right?

2011-05-17T02:39:00.000-07:00

The view from my tent Saturday morning, before the events of the scout camporee I was at got underway. Fortunately, there was no snow on the ground where we were camping, below the peaks of the San Gorgonio wilderness. However, we did see a few flurries before we left Sunday, and from what I hear, it's snowing up there again today, on the 10,000 foot peaks as well as at the camp (elevation 6500').

You're Not Alone

2011-05-16T14:46:00.000-07:00

Note: I posted this last Thursday, but for some reason it disappeared from the blog, so I'm reposting it again today.

Last week, a strange thing happened here at FieldOfDandelions.com.

First, I published a post on Monday. Usually, new posts only appear here on Tuesdays and Thursdays. However, the fact that I published on a Monday is not the strangest thing to have occured.

Second, I mentioned my post on facebook and twitter, letting people know that I had posted my reaction to the killing of Osama bin Laden. This, also, is not particulary strange. It wasn't the first time I had promoted my blog this way.

Third, more people viewed that particular post than anything else that has ever appeared here. As blogs go, this one is a tiny drop in a vast sea of blogs, but still, it was exciting (and a little scary) to discover that so many people were motivated to read what I had written.

However, even that was not the strangest thing to occur here last week.

The strangest thing was the comments I received in response to that post. I received some comments here on the blog, and quite a few more on the link to the blog that I posted via facebook. Comments also came via telephone from relatives who read the blog, and they came through face-to-face conversations with people in my church and community who saw what I had written. Every person who shared their thoughts with me said that they were grateful for what I'd written. They were grateful, because they had those same thoughts themselves, but thought that they were the only ones.

Imagine that: a whole crowd of people, all thinking alike, but each member of the crowd believing that he or she was the only one.

Last Friday I visited my neighborhood public library and checked out a book by Tina Rosenberg called Join the Club: How Peer Pressure Can Transform the World. I'm currently about halfway through, but so far I've read about how much better black and Latino students do at Calculus when they study in a group and realize that they're not the only ones who want to excel in math. I've read about how a sign at Petrified Forest National Park asking visitors to not take fossils only encouraged people to do so, because it showed an image of a group of people taking fossils - apparently no one wanted to be the "only one" who didn't go home with a souvenir - and when the sign was changed to only show one person taking a fossil, the thefts declined dramatically. I've read about how social pressure causes teenagers to smoke and how it increases the spread of AIDS, and how social pressure can (and has been) used to reduce teen smoking and the spread of AIDS.

Apparently, it's human nature to want to be part of the group and to do what the group is doing or at least what the group approves of. When we think we're the only one, we either hide, or change our behavior so that we more easily fit in.

So, to all those who believe that the words "killed" and "celebrate" do not belong together, I tell you: you're not alone. To those who believe that God's love extends even to our worst enemies, I say: you're not alone. To those who long for a more peaceful, compassionate Christianity, I say: you're not alone. To those who believe there is a greater deptgh to our faith than the soundbites that appear in the media, I say: you're not alone.

Churches like mine are small, perhaps because we think that we are alone in wanting a deeper, more peaceful and compassionate spirituality than what we see in the world.... and because we feel that we are alone, we keep quiet. However, there are many others who long for that same genuine faith.

Perhaps our message to the world should be: "You're not alone."

Mugu Sunrise

2011-05-10T06:21:00.000-07:00

Sunrise over Pt. Mugu and Mugu Peak. I took this photo about two weeks ago. A more recent visit to the beach (this time, here in Long Beach) resulted in photos of a sandstorm, due to strong wind.

Getting Real and Present

2011-05-05T01:23:00.000-07:00

For many, life is a never-ending series of stressful events and anxieties. There are so many things that occupy the mind: appointments, deadlines, bills, chores, projects, and an inexplicable desire to not miss a single facebook status update or piece of internet gossip. Never is the mind allowed to rest. These thoughts are juggled in the air, so that as soon as one is released from the mind, the next has to be caught lest it be allowed to fall to the ground.

The thing is, few of these things are real; and by real, I mean a present, concrete reality. Take deadlines for example. A deadline is not present, but in the future; neither is it concrete, but rather an abstraction of time and the mind. It's not something you can appreciate or consider with any of the five senses. You can neither taste, smell, see, touch, nor hear a deadline.

This is true of many of the things which occupy our minds. This is true of many of the things which keep us awake at night. Strictly speaking, they're not real. They exist only in the mind.

Since they do not involve the senses, it could be said that they are extra-sensory. Since they are not ordinary parts of reality, it could be said that they are extra-ordinary.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I long for something sensory and ordinary. Sometimes I long to experience something real and present.

I do not wish to free my life of all deadlines, bills, projects, etc. There is some value to such things. However, I do work to limit the commitments I make which give birth to such things. And when I find my mind overwhelmed with anxieties and things that are neither real nor concrete, then I know it's time to re-engage my mind and my senses in the real world.

Last week, my family spent three days camping on a rocky beach. For three days, I and a number of people - children, mostly - built sandsculptures and rock forts. I ended up hauling a lot of rocks across the beach, lining them and stacking them.

Stacking rocks is real. To do so, your mind must be present. You have to feel the rock in your hand. You have to focus. You have to empty your mind of all other distractions, worries, and anxieties.

Some folks camping not too far away saw my rock towers. They were sure I had used glue to hold them together. I assured them that my only tools were focus and patience.

As if to prove my point, the sea breeze picked up, and started knocking over my towers, rock by rock.

How do you empty your mind? How do you free yourself (temporarily, at least) of stress and anxiety? How do you bring your thoughts into the present?

You are worried and distracted by many things. There is need of only one thing...
Luke 10:41-42

Can any of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your span of life?
Matthew 6:27

Hiking to the Stars

2011-05-03T06:30:00.000-07:00

Went on a great hike the day before Easter. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my camera.

A few days later, however, I organized a short hike for my son's boy scout troop. There are a lot of new, younger scouts in the troop, and it was decided to go on an outing to the world famous Griffith Observatory. We began at Ferndell Park in Hollywood, and hiked one mile up the hill to the observatory. We explored the exhibits, saw the plantarium show, then hiked back down ... all on a postcard-perfect day.

Special Monday Post: On Bin Laden's Death

2011-05-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

This is an excerpt from the article I'm submitting for this week's church newsletter....

My sons are 9 and 13. Next year, the youngest will start middle school and the oldest will start high school. It’s amazing how fast the years go by.

Even so, it remains that one of the most important rituals in our house comes when I read to my sons before bed. Over Spring Break, our schedule didn’t allow this to happen, so on Sunday evening, we resumed our normal routine with enthusiasm. Both boys were looking forward to reading the chapter of the Gringotts break-in in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows; the youngest, because he’s never read it before, and the oldest, because he has.

We were about to begin. I was just waiting for the youngest one to come to the bedroom. He was saying goodnight to his mom, who was in the living room with the TV on. Finally he enters the bedroom, waving his arms and doing a funky dance that only a 9 year-old could do, and starts singing, “Bin Laden is dead, Bin Laden is dead…”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes, they just said so on TV.”

I said to him, “You know, I don’t think it makes God happy to have any of his children die. Not even Bin Laden.” He didn’t say anything, but he did stop dancing.

For the next half-hour, we read an exciting tale of dragons and gold and adventure. As we neared the end of the chapter, we were startled to hear some fireworks that one of our neighbors had shot off. Apparently, the whole world was now celebrating Bin Laden’s death.

As I said good night and turned out the light, I was reminded of another story, this one from long ago. The Hebrew people were suffering under a ruler who was at that time the world’s greatest terrorist. Pharaoh was ruthless. He took away the people’s freedom. In order to prevent them from becoming too powerful, he even ordered that their sons should be killed.

God saved the Hebrew people by leading them through the Red Sea. When Pharaoh’s army pursued, God allowed the sea to swallow them up.

Jewish legend says that the Hebrews then began to rejoice, but that God stopped them, saying, “Do not rejoice, for those Egyptians were my children, too.”

I am thankful that Bin Laden is no longer able to orchestrate terror and instill fear. I am thankful for those who work for justice in our world.

But I cannot bring myself to rejoicing over the death of one of God’s children.

Time off

2011-04-26T00:49:00.000-07:00

I'm taking some time off this week; the kids are on Spring Break, and we're doing some day trips and a camping trip. I'll be back next week.

Riding a Bike, Train, or Bus: Can it Be Cool?

2011-04-21T01:57:00.000-07:00

The other day, while I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, I heard an interview on Marketplace with Stephen Dubner. His conversation with Kai Ryssdal focused on "conspicuous convservation," in which people particiate in eco-friendly activities in order to show off how much they care about the environment.

One thing Dubner said in particular caught my attention:

The Prius is the king of the hybrids. Now it's not necessarily because it's better than other hybrids; according to the Sextons, it's because the Prius has this unique shape which screams "hybrid," which screams "I love the earth more than you love the earth." Now, if you live in a community that cares a lot about the environment -- somewhere like Boulder, Colo. -- that's worth something.

Well, I started wondering about that. In a place like Boulder, hybrids have a special "coolness" factor, and so a car that "screams" that it's a hybrid is going to do better than a car that is just as good - and just as eco-friendly - but looks more like any other car.

In other words, the Prius sells better because it has a coolness factor that other hybrids don't have.

The Marketplace conversation seemed to paint this negatively, emphasizing that some people make earth-friendly decisions only because it's cool; or, in the business language of Marketplace, because it's "worth something."

My wandering mind then started wondering about how that applies to my own mode of transportation. When Stephen Dubner asked Kai Ryssdal what kind of car he drove, I thought of the kind of car I drove. And actually, the "car" I drive most often is my bike.

Here in Long Beach, bikes are starting to acquire some measure of "coolness" among the general population. At a community meeting I attended recently, Long Beach City Manager Pat West talked about the city's master plan for bikes, a plan which is helping to make Long Beach "the most bike-friendly city in America." West made frequent references to the fact that bicycling in Long Beach is for everyone, not just "guys in tight black shorts."

Make of that what you will. It does seem to me, however, that perhaps cycling is on its way to reaching a critical level of "coolness" in Long Beach, and when it does, everyone will ride a bike at least some of the time, not because they care about the environment or their health or the cost of gas, but simply because they want to be seen as "cool."

That, in my opinion, won't be such a bad thing.

Earlier this year a local NPR station - on its facebook page - invited folks to offer suggestions that would make public transportation in LA County better. I left my own comment, suggesting that Metro work to make riding its buses and trains more fun. Perhaps what I meant to say was "more cool." At Disneyland, people ride the monorail not just to get from one place to another, but simply because it's fun and cool. Why is a round trip on the Disneyland monorail cool, while a trip to downtown L.A. on the Blue Line isn't? Seems to me that a ride on the Blue Line could be made to be fun, with not a whole lot of effort, and the costs of making the trains cool and fun to ride would be offset by the increase in riders.

Maybe someday riding public transportation will be cool enough that it will be "worth something" to people to be seen riding public transportation. They'll ride buses and trains and ride their bikes simply because doing so screams "I love the earth more than you love the earth." And those who are stuck in freeway traffic will wish they were riding a bus or train, instead of the other way around.

Where many of my trips begin.

Just Like Camping

2011-04-19T01:41:00.000-07:00

When our next-door neighbors moved away and left behind their fire bowl, we decided to put it to good use. This past weekend alone, with warm spring weather, we enjoyed two evening weenie roasts, one with some neighborhood kids, and another with some high school youth from church.

On Friday night, when this picture was taken, the sky was clear, and a rising almost-full moon was startling in its beauty. On Sunday night, the celestial lights were hidden behind the fog that had come in from the Pacific Ocean.

Several of the kids said with smiles on their faces: "this is just like camping!" They laughed and talked with one another. It didn't even seem to bother them that they had to put down their portable electronic games in order to roast their hot dogs.

13 Secrets Your Pastor Won't Tell You

2011-04-14T01:31:00.000-07:00

Articles that share thirteen things or "secrets" seem popular lately. I'm not sure, but I think they started with Reader's Digest, or maybe they were just popularized there. Anyway, it made me wonder if there are thirteen secrets that pastors don't/won't share. Below you can read thirteen secrets I thought of off the top of my head, although to call them "secrets" may not be quite right, since I'm sharing them with you. Also, I found it hard to be as snarky or whiny as many of the "13 Secrets..." lists I've seen, which, I think, is a good thing....

Sermon feedback is always appreciated, even when it's negative. I want to be the best preacher I can be, and feedback helps. I may not always follow your advice, especially if it contradicts other advice I've received, but I will listen.
Sometimes I preach a sermon I'm not satisfied with. I won't tell you this, though, because I've had too many people tell me that a sermon I thought was lousy contained just what they needed to hear that day.
It's hard for me to talk about giving to the church. I know how much of the church's budget goes to my salary.
At the same time, I do want you to know that raising a family on a pastor's salary is extremely difficult.
When I do talk about money, and say that you will be blessed by giving, it's not just lip service. I really do believe that those who give generously find greater happiness. I've experienced this myself.
I think about leaving the ministry. A lot. But I don't think I ever will.
When you call or stop by and I assure you that you're not interrupting, some of the time I'm lying. However, I'd rather have you interrupt me occasionally than not hear from you at all.
I probably will not compliment you on your appearance, no matter how wonderful your new haircut is or how fabulous your new outfit is, because too many boundary training workshops have convinced me that just about any such comment can be interpreted as sexual harassment. I won't initiate a hug with you for the same reason, although I will gladly return a hug that you initiate.
I'd rather officiate at a funeral than a wedding. Many of my clergy colleagues feel this way. Weddings are fine, but more ministry happens at a funeral.
I love my pastoral identity when it makes relationship-building easier and when it allows people to feel comfortable sharing their deepest questions with me.
I hate my pastoral identity when it keeps you from inviting me over for a beer.
Finding a balance between family and ministry is a struggle. Family plans - even trips - are often sacrificed because of something happening at church. Likewise, ministry is sometimes forced to take a backseat so that I can deal with issues at home. Don't like it? Join a church that requires its clergy to be celibate.*
I am passionate about the gospel and the life to which God calls us, even though there are times when I feel like a complete failure when it comes to living that life myself.

So there you go. If you are clergy, what would you add? If you are not clergy, what's a secret or two that you won't tell your pastor?

(*my attempt to inject some of the whiny snarkiness of the "13 Secrets" genre into my list.)

San Clemente Sunset

2011-04-12T00:49:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago we spent the weekend in San Clemente, with some friends who live just a short walk from the Pacific Ocean. Several times while we were there, I had the opportunity to venture alone down the 109 steps to the bottom of the bluff, where a walking path and railroad track ran along the rocky shore.

When the sun began to set, I wasn't too sure about taking a photo; it seems that I've been taking a lot of sunset photos, and unless there is something uniquely spectacular about them, they all kind of look the same. Fortunately, as I walked along the path, I looked across the tracks to the sea, and saw a couple sitting there watching the sunset. Their silhouette (and the distant outline of Catalina Island) added the unique interest I was looking for.

Not That Kind of Pastor

2011-04-07T01:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's hard to be a pastor. Sometimes, if I can be completely honest, I wish I were something else. Sometimes, when I hear or read about how some of my clergy colleagues behave, I want to scream, shout, and let the whole world know: I'm not that kind of pastor!

This week, I was even tempted to change the title of my blog from fieldofdandelions.com to notthatkindofpastor.com. That's how much I want people to know this about me.

Last week, a friend of mine wrote a sentence comparing organized religion with organized crime, and posted it online. A large number of people wrote their own responses, some supporting my friend's comment, some strongly dissagreeing. I considered posting my own response, pointing out that I took no offense because my own church is as unorganized as they get (haha), but I reconsidered after reading the comments that had turned into a rather intense discussion, feeling that my humor would not be appreciated there.

In his own response to all the responses, my friend listed what he considered to be some of the abuses of the church, specifically mentioning preachers in their $2000 suits who ignore the need of the poor while raising huge amounts of money for Prop 8.

Again, I considered responding, this time in a more serious manner. I even typed in a comment, but then deleted it before posting. The reason, this time, is that I had just read an article in the Huffington Post titled "Ricky Martin Boycotted by the Church." Well, it wasn't "the church" that was boycotting Ricky Martin, but a Puerto Rican pastor, Wanda Rolon, who declared that Ricky Martin was "dragging the church to hell" due to his homosexuality.

After reading the article, I realized I had no defense to make to my friend. Pastor Rolon doesn't speak for the church, and she certainly doesn't speak for me, but that's not the story the media tell. According to the media, "the church" is against gays.

Gee, thanks, Pastor Rolon.

Sometimes I wish I were not a pastor.

And about those $2000 suits... I don't think my whole wardrobe is worth that much. A lot of what's in my closet actually came from thrift stores. I don't look like those preachers on TV. But that's just it: they're on TV. I'm not. I'm just the pastor of a small church filled with a handful of wonderful, loving people who pay their pastor what they can.

$2000 suit? If I had $2000, I'd go see a dentist, something I haven't been able to afford in over five years. Or maybe I'd get my bike tuned up, seeing as it's my primary form of transportation. Or maybe I'd use that money to send my son to that camp for kids with diabetes that he wants to go to.

It's stressful being a pastor. The proclamation of a few of my more outspoken colleagues - and the media attention - doesn't help.

What does help? First and foremost, remembering why I do what I do. I was called by God to guide a congregation of people who are struggling to figure out how to fully live the life God intends for them, a life filled with joy and blessing and goodness and service to others. How awesome is that!

Secondly, it helps to know that I am making progress with myself when it comes to living that abundant life. A lot of folks who have more money than I are a lot less happy than I; they see less meaning and find less satisfaction in life.

Thirdly, the word of God within me is like a fire. I cannot contain it. It is a word of wholeness, a word that liberates people from bondage and oppression. With so many who claim otherwise, this good news is bursting within me.

Lastly, I find things to do that bring me peace and relieve the stress. I've written about them here before. I pray every day. I seek out beautiful places to explore, usually close to where I live, often by hiking or riding my bike. I meditate over a cup of green tea, or while stacking rocks, or while making friendship bracelets.

Yes, friendship bracelets. I know, it seems kind of juvenile to make friendship bracelets. Kids at camp taught me how to make them a number of years ago. It really is relaxing to me. As it turns out, I've made quite a few. And I find it an enjoyable challenge to picture a pattern in my mind, then see if I can transfer that pattern from my mind to a bracelet.

The only thing is, now I have a whole bunch of these bracelets, and I'm not sure what to do with them. I did see someone selling similar bracelets at DowntownDisney awhile back for five bucks apiece. I don't really want to "sell" my bracelets, but I would be willing to send one to anyone who makes a donation - of any size - to Bixby Knolls Christian Church. That might help me feel better about not being able to give back as much as I'd like to the congregation that has given me so much. Let me know if you are interested.

I've rambled a bit here, and at times this has come close to being a "rant." It is not my intention to "rant." But I do want you to know that I'm not that kind of pastor.

Hiking Cheeseboro Canyon

2011-04-05T01:48:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday (April 2) I went for a hike in Cheeseboro Canyon, part of the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area. I picked this location for a hike because of its close proximity to Burbank, where I was meeting my friend David who went with me.

Cheeseboro Canyon is more well-known among mountain bikers than hikers. The area is very popular with mountain bikers, and some hikers, I suspect, avoid the area as a result. David and I encountered numerous cycling groups and individuals, but still had an enjoyable day. The cyclists we met were courteous toward us, even if they were at times a bit loud. I guess cycling is, by nature, a louder activity than hiking. One person we met even asked us, "Where's your bike?" And we even saw someone riding a mountain unicycle! But if we had been riding bikes instead of hiking, it would have been much harder to hear the numerous birdsongs that were constant throughout the day.

We made a loop by hiking up Cheeseboro Canyon, across the Sheep Corral Trail, then back down to the trailhead on the Palo Comado Canyon Trail. An excellent trail map can be found here.

Near the trailhead, the trails are wide fireroads through grassy meadows and oak forests. Farther up the canyons, along and near the Sheep Corral Trail, the landscape opens up into coastal scrub set against rocky hills, and the trails narrow somewhat. The area is full of wildlife; besides hearing the chorus of birds, David and I saw hawks, rabbits, squirrels, and a coyote.

One of the many cycling groups we encountered. This is at the location marked "Shepherd's Flat" on the trail map.

An intriguing tree in Palo Comado Canyon

Despite what the official trail write-up says, the Palo Comado Trail does include some hills near the trailhead. Here the trail passes an oak tree which includes a hawk's nest (see close-up photo below).

A cave in Cheeseboro Canyon, not far beyond where the oak forest ends.

Prayer of the People

2011-03-31T01:56:00.000-07:00

Every Sunday, in addition to preaching, I lead my congregation in prayer. The prayers I offer are much different from the ones I pray in private. Communal prayer is, in many ways, different than personal, private prayer. (When I was young, I sometimes tried to model my personal prayers after the prayers I heard in church. It didn't work.)

When I write these prayers, I sometimes incorporate lines or themes from traditional prayers of the church. Even though we are not a very "liturgical" congregation, I frequently incorporate lines like "Holy Lord, God of power and might, all of creation is full of your glory..." into my prayers.

Often, the prayers will lift up themes that are present in the sermon. Almost always, they refer to the specific joys and concerns of the congregation, and also lift up people in various parts of the world.

Here is the prayer from last Sunday. It does incorporate themes from the sermon (which you can read, if you wish, by following the link to the right).

What do you think about communal prayer? What does that part of the worship service mean to you? If you were called to lead your congregation in prayer, what would you pray for?

O God, we praise you. We know that there is a wideness in your mercy, wider than the sea. Your love is higher than the mountains. It is broader than even the measure of our mind. The depth of your riches and wisdom and knowledge are beyond comprehension.

How awesome you are, O God! How amazing is your love! In your goodness you have created a world of interrelated parts: one web of creation. Every lifeform is a strand on that web. Our connection to the world around us is stronger than we realize. Our very life depends on the plants and animals with which we share this planet. All are a part of the goodness and beauty of your creation.

Likewise, we are united with one another, and with all the people of the earth. You have created us all to share this world, to live in harmony with one another. You call upon us to welcome one another, just as Christ has welcomed us. Jew, Gentile, Samaritan; male, female; slave, free: all are one with you.

We pray for our brothers and sisters. We pray for those we know, in our families, our church, our circle of friends; we pray for our community, consisting as it does of a great diversity of people from almost every culture on earth; we pray for our nation, and especially for those at the margins of society: the young and the old, the poor, and the oppressed; and we pray for our world. We pray for peace among the nations. We pray for our enemies; help us to love them, for they are not as different from us as we like to pretend.

We continue to pray for the people of Japan, and we also pray for the people of Mynamar. We remember the people of Haiti. We lift up to you the people of Libya, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iraq, as well as the many other places where violence and conflict are present.

Show us the way to peace. Show us the path to life in your kingdom. May we recommit ourselves, day after day, to the task of bringing wholeness to a fragmented world.

Amen.

Cheesy Party Crasher (Special Wednesday post)

2011-03-30T02:03:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, my family crashed a party hosted by some folks from Tillamook cheese; but we were invited, so it was OK.

The invitation came on Saturday when we went to visit the folks from Tillamook who were giving out free samples in front of a local grocery store as part of their "Loaf Love" tour. As soon as we walked up, and they saw my son's "Loaf Love" t-shirt, they got all excited. (The shirt he won when he submitted a photo taken of himself the last time the tour came to town, and won a photo contest.)

My son, you see, loves cheese. And for some reason, he has a strong preference for Tillamook. When the folks at the tour saw what a big fan he is, they invited us to a party the following day, which the Loaf Love Tour folks were hosting for some "mom bloggers" in Orange County.

So we stopped by. They fed us some yummy grilled cheese sandwiches, and I promised that even though I'm not a "mom blogger," that I'd mention them here at FieldofDandelions.com.

FTC-Mandated Disclosure: As of December 2009, bloggers are required by the Federal Trade Commission to disclose payments and freebies. Danny Bradfield did receive a free grilled cheese sandwich from Tillamook.

Nature Walk

2011-03-29T01:51:00.000-07:00

El Dorado Nature Center is a hidden jewel in Long Beach. Looking at the photo, it might be hard to believe that this is in the middle of a large, urban city. (Being there in person, and hearing the noise of a not-so-distant freeway, makes it a little easier to believe.) On Saturday, I took my youngest son and a friend of his to hike the Center's "Two-Mile Trail." They didn't want to go at first. Once there, however, they didn't want to leave.

A Real Conversation

2011-03-24T02:33:00.000-07:00

Someone came by the office the other day, a young man who lives down the street from the church. He asked if the church had any Bible studies taking place. Unfortunately I had to tell him that we do not, other than a small group of mostly older adults who meet Sunday mornings before worship for what, in a previous generation, was called "Sunday school."

This young man then asked if he could help start a Bible study group. I did not answer him yes or no; instead I invited him to sit down and tell me more. He accepted my invitation.

I learned that he belonged to another church on the other side of town, and I got the impression that its theology and interpretation of scripture is very different than mine and most of the members of my congregation. He wanted to be part of a study group closer to where he lived, and when I suggested he host one at his home that was affiliated with his own congregation, he said something about wanting it to take place in a church building so that it would be spiritually blessed. I wasn't quite sure what he meant.

I was, I admit, a little skeptical. There were thoughts in the back of my mind that perhaps he was sent here by his church to convince us of the errors of our ways, to point out how the devil has corrupted theologically progressive folks like ourselves by leading us astray from the one true faith. However, this young man seemed remarkably sincere in everything he said, and when I talked to him about how we interpret scripture, he listened with genuine interest.

I suggested that, before we do anything, we should take some time to get to know one another. After all, more often than not Jesus' first response to people was to establish a relationship with them through table fellowship and other activities (much to the chagrin of the religious authority figures). So we took turns talking and listening, and before I knew it, a good length of time passed.

It reminded me of another conversation I had many years ago. This other conversation took place with a friend of mine as we sat on a rockly cliff overlooking a lake in the Sierra Nevada backcountry. It began when my friend asked me with genuine interest about how I, a Christian, justified voting a certain way in an upcoming election, while he and most of the Christians he knew felt that their faith called them to vote differently.

Our conversation by the lake lasted through the late afternoon, and ended only because it was time for dinner. It was a rare opportunity to have a real, two-way conversation, one between people who were seeking understanding rather than stubbornly trying to convince one another of the rightness of their own beliefs.

That's what the conversation with this young man felt like to me. So I invited him to return the following week.

I often think that the world would be better if everyone thought like I do, and that the church would be better if all its members thought the way I think. It's a smug, arrogant way of thinking, and most of the time it is done sub-consciously.

Conversations like these, however, lead me to realize that perhaps there is an even better way: perhaps, instead of a church where everyone thinks like me, it is better to have a church where we can engage in conversations of theology and biblical interpretation in ways that are genuine and sincere; conversations in which we ask questions and then actually listen to the responses; conversations in which we have enough humility to recognize that none of us has a monopoly on the truth.

I'm looking forward to next week's visit.

Welcome to Spring!

2011-03-22T01:59:00.000-07:00

Quality of Life

2011-03-17T01:22:00.000-07:00

Over the years, when faced with a decision about how I want to live or how I want to raise my family, I have learned to ask myself a question. The question I ask myself gives me clarity and helps me choose which option is the best.

The question is: "Will this choice add to my/our quality of life?"

This was a question I asked when my family first moved to the Long Beach area three years ago. When we began looking for a place to live, it was important to me that it be within walking distance of where I worked.

In southern California, the conventional wisdom is that you work where the work is, and you live where you can get the best deal on a home. (The "best deal" is defined as the most property, square-footage, and amenities that your money can buy.) If you have to commute an hour a day between work and home, so be it. That's the price one pays.

Well, it's not a price I was willing to pay. It didn't seem worth it to me to have the nicest home and the best job possible if that meant spending an hour a day (245 hours per year) in traffic. A commute like that costs $1,500 in gas per year at four dollars per gallon, which is the current cost for gas here and, coincidentally, the cost when I moved here three years ago. That cost does not include the cost of insurance and maintenance, both of which would be substantially higher given the extra driving miles, not to mention the aggravation of dealing with traffic every day. It also does not include the cost that we all pay by having more auto exhaust and pollution in our skies and in our lungs

For me, quality of life is also improved when I work and live in the same community. It makes it easier to get to know one's neighbors. Also, with two kids in school, it's so nice to be just a few blocks away from them during the day. I can't imagine how much more complicated it would be to, say, pick up a sick kid from school or arrange for a parent/teacher conference if I wasn't so close.

We are a one-car family. There are days when having a second car would be helpful, especially now that my wife is enrolled in a master's degree program at a school that is not walking distance, taking evening classes. However, the cost of the car, not to mention the extra insurance, registratin, maintenance, and four dollar gas, isn't worth it to me. It is also not worth it to me that our country sends servicemen and servicewomen into harm's way just so I can have a steady supply of cheap gasoline. The obscene amount of resources our nation spends on the military comes at the expense of other programs and services. Our military is increasingly being used to protect our economy but not necessarily our security. This also does not add to my quality of life.

With only one car, we find ourselves walking and riding our bikes more. Although my kids complain when I pick them up from school without a car, our walks home provide the best conversation of our day. Often they are our only real conversations of the day. How much quality of life would I be sacrificing if I drove them home, only to see them disappear into their video games (after finishing their homework, of course)?

Speaking of video games: I guess no one is perfect. A little over a year ago, against my better judgment, we got a Wii. With proper limits, video games are fine, but have you ever tried setting limits for a thirteen year-old? An endless refrain of "That's not fair!" reverberates off the walls and out into the streets. And yet, when this same thirteen year-old plays outside, sits on the floor with his Legos, or reads a good book, he is just as happy - and often happier - then he is playing video games that are almost always designed in such a way that winning is nearly impossible. This only adds to a teenager's sense of frustration and low self-esteem.

What big decisions are you facing right now? A major purchase, a decision about where to live/work, or a choice about how to use your time? Are you able to toss conventional wisdom aside, and see which choice will bring lasting happiness? Can you determine which choice will add to - rather than subtract from - your quality of life?

Fiesta Flowers

2011-03-15T01:51:00.000-07:00

Add caption

For the 2nd year in a row, my youngest son's cub scout pack had their spring campout on Fiesta Island in Mission Bay. The island is covered with flowers in the spring, more flowers growing wildly than anywhere else I've ever seen.

The older I get, the more I appreciate such beauty in nature. The kids were content to build sandcastles and forts in the sand, knocking down any flowers that stood in their way, which makes the annual proliferation of such displays at a camp that is used exclusively by youth groups all the more amazing.

Lenten Mindfulness

2011-03-10T02:14:00.000-08:00

With Ash Wednesday yesterday and the beginning of Lent, it seemed to me I should write about mindfulness. Mindfulness has been on my mind lately, and the topic has found its way into this week's church newsletter article as well as next Sunday's sermon. Before writing, however, I looked back to see when I had last written about mindfulness on this blog, and it turns out that it was during Advent.

Advent and Lent: the two seasons of the church calendar that focus on preparing/waiting/(re)turning. The two "purple" seasons. Clearly this is no coincidence.

As my parishioners will hear me say on Sunday, I think that the reason Jesus went out into the wilderness for 40 days is that he needed to practice mindfulness, and what better place to do that than in the wilderness, alone?

A lot of people give something up for Lent. Here in Long Beach, one resident is recruiting others in the city to join him in giving up different types of food and to engage in healthier practices. It's kind of like New Year's Resolutions, but in March.

Making resolutions, engaging in practices of self-improvement, are good. However, I don't think that's the point of Jesus' time in the wilderness, and I don't think it's the point of why people have traditionally fasted during Lent.

Some people believe they should fast (give something up) during Lent as a reminder of what Jesus gave up; namely, his life. Our "suffering" by abstaining from certain foods or practices is to remind us of the suffering of Jesus.

Again, I commend such practices. However, I also don't think that is the primary reason we fast during Lent.

The primary reason to fast during Lent, I think, is to allow us to be mindful. I discovered, back when I was a vegetarian, how much more mindful I was of what I was eating as a result. Being a vegetarian made me think about what I was eating, and made me more thankful for the food I had. This is in contrast to shoveling down food without even thinking about it, without even tasting it, as is common in this busy world.

Jesus went into the wilderness. He got away from the distractions of the world, even the distraction of food. This, I'm sure, made him very mindful.

Have you decided to give something up for Lent? I pray that it may make you more mindful, more aware, of your place in the world and of your connection to God.

If you want to hear more, come to worship this Sunday, or read my sermon online - it will be posted Sunday afternoon. You can find it by following the link at the top of the right-hand column.

Blue

2011-03-08T01:19:00.000-08:00

Spent the day with some friends over the weekend at the beach. We stayed until after sunset, and although I took a number of pictures that zoomed in to get the oranges and reds, my favorite picture is this one, which shows the incredibly deep blue of the sky above.

Bicycle-friendly Communities

2011-03-03T01:59:00.000-08:00

The City of Los Angeles has just approved a new master bike plan, to make the city known for it's traffic congestion more bike-friendly. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa says that the plan features thousands of miles of new bike lanes and a new emphasis on bike safety.

Meanwhile, here in Long Beach, the self-proclaimed "most bicycle-friendly city in the nation," I got a call from my councilmember last month asking me if my church would like a bike rack installed in front on the sidewalk. I had planned on looking into this, and was surprised that someone called me before I could call them! I even got to choose the design of the bike rack. There were three pages of designs to choose from; I choose one that looks like a fish.

I bike to church every day (except Sunday, when I walk there and ride home in the car with the family after worship). In the evenings, folks coming to church for scouts or karate lessons (kids, mostly) often ride their bikes, and line them up in the hallway. It makes sense to have a bike rack installed in front of the church, especially if the city is paying for it. Since most people enter the church from the back (where the parking lot is), it would make sense for us to get a bike rack there as well, although the church would probably need to pay for that one.

Yesterday I rode my bike to visit a member who had been in the hospital, and is now in a nursing home/rehabilitation center that, according to their website, is the "closest skilled nursing facility to the ocean in Long Beach." Being close to the ocean means that it isn't exactly close to church; round trip ended up being about fifteen miles, although I didn't exactly take the short way home.

The weather forecast included a 10-20% chance of rain. I left home at 7:00 and headed to Portfolio's Coffee Shop, which I had never been to before. I often spend Wednesday mornings at a coffee shop near the church, drinking green tea and reading and/or sermon-writing, but decided to try a new place since it was near the nursing facility.

There are no bike routes that would take me directly to where I wanted to go. I guess Long Beach still has a ways to go to be bike-friendly. However, Walnut Avenue is wide and has less traffic than other streets, so I used that for most of the 4.5 miles to the coffee shop. The sky was mostly clear and the air was not as cold as it had been the previous few mornings, so it was a nice ride. And drivers were, for the most part, curteous.

When I left Portfolio's, the sky was overcast, but the clouds did not appear too dark. It was only a few blocks to the nursing facility, although on my way I did pass a gas station and noticed that the price of gas was now almost four dollars per gallon.

I had a nice visit with a member who was recovering from a broken hip. After visiting with her, I grabbed a bite to eat at a nearby Taco Bell, then bought some loose-leaf green tea for home from a store a block away.

Going home, I had two options. I could go back the way I came, which was more direct but included many stop signs and a climb up and over Signal Hill; or, I could go to the beach, and take the bike route that went along the beach and up the L.A. River, a route almost twice as long, but which had almost no stop signs and, well, was along the beach.

I chose the beach route. I rode past the grandstands that are being erected for next month's Grand Prix race, and pedaled my way past the Aquarium of the Pacific. As I did, I felt two drops of rain, but that was it. Then I followed the bike path up the L.A. River and back home.

How long was I on my bike? Maybe 90 minutes total. If I had driven, I probably would have been in the car 40 minutes total, a good 15 of those minutes just looking for a place to park, given that I made four stops. But bike riding is healthy. It's cheap. It's good for the environment. It takes you places cars can't go (like along the beach). And it's fun.

I hope Long Beach and Los Angeles continue to become more bicycle-friendly. There is still work to be done. Some motorists have no patience for cyclists, and many cyclists either don't know or ignore laws and safe cycling practices. Actually, despite what some cycling advocates say, I find that most motorists are actually quite curteous in regards to cyclists (although there is still that minority who are more hostile). Given how often some cyclists ride on the wrong side of the street or dart back and forth between sidewalks and roadways, I certainly can't complain about the treatment I get from motorists.

With more bicycles there will be less traffic congestion, less pollution, less reliance on fossil fuels, and healthier communities. What's not to like?

Work Crew

2011-03-01T02:19:00.000-08:00

I am both the parent of a boy scout and the pastor of the church that is this particular troop's sponsoring organization. The troop is becoming quite well known in the community for its service projects, which have brought quite a bit of landscaping to the streets of our neighborhood. Last weekend, another one of the scouts organized a project to fulfill one of the requirements for Eagle Scout.

Through the Tunnel

2011-02-22T08:04:00.000-08:00

No new pictures this week, so here's an old one I took a few years ago....

Update

2011-02-17T12:25:00.000-08:00

Hello, world!

Some short work weeks (in which I must cram the same amount of work into fewer days), combined with the need to get a new computer, have kept me from blogging as much as I normally do. Essays from me will probably not appear here again until the first week of March. I will, however, continue to post occasional pictures. Thanks for sticking with me!

Dominguez Gap wetlands, 2.11.11

Mine! Mine! Mine!

2011-02-15T01:17:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, the weather was phenomenal, and I rode my bike along the L.A. River bike path to the Dominguez Gap Wetlands. I was hoping to see some wildlife, but this was ridiculous -- and a little scary.

Beach Cleanup

2011-02-08T01:28:00.000-08:00

Litter from all over L.A. County washes down gutters, into storm drains, down the L.A. River, and ends up on the beaches of Long Beach. On Saturday, Tristan and I donned plastic gloves and joined over 100 other people to pick up trash (and admire the ladybugs) near the Belmont Pier.

Angry Yelling in the Parking Lot

2011-02-03T14:30:00.000-08:00

I was at Target yesterday, and as I walked out of the store (with my loaf of bread, peanut butter, goldfish crackers and a poster board for Ethan's school project), I heard some intense yelling. A woman in a car with the window rolled down was yelling at the driver of another car: "You're going the wrong way!" except that her language and volume I dare not replicate here. I mean, it was a brutal verbal lashing.

The yelling echoed in my mind as I walked home.

Just a few hours earlier, I had finished reading (for the second time) Father Greg Boyle's book. In the last chapter, he refers to the line in the song "O Holy Night" that goes, "Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'til he appeared and the soul felt its worth." It seemed to me that the soul of the driver who was yelled at was probably not feeling its worth at that moment. In fact, my own soul was struggling to feel its worth at that moment, and I wasn't even the one to whom all that vitriol was directed.

Yes, the driver was going the wrong way in the parking lot. I don't know why. Maybe he could not or did not see the faded painted arrows on the asphalt. Maybe the way he should have gone was blocked by a car backing out of a parking spot. Or, maybe he was just in a hurry. I don't know. But I do know that being yelled at like that kills the soul a little bit every time it happens.

The woman who did the yelling: she was in the right, technically. She was going the right way. No doubt this made her feel self-righteous. And so she felt justified in berating this man, pointing out to this man the error of his ways.

As I continued walking home from Target, I wondered what caused that woman to get so angry. Her anger seemed so disproportionate to the situation. I wondered if she just carried around her anger, anger from any number of past grievances, anger that she couldn't let go of, anger that had become internalized and which could be set off by any little thing. Oh, what a burden to bear!

Perhaps she herself had been the recipient of much anger, the recipient of insults, name-calling and bullying. Perhaps a lack of love and compassion toward her had made it very hard for her to show love and compassion to others, and very hard for her to forgive others for their shortcomings.

I wondered (as I wandered, so to speak) about her relationships in life. Did she always have to insist that she was right? I've heard that those who insist on taking the right stand are not as close to God as those who stand in the right place, and I think there's some truth to that. Certainly, it must be hard for people who always insist on being right to seek reconciliation and offer forgiveness.

Is it strange that my mind dwells on such things? People's emotions can be fragile, and it's possible that one little encounter in a parking lot consisting of nothing more than an exchange of words could ruin someone's entire day. On the other hand, I find small gestures of kindness or joy to dramatically lift me up by making my soul feel its worth, like the guy at the gas station who practically sang with joy a few weeks ago as he gave me my change, or the subway conductor who always added to his announcements: "Have a wonderful, beautiful, joyous day! Joy does come in the morning..."

Whether it's strange or not, what I witnessed in the parking lot is with me still. It's found its way here, to my blog, and I'm pretty sure it will find its way into a sermon in another week or two. (If you are in worship that day, just pretend it's the first time you heard the story, OK?)

Have you ever had an incident like this affect you?

Sunrise in the Neighborhood

2011-02-01T01:12:00.000-08:00

As I walk or ride my bike to Bixby Knolls Christian Church where I work, I pass through a historic residential neighborhood that includes a Catholic church. At this time of year, I leave home just after sunrise; I love how the early morning light casts a golden glow on the bell tower.

Growing Up

2011-01-27T01:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I turned 40. For the past several weeks, in anticipation of this event, I wondered if, perhaps, it is time for me to start feeling and acting like an adult; because even though my beard is starting to turn grey, I still feel like a child.

Twice in the past year, I've been told by teenagers that I "don't act that old." I don't know why they said that. Maybe they've seen me riding my bike to church with my daypack on my back. Maybe they watched me climb the boulders at Joshua Tree while the other adults sat ontheir chairs at the campsite. Maybe they saw me get excited over something, like a rainbow caused by moonlight, and even though they thought it kind of strange for someone to get excited over something like that, they thought it was kind of cool, too.

I don't know. What I do know is that I often hear a voice telling me to act more grown-up. After all, the voice says, 40 year-old pastors don't ride their bikes around town. It's not dignified. Yet, strangely, the older I get, the more I want to ride my bike - and do lots of other fun things that adults are not supposed to do. I recently re-discovered that making friendship bracelets (something I learned to do while counseling youth camps) is an enjoyable hobby. As an added bonus, it provides a more enjoyable way to pass time in a doctor's waiting room than reading 3 year-old magazines.

To be quite honest, grown-ups have always intimidated me ... until I remember that inside every adults, no matter how old and crusty they are on the outside, there is a child needing attention; a child that wants to play, a child that is far more insecure than the grown-up persona will admit to. Nearly everyone, I think, is still waiting to feel more grown-up. Most become impatient with waiting, and so they deny that their inner child even exists, until even they themselves are unaware that it's there.

Strangely enough, I did not get to ride my bike yesterday. Not acting old doesn't mean not acting responsibly, and I had parental obligations that required use of the car (even if I did pout just a little before accepting this fact). No matter, though. The child in me is still there, and I don't expect he'll be going anywhere soon.

Before Sunrise

2011-01-25T01:01:00.000-08:00

The moon is still above our campsite last Saturday morning at Will J. Ried scout camp in Long Beach. It was chilly, but a warm day followed.

January Hike: Pico Canyon

2011-01-20T01:14:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I went for a hike with friends to Pico Canyon, in the hills just southwest of Six Flags Magic Mountain. It was a beautiful, warm day - the kind of day that makes me glad I live in southern California.

Pico Canyon was the site of the first commercial oil well in California. There are some historic sites left from the old village of Mentryville.

The hike began in a shady canyon; this time of year, the sun's rays have a hard time reaching the canyon floor. After awhile, the trail left the canyon and ascended to a ridge, which provided a sweeping view of the Santa Clarita Valley.

Round-trip was about eight miles, and although it included over 1000 feet elevation gain, the miles went by fast.

I mentioned last week that I was going to be hiking in the Santa Monica mountains. Well, the plans changed slightly. I don't think these can quite be considered part of the Santa Monicas. In fact, I'm not really sure what mountains these are. I do know that the following picture is very typical of the scrub vegetation in the low hills throughout Los Angeles County.

Up close, many of these plants are quite beautiful. Some of them I recognized, but others I didn't know. I was recently given some book store gift cards, and think I will use them to buy a book to help me identify some of these plants.

Our trip consisted of three adults, two young girls, and one dog. All completed the hike easily, with energy to spare.

Snowmelt

2011-01-18T01:04:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we drove up into the mountains to pick up Ethan, who spent the weekend at a winter retreat for middle schoolers. We got there a little early, so Tristan and I walked around. The big storms of a few weeks ago dumped a lot of snow on the mountain tops, but now it is quickly melting as we experience a midwinter heat spell. In fact, it's so warm that we stopped for root beer floats on the way home, which tasted extra good in the warm sunshine.

Tragedy in Tucson: My Confession

2011-01-12T10:47:00.000-08:00

[Note: after I wrote this today, I didn't want to wait until Thursday (when I usually publish my blog), so it is appearing one day early...]

Following the tragic shooting in Tucson last week, it was so easy to jump on the bandwagon pointing to the causes of such violence in society. Friends on Facebook immediately began pointing fingers at folks like Sarah Palin, whose website featured gun sights targeting a number of progressive/liberal politicians, including Representative Gabrielle Giffords. I had not known about Sarah Palin's "targets," and was horrified enough to post my own status update condeming her and her website.

It's so easy for me to condemn and blame those who (like Palin) ~~are so obviously wrong~~ think differently than I do. Even as I did so, however, I heard a small voice in the back of my head challenging me to think differently. Over the next several days, that voice got louder and louder until I could ignore it no longer.

I was utterly annoyed.

I was annoyed, because I didn't want to think differently. I was certain that my thinking around this issue was right. Yet the voice told me I needed to look at the words and actions of Sarah Palin and others from a more compassionate, Christ-like point of view.

The problem was, I didn't want to look at Palin from a Christ-like point of view.

As I read more and more of my fellow progressives indirectly blame Palin for the massacre, it seemed to me that they (we) were "targeting" her in a way that wasn't so different from the way she had "targeted" politicians who disagreed with her. The voice said that, therefore, we really weren't that different from Palin.

The problem was, I didn't want to think of myself as being not so different from her.

But as I listened to the voice, I realized that it was right. Despite her offensive rhetoric and actions, Palin - like the rest of us - got caught up in the ongoing war of words. Palin - like the rest of us - had been fired upon, and fired back in return.

Who, you may ask, fired the first shot?

Just today, I happened to read that some of the earliest written language, coming from Mesopotamia thousands of years ago, included trash talk. Back then, there were two kinds of people: farmers and herders. The farmers trash-talked the herders, and the herders trash-talked the farmers. In the book of Genesis, we see the result of all this trash-talk: Cain (the farmer) killed his brother Abel (the herder). Apparently, things weren't so different, even then.

63 years ago today, Gandhi began a fast to convince Hindus and Muslims in New Delhi to work for peace. Instead of getting caught up in the conflict and the trash-talk, he searched for - and found - a better way.

Instead of blaming the other side, perhaps we need to spend some time praying for peace. Perhaps we can, each of us, confess our own participation in the ongoing wars of rhetoric. Fasting might even be a good idea, as a way of focusing our thoughts.

It is true that when verbal bullets fly, real bullets are more likely to follow. I, for one, am going to work harder to ensure that none of those verbal bullets come from me.

Flashback: January Hike

2011-01-11T01:53:00.000-08:00

A picture I took in January two years ago, in the Santa Monica mountains. I plan to go hiking in a different part of the Santa Monica mountains this coming Saturday, and am looking forward to it.

Peaceful Protest? It Depends On How You Define 'Peaceful'

2011-01-06T01:45:00.000-08:00

The neighborhood in which I live is, for the most part, a quiet one. The streets are lined with trees, and kids run up and down the block to and from the homes where friends live. The only exception to the tranquility is late Friday and Saturday nights in summer, when the sound of patrons of the bar around the corner finding their way to their cars comes in through my open window, waking me.

It was not a Friday or a Saturday night, however. It was not late, but early evening. And it wasn't summer, but one of the coldest nights of winter, when the temperature plunged below forty degrees, which is considered downright frigid in this region. Reading by lamplight in my living room (which seemed bare withouth the Christmas decorations that were taken down the day before), I was startled to hear the sounds of chanting and yelling outside: one person with a megaphone leading what sounded like a dozen or more in protest.

What were they protesting? I couldn't tell. They were a loud and raucous group. Their shouts sounded full of anger. I briefly considered calling the police. It's a bit frightening to hear a group of people shouting angrily, especially at night. Not being able to make out what words they were yelling, I wondered if the protest had something to do with the several marijuana dispensaries nearby, and whether the protestors were for or against.

I stepped out onto the front porch. I could not see the protestors, and I still couldn't make out the words they were yelling. I walked to the end of our block (a short walk, just a few steps, really) and saw a group of maybe two dozen people in front of the bar, yelling and holding large signs, and chating: "human freedom, animal rights," or something like that.

That bar is not the best of neighbors (note my earlier comment about noise), so it didn't bother me much that it was being protested, but I wondered how the bar had aroused the anger of animal rights protesters. I later learned that the bar has a game similar to those "claw" games which offer players a chance to win a toy or stuffed animal, excpet that this particular "claw" game offers the chance to win a live lobster.

I didn't know that at the time; I had never been in that particular bar. All I knew was that there was a group of people chanting and yelling angrily after dark on a cold Monday evening.

I returned to my living room. The distant yelling was mildly annoying, like the buzz of a fly hovering up near the ceiling. It continued for ninety minutes, then stopped.

Had those protesters not sounded so angry and threatening, I might have walked up to them and asked them why they were protesting. Maybe I would have sympathized with their passion for animal rights. Maybe I would have told them that I was a vegetarian for several years. Maybe they would have been able to convince me to go back to being a vegetarian. And maybe - this is a remote possibility, but still - maybe, if they had taken a more postive and peaceful approach (singing instead of yelling, for example), I would have so sympathized with their concern over the treatment of animals that I would have joined them.

Instead, once my curiosity was satisfied, I ignored them, and what's more, I almost felt sorry for the owners of the bar.

Almost.

Keeping Their Feet on the Ground

2011-01-04T01:13:00.000-08:00

Tristan and his friend Ryan agree on almost everything. At Knott's Berry Farm over Christmas break, they agreed that this was one ride they would NOT be riding.

Pressed Penny

2010-12-28T01:45:00.000-08:00

This year, Christmas break included a visit to Knott's Berry Farm. At the end of the day, Tristan eagerly watches as his penny is pressed.

The Wait is Almost Over

2010-12-23T01:42:00.000-08:00

The season of waiting is almost over; Christmas is nearly here!

Calling it the "season of waiting" suggests that in the weeks leading up to Christmas, we have a lot of spare time, when, for most of us, there is not the case. To the contrary, we find every moment packed with activity.

Furthermore, we work hard to fill what few empty moments we do have. The truth is, most of us hate to wait.

These thoughts came to me yesterday as I was peeling an orange. I rarely eat oranges, because of the hassle involved: peeling takes too much time, and it's hard to wait! However, I took my time peeling the orange, feeling the texture, allowing fragments of peel to get under my fingernails, smelling the aroma and watching the fine mist spray into the air as I pulled the orange apart.

Although I often avoid them, I've learned that quiet moments of waiting are essential to my well-being. I used to hate empty moments of "wasted time," but now, at least some of the time, I treasure them. It's in those quiet moments that my thoughts seem to settle and organize themselves. It's in those quiet moments that I find myself able to breathe.

I have discovered a number of ways to wait that are rejuvenating. Standing in a checkout line the week before Christmas is not one of them -- that's not the kind of waiting I'm talking about -- but these are:

drinking a cup of tea
going for a walk (without worrying about a destination)
doing crafts, like friendship bracelets (yes, friendship bracelets)
stacking rocks
gardening
meditating/praying, something that often takes place during one of the other activities

This is the kind of waiting I find helpful. It never occurs while the TV or computer are on. Updating one's facebook status is not "waiting."

Preparing for Christmas may require a lot of activity, but it also requires waiting. Be sure to find some time to wait for Christmas.

It's Raining

2010-12-21T01:58:00.000-08:00

I think this picture is probably a rerun on this blog, but it exemplifies what the weather has been like this week. And while it is tempting to say that this is an actual rainstorm, in truth it is the splash from a raft sliding down the chute at the Grizzly River Ride at California Adventure. The picture was taken on a rainy day (hence the umbrella), it just wasn't that rainy.

The picture does show another truth: when it rains, kids love to play outside.

Caroling

2010-12-16T06:54:00.000-08:00

A couple dozen cub scouts, along with a few siblings and friends, went caroling last night. Tristan, our youngest, is in the cub scout pack. "Why do I have to go?" I explained how much joy it brings to the people who live at the care facility where the caroling would take place. His older brother Ethan got excited and wanted to go, so it became a whole family affair.

When it was over, we had a school chorus concert to attend; Ethan another performance of the play he's in; and we had a neighbor's birthday gathering to attend. This followed a day that included a doctor's appointment, a school awards assembly, and watching a neighbor kid for a couple of hours. No wonder I didn't have time to write a decent blog post.

Dog Beach

2010-12-14T01:58:00.000-08:00

This past weekend featured some unusually nice weather, even by southern California's standards. It wasn't just the dog who went in the water...

First Interview

2010-12-09T01:47:00.000-08:00

By the end of my first year in seminary, I was expected to find a "student ministry" placement in a local congregation. So I filled out the necessary paperwork, turned it in to the seminary's field education office, and waited.

One by one, my classmates received calls for interviews, and began finding placements. Waiting and watching was a strange experience. It was like we were members of the Quileute tribe, wondering who was going to "phase" next. Some placements were nearby, right in Indianapolis (where the seminary was located); others were as far away as Evansville, or even in Illinois or Ohio. Some were for a part-time position as the sole pastor of a small church; others were for associate or youth pastor positions in larger congregations.

One day I received word that a church in Pittsboro, Indiana was interested in talking to me about becoming their part-time youth pastor. We made contact, and an interview was scheduled.

I counted down the days to the interview with both fear and excitement. I knew that I had been called by God to be a minister, and yet I had a hard time picturing me - a shy, socially awkward young man - leading a congregation.

At the time I was working a temp job in a real estate office on the north side of Indianapolis. (The guys who ran the office had ventured into a side business promoting "Softspikes," a then-new feature of golf shoes that, in the years since, has become quite popular. I imagine those guys are rich today.) On the office wall was a detailed map of Indiana. I spent quite a bit of time staring at the map, following with my eyes the road that led from Indianapolis to Pittsboro, imagining myself driving that road several times a week.

Finally, the night of the interview came. Outside my apartment it was raining. Inside, I nervously adjusted my tie while murmuring to myself, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." I kissed my wife, Ginger, and on my way out to the car I grabbed an umbrella and directions to a Pittsboro restaurant called Frank and Mary's, where I would meet the search committee.

Frank and Mary's, it turned out, was the only restaurant in Pittsboro, a small farming community of about 1,000 with exactly one stoplight. I pulled into the parking lot and gazed upon the mostly windowless, stone-brick building, noticing the drops of rain illuminated by the one outdoor light. It looked to me like the kind of place one sees in the movies, where crooked yet powerful people meet in semi-secret to drink, smoke cigars, and plot their next sinister move. Before stepping out of the car, I hesitated just a moment, wondering what would happen if I didn't make it back home, and how long Ginger would wait before calling the police.

Knowing (hoping?) that it was my nerves that made the situation seem more ominous than it probably was, I walked across the parking lot and into the unimpressive door on the side of the building ... and was greeted by some of the friendliest church people I've ever met. The conversation flowed easier than I expected it to, and a few days later, I found myself leading the youth program at Pittsboro Christian Church.

I stayed there almost three years, until I graduated from seminary. The people there treated me and Ginger better than any other church I've been part of.* We returned to Frank and Mary's many times - a place that became much less scary with familiarity - and once or twice I was even surprised when I went to pay my bill and was told that it had already been taken care of.

I learned a lot about ministry from the people of Pittsboro. I carry those lessons with me still. My time there was a great beginning to my ministry.

*Probably the main reason for this is that the people of Pittsboro Christian Church truly saw themselves as a community that had been called to nurture young pastors, and saw me for what I was: a student pastor. They taught me even as I ministered to them.

Early Snow

2010-12-07T00:30:00.000-08:00

On the back (north) side of the San Gabriel mountains, where the winter sun struggles to warm the earth, snow lingers even after it has melted elsewhere. I took this photo last week; over the weekend, a storm that dropped more rain than snow may have changed the view from this spot, which is near Devil's Punchbowl. But winter is just getting started.