An auditory shout out to my friend and colleague, Kara “Ketchup Jar” Spranger. With no further adieu…
2 COMMENTS
For Jack’s fourth birthday, he Nat and I got cheap seats at the Astros and Tampa Bay Rays game. The LaStros squeaked out a 2 – 1 win over the best team in baseball, but Jack’s daddy was unquestionably the big winner last night. 
The summers of my youth were marked by weekend trips to Houston where we always seemed to see the Astros v. Braves (which, incidentally, is how I discovered that God hates the Braves, so my disdain is technically righteous indignation, and therefore pleasing to the Lord). 
Tonight, however, perched at the top of the world with my son’s pizza stained face in the seat to my right, his 4 year old lungs bellowing with 100 year old gusto, “GO ASTROS,” I experienced what goodness was. His wild cheers at wildly inappropriate times were beautiful, precisely because he was expressing the fundamental truth that in something as thoroughly good as baseball, there aren’t really any bad guys at all. 
There was only baseball and mommy and daddy, and surely that is good and worth celebrating. 
Maybe next time we go I’ll teach him about cheering exclusively for our team. Then again, maybe what he knows is even better, and I’ll just keep learning from him. 
A few disclaimers:
- I haven’t watched American Idol with any regularity since Jordin Sparks won a few years ago.
- Natalie generally keeps track of what’s going on, although she’s not a regular watcher.
- My brother is a fanatic. He’s a big strong guy and all of that, he just gets weepy when it comes to people singing other peoples songs for the chance to stretch out their pipes at the end of someone else’s song. He fixes my brakes and all of that, he just likes to watch Idol. Whatever.
- There have been amazing moments of brilliance. David Archuletta’s version of Imagine. David Cook’s take on Billie Jean. Blake Lewis covering Shot Through The Heart.Carrie Underwood & Randy Travis paired up for my favorite RT song ever, and it was amazing.
So by simple proximity, I generally encounter the high points at some point in days following the performance. Generally, I’m not that impressed. I’m not a musical expert, but I know what I like, and I generally don’t like what I don’t like.
First thing this morning, my brother did the weekly run down, and I have to say… what he showed me, I liked. I liked it very much. In fact. What he showed me, that I liked, I think I liked better than the original version. That is a very rare occurrence indeed, particularly in this case, because the original song covered is truly one of my favorite songs ever.
It’s still one of my favorite songs… and this version is a classic, beautiful, fresh, inspiring interpretation. This is a song that’s easy to butcher… what you’re about to see is not a butchering.
Jeff Buckley’s version is stirring, haunting, and contemplative. Lee’s version is soulful, powerful, and compelling. Great song, done well.
What’s your favorite Idol moment, past or present?
Phish and Neil Young. At over 19 minutes, it’s not for the faint of heart, but well worth it for those inclined to stay to the end.
I watched this happen live on TV, and it gets better every time I see it. One of my favorite musical “moments” to ever watch.
Last weekend, Natalie and the kiddos went to the zoo. The San Antonio zoo is actually a very cool place to be. As they were zooing, I opted for a public (and on purpose) demonstration of my immense suckitude on the golf course. While I shanked ball after ball into the woods, a furious onslaught of stories and details was building in my children, waiting to be unleashed when next we met.
I could never have predicted… I would have thought it folly to hope for the existential treat that soon fell into my lap. Tucked neatly into one of the stories of high drama that afternoon was something so delightful and glorious, so striking and full of intrigue that it cast a long happy shadow over that day and every day since.
Looking back, as the moment built and virtually dripped from Jack’s tongue, it seemed almost innocent… almost accidental. Looking back, though, the sing-song lilt of that beast’s name could only be a gift, neatly wrapped. Nothing so substantial could possibly come accidentally.
The name of it as it fell on my ears was perfectly short and powerfully sweet. The punctuation of strong consonants dancing with alternating short and long vowels was sheer tonal resplendence, a melody so sweet it called forth imaginations of every good and perfect gift from apple pie and patriotism, to the smell of laurels and the color blue.
It was even hyphenated.
That sonorous moniker, exploding on my awareness for the first time, happily heaped joy upon joy… my delighted heart beat double time at the serendipitous discovery that this divinely dazzling breed was known by two names… names utterly distinct and equally sublime.
When finally my eyes rest gently upon the countenance I sought… I knew in an instant that the perfect name had indeed been given to the perfect beast.
For those who deny the existence of a perfect and benevolent creator, prepare for the irrefutable evidence that there is indeed a God, and He is above all things… good.
That evidence, sufficient in and of itself…
The Pig-Deer, a.k.a. Babirusa.
See… I told you. Irrefutable.
I was also comforted to know that, due to a legal loophole, I was not required to eternally abandon my previous (and clearly less regally charming) favorite animal so long as I stipulate my undying fondness for fair Babirusa.
A few weeks ago, I pondered the concept of sleep as a spiritual discipline. Last week at small group, a dear friend and person I respect very much asked me how that was going. I appreciated her asking, because that’s what accountability is all about… right?
I’m not doing very well at it. I think “failing miserably” would be more appropriate. I have been very conscientious about not watching TV or getting on the computer an hour before bed and reading a book instead (+1). I have absolutely blown off my abstention from caffeine (-2). I have replaced sleeping early with going to bed late and getting up early (-5). So all in all, I’m negative where I was when I started.
As I wrote that, I’m tempted to despair… failure sucks, and I hate sucking.
Now that the moment has passed, I’m not really so sure it’s failure after all.
The point of a spiritual discipline is to train my spirit to do right, even if it’s not naturally inclined to do so. Just as I train my child to do right by disciplining him, I train my body (mind, heart, spirit) to do right by disciplining it. I don’t have to discipline my child to play… he does it naturally and effortlessly. If the spiritual discipline of sleep were easy, it wouldn’t be a discipline.
Rather, the fact that I haven’t been able to step away from caffeine, despite the fact that I know how valuable it would be, indicates a problem in me…
Hi. I’m Jason, and I’m a caffeine-aholic (among other things, if I’m honest).
The fact that I have not met my sleep/spiritual goals tells me a few things:
- I still need Jesus. I still can’t make myself be perfect, since I can’t even make myself go to bed on time.
- Jesus is still there. My only hope and confidence on this spinning mess of flesh and dirt is that Jesus is strong where I am weak. I need to be reminded of that.
- Discomfort = the bad stuff dying. Sleep is a spiritual discipline because I am inherently lazy and unmotivated. When I am uncomfortable because I’m putting down the 89 and 90th ounce of caffeine, that’s the feeling of laziness and a-motivation dying a slow death. If I stick with it long enough, they’ll be altogether dead and gone. That’s the goal of spiritual disciplines. That’s the goal of discipleship.
So rather than giving up hope, I’m remembering that my despair should be humility, and that only by humility do I have access to divine grace. Rather than giving in to feelings of failure, I’m remembering that even simple acts of self-control are difficult and tedious precisely because I am undisciplined and out of control.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not excusing my lack of discipline. Just the opposite. I’m confessing that maybe the most important thing for me to see, know, and understand is how inherently prone to fail I am and will always be. If I don’t start there, if I don’t fully realize that point, I will forever be doomed to repeat my failures and forever remain an undisciplined, out of control person.
Only if I remain just as I am when I have access to something better will I fail. Failure isn’t what I thought it was. For that understanding, I am grateful.
Come to think of it… this Spiritual Discipline is working after all.
It’s good to be back in my old digs again. I’m still trying to get some of the housekeeping stuff taken care of (blogrolls, links, etc.) but it shouldn’t be very long at all before that’s all taken care of.
To begin my journey here again, I wanted to re-post my first blog posting after an almost 7 month hiatus. The original post was made to my Realityunwound wordpress site (here), but I wanted to bring it back over here for posterity.
61 Days (originally posted 4/21/10)
Facebook.
I’m really amazed by some of the people who I’ve run across in my Facebook adventures. In many ways, it’s been a great tool of redemption. As time fades the still frames of yesterdays memories to golden shades of sepia, I all too often wish that those images could be hidden, put away, or simply set ablaze in the furnace of the forgotten. Facebook helps me do that, or it helps me remember differently, and for that I’m grateful.
I guess it’s a natural part of growing older to realize that who I used to be isn’t who I wished I’d have been. Every day I realize that my son is on a light-speed collision course with a social circle that mommy and daddy can’t control, and we can simply do our best and hope he’s better prepared to be a better man than I was. I’m already mourning all the young men like me who will have to give their lives for looking at my precious little angel. 
Growing up is a beautiful part of life and I’m grateful for the places I’ve been and the people I’ve met. I also hope that my son in High School is a very different young man than I was, and I pray with all my heart that Reagan never crosses paths with someone like me. Again, it’s not that I WANT to kill them…
Facebook, however, has allayed some of my guilt and angst at the person that I was in the years gone by. I’ve had great conversations with people who I wasn’t emotionally secure or intelligent enough to care for way back then.
It’s been such a positive social experience that you’d be hard pressed to find the 20 minute period in my day when I’m not checking or updating or commenting. The beauty of social networking, however, is not without cost. At first blush, my wife and children would seem to be the primary casualties of my plugged-in-ness, but I’m not so sure…
I’ve recently walked through one of the most intense spiritual and emotional seasons of my life. Fret, fear, anxiety, hope, despair, elation, wonder, and the full willingness to examine everything in every aspect of every corner of my life isn’t easily conveyed in 140 characters or less. If you know me, you know I can’t say my name in fewer than 140 characters, much less process the fire-forging my soul into the shape and form of divinity.
So when my soul hungers, and it seems that tumors develop on my psyche, it’s time to stand down and allow the moments that forge deep waters and strong roots. To that end, I’m pursuing 61 days away from social networking. My hope is to come here and share my journey. My hope is that you will weigh in and travel with me as I go. Your encouragement and advice are invaluable. This isn’t an experiment in technical monasticism. That experiment has been done, and being alone isn’t the goal. This is a deliberate moment of stepping away for the singular purpose of hearing the whisper of God above the din of white cultural noise.
My curriculum during these 61 days will be Renovation of the Heart in Daily Practice by Dallas Willard (there are 61 daily reading chapters, hence, 61 days). If you’ve read it or would like to read it, I’d love to have you along for the journey. If you haven’t read or don’t care to read the book, I’d still love to hear your feedback.
Thanks for coming along for the journey. May the next 61 days surprise you and I both with the grace and glory of a God who renovates, redeems, restores, and remakes us better than we could ever hope to be.
Pride of ownership. It’s a great thing, intangible but real. There’s something about being at realityunwound.com that I missed, so I’m back, and I think I’m going to stay this time.
Why the frantic changes, unchanges, and rechanges? Well, I stopped writing here because I didn’t feel I had anything new, relevant, or previously unsaid to add to the political conversation. I’m still a political junkie, and I’m still philosophically unchanged, but I realized that there are better minds who speak the position far better than I. You’d be better served if I just sent you there.
I moved my writing over at WordPress (realityunwound.wordpress.com) because I missed the regular discipline and practice of writing. I love words, and I missed the creative outlet that blogging allowed. I wanted to write and blogging seems the easiest, best way to do that.
I’m coming back here because I like it here. Thanks to my good friend Daniel Espinoza (programmer extrordinaire of growdevelopment) who invested blood, sweat, and tears into this page’s original launch this page was just more functional and better looking than anything I could make happen over at wordpress. His investment in me personally and this site simply set the bar higher than anything I could do on my own. At the end of this all, I’m pretty much still indebted to him and (for better or worse) I think he made it possible for me to come back here and do this… for that I’m grateful.
So I’m back again, and here’s what you can look for in the days and weeks to come…
- A Book Page for my latest reads, reviews, and random book thoughts
- A Picture Page for pictures that I like by any number of the brilliant, genius photographers that I’ve been fortunate enough to know and call friend.
So here’s to the yarns we’ll spin, and the slow unwinding of time together.
Where would we be without giant inflatable alligators in Cleburne, TX? Read more…
With all the talk about Joe Wilson’s interruption of President Obama’s health care speech, the obvious question hanging in the air is, “was Wilson’s remark in any way racially motivated?” I guess it’s an honest question, but I’ve stumbled onto some video that directly refutes that hypothesis. The clip below shows that not only a lilly-white deep-south-good-ole-boy like Joe Wilson* takes exception with President Obama, but there are even prominent African Americans willing to speak out at the President in extreme moments involving life and death situations.
Obviously I jest. Kanye wasn’t really at the meeting of the joint sessions of congress. It was just about that time that he started taking his Hennesy Cognac straight out of the bottle, and just a few short days before he made an ass of himself and ruined poor sweet Taylor Swift’s night (incidentally, let it be noted that I immediately came to Taylor’s aid by posting this scathing critique of Kanye. I’m a man among men; a tiger among tabby cats. Kanye is reeling. Trust me).
Here’s hoping that we can find common ground in ridiculing the obnoxious antics of an over paid prima donna posing as an “artist.” If all it takes is a dash of shared animosity to bring our two disparate factions together, then I am more than happy to humbly oblige. If not me, who? If not now, when?
When you remember this moment, (and you will remember), may it always come as a reminder that in my heart of hearts, I’m a unitifier, not a dividificationist. That’s how I roll.
Happy September 14th to you all!
*The author and owners of this site neither endorse or approve of the actions of Joe Wilson, whether he was right or wrong, good or bad, purposeful or just caught a unexpected lull in the crowd noise, how about a little decorum, Joe? Contribute to Joe’s campaign here. Tell him that his actions were reprehensible here. Just remember, attack the action, not the man. To do otherwise is to dance with hypocrisy.
