Tornadoes and Chicken Stock

Question: What happens when a poor post-college student who has survived for the past year on canned pinto beans and macaroni finally makes enough money at his job(s) to afford groceries?

Answer:

Be nice to me, my loyal reader(s). I have leftovers.

And perhaps jump to my defense against Sean, HyounJun, Jon, Jairus, and Peter, because it's 2:30 in the morning, and I'm totally not cleaning up the mess I made in the kitchen until tomorrow.

It's still raining down here. It hails sometimes, and it rains a lot. Everywhere I go in Orange county today, I see something flooding.

Sean said that this could be the beginning of Armageddon. I think that when Armageddon really does come, it won't take more than a couple of days of rain to wipe out the OC. We're pretty spoiled down here, so I figure... why waste the fire power?

It was funny to go to work during the tornado warning. Every adult in the school had this pale, dead look on their faces. Probably because they are responsible for the lives of so many little children. Not that they had to work so very hard to keep the children from worrying...

I remember Yessica. Six years old with a smile that pushed the boundaries of her ears. She was spinning around, dancing in the rain. She twirled in small circles with her fingers up in the air as the weather could not even hold its sour expression for long after meeting her. The rain began to cease. The sun began to shine.

"Everyone today is scared, but I wasn't scared."

"That's good, to not be scared."

"Mr. Stephen, do you know who Dios is? God?"

"Yes I do."

"I told him to stop the rain, so that no one would be scared anymore."

I guess all you have to do is ask.

She smiles and the sun shines. She talks to Dios, and He sweeps the storm clouds out of her way. Now I understand Why Jesus said that we had to be like children. Not because we need to think more simply, but because they understand something that we forget when we grow up. It is not easy to remain that way.

But it is possible to learn.

We were walking to the back of the school to wait for parents after tutoring let out for the day. She was walking far ahead. I moved quickly to catch up, the others trailing along beside me. She looked back, and quickened her pace, smiling. I moved faster as well. Those behind me followed suit.

Does anyone out there remember what it feels like to run as far as you can, as fast as you can, just because you can? I forgot what that was like. I got to remember, as we raced to the back fence, laughing and doing our best not to slip on the wet blacktop. Diego and Marian finally passed me up, right as we saw the fence, their faces red with the type of laughter that just barely escapes your cheeks when you breathe. They don't really speak English yet, those two. I think I will learn a lot from them this year. It makes sense. I've learned so much already.

Curl up with a hot bowl of soup this week, and think about what six years old feels like. Is it just me, or does being an adult sound like some sort of punishment we endure for doubting the source of the rain?

The Smell of Raindrops on Rooftops, Black Tops, High Tops

There's something about the smell of fresh bread baking in your oven while it's raining outside that makes it extremely satisfying to be alive.

It's raining in Orange County.

Real rain, like the kind that washed your car for you. Like the kind that makes your socks wet when you misjudge the depth of a puddle in front of the house.

My socks are wet.

It's raining.

I remember that I am now an adult, and that I am supposed to be very serious all the time, now that I can drive a car. I am supposed to watch television and movies to enjoy myself, because they provide a form of escape. I think I won't escape from today. I think that today I missed my cue to exit.

Happy Monday, world. You didn't get the best of me this time.

Intervention

I'm really supposed to be working on prepping my Sunday School lesson right now. I didn't remember that I was teaching until yesterday, and I couldn't pick up the materials from Sasha until this morning, and the first opportunity I have to be home is right now. 1:30 AM.

I've been working for the church for as long as I can remember. Not a bad working environment most of the time, but the hours are crazy and the pay is deferred. "your reward in Heaven is great", I believe it says on my contract.

Could I get just a little of it now?

They say that being an American with a college education gives you a lot of privilege these days, but I don't get why we should feel so privileged. We have all these things, but they don't make us happy.

They make us busy.

They make us forget God.

I don't really know what this post is about, and I really need to get back to work, but I also feel like I'm standing in my own way here. The thing that blocks me from Him

Is me.

How do I get out of my own way?

Primary, Secondary, Tertiary, Seminary

I've been waking up early lately.

I know it doesn't sound all that special, but I'm kind of proud of myself for it. In the past two years, I have had two jobs, neither of which has required me to be awake before 10:00 AM. My pattern has been, stay up until 2, wake up at 10. I guess I'm just not a morning person.

That's a weird phrase.

Morning Person.

Like you have to be a particular type of person to participate in a particular section of the day.

It's weird for me, too. To be up at this particular time in the morning, when I have nowhere to be for a good 3-4 hours.

I wonder how long I'll keep doing this. I mean, I hate to cut into my dream time. My dreams are pretty cool.

It's strange to see the world with so many different color schemes. I'm usually only paying attention at night. Nights are blue, and sometimes grey, and sometimes purple. Daytime is sometimes green , and sometimes white, and sometimes red. Mornings are yellow.

Kind of reminds me of Coldplay, even though I'm only a casual listener.

I'm becoming a casual morning person. Mornings are yellow. I am seeing the world in new colors.

I wonder if God exists in colors I have yet to see...

2938 Barrington Ct.

I'm moving again.

It's my birthday again.

I'm flat broke again.

I'm starting to become a person of tradition, I guess. A revolving door of activities from one year to the next. I'm packing up my things once more, with the hope that this time, this place, these people...

... Somehow life changes you, right?

Is all this stuff really mine? How did I keep all of this?

I think my parents were part squirrel. I think they raised me to store my nuts in the holes around all of the trees I've called home. It's a bigger tree this time, but it's still me that lives in it, and nothing will change me so very much. It's a slow progression, and despite what I would like to think, these last 25 years were not wasted on turning me into something that I will never become. I am, undoubtedly, going to be what I was always becoming. Who I was made to be.

I seriously need to have a garage sale.

The worst part of my identity is how elusive it has been. I think that's why I collect so many things that I don't really need. Or, maybe I do need them. Do I? I don't really know.

I've been collecting things over the last 5 years that I've lived on my own. "Just in case." Just in case I need them just in case I don't know anyone in the future that I can borrow one from, should the need arise, just in case I suddenly decide that my entire life is going to be about something that up until now I only did every once in a while. It's like I can't get rid of anything until I know my entire life story.

This year.

I'm going to figure you out, Stephen. I'm going to search for God, and find you in the process. This year marks the end of me floating by on top of a mess of decisions I never made, "just in case." This is the beginning of becoming.

Welcome 2010. I'm ready for you.

A Moment That Time Skipped By

It’s almost over.

11:00 December 25, 2009.

All of the secrets are unwrapped, and displayed on the inside of the house. I am outside, wondering what has happened to time.

It seems like this year went by so fast. I remember how it started. It was my birthday, as it often is. We were packing boxes up and pretending not to be sad about losing each other. I got a call from someone I thought I was in love with. It is now nearly a year from that day.

I’m not.

And Christmas has come and is nearly gone again. Time does not march.

It races.

All my energy has been spent trying to catch up with it, and now I realize that things must change. Here I am outside the house where I grew up. Outside in the cold. I hope, if it is cold enough, time will stop, and let me catch my breath. Catch it, and watch it pass from me like a vapor. In this small stretch of time we have, I hope that I am seen any bit as clearly. That is all we dare hope for. I couldn't ask for anything better than that.

But it’s Christmas, and I think I have had plenty of time to ask for things for myself.

My God, the stars.

I know it makes no difference to think, but I wonder what they looked like on the night He was born. I wonder how black the sky, how dark the clouds. Was there a moon?

Of course, there’s always a moon. Even if you can't see it, it's there.

I wonder what those two eyes, so close, and yet so far removed from humanity looked at that night. Did the sky acknowledge him, and welcome, or was he human in that strange way that we all are, where despite being under a canopy of stars, knit together by love, we can see nothing in them but ourselves?

I don’t know, and I think it’s beautiful that I don’t know.

You’re still out there.

You’re holding needle and yarn to this great canopy, and I can only see myself. What parts of me I can find, that is. Just this time, just this once, before you go, before time passes through me at that speed I’ve become so accustomed to, I want to ask you one thing.

Don’t go. I can almost see you.

I know it’s not really the right day, but happy birthday.

Honey Mustard

I performed in a play at my church this last Sunday. I also helped write it, and had to get up early after getting a somewhat less than ideal 4 hours of sleep thanks to my friend Jina's awesome Christmas party, and a gentleman by the name of Jose Cuervo.

Anyway, this play was about Christians who complain too much. One of the characters complained about spending too much time serving at church.

I resonate with that.

Or, at least, I would, if I had time to.

Guys, I seriously spend Soooo much time at church. People are always asking me, "hey, man, when are you going to start dating?" or "when are you going to finally hammer out your career goals and start working on them?" Or even "didn't you tell me about that book you were writing? When Can I see a draft of that?"

"Oh. Um... now's not a good time. I'll get back to you after Easter."

That is how it has always been. I was talking to a good friend of mine last week who does a lot of the same stuff I do. We have some slight differences in what we do and how we feel about that, but one conclusion was reached by the both of us.

Something has to change.

So, lately I've been thinking a lot about what I can get rid of. It seems the natural thing to do, I just can't seem to do it. What should I get rid of? Programing/brainstorming for new series? That's kind of important. The youth group? I don't even know who would step into that role if I wasn't there. Then there's all these new initiatives with the homeless that we're doing. I don't want to quit those. Even the non-church stuff I do (Open Mic Night, film stuff, writing in this blog) seems so important to me. I just can't choose what to abandon.

I think that the problem is that my loves are to varied and specific. For example:

I LOVE Jr high students.

I LOVE the homeless.

I LOVE teaching little kids how to read.

I LOVE encouraging young artists to pursue their craft, and I love providing a platform for them.

I LOVE Teaching/learning from the Bible.

I LOVE making movies (even/especially if they're dumb)

I LOVE writing and performing my poetry.

I LOVE coming up with crazy, off the wall ideas to get my point across.

I LOVE honey mustard sauce.

That last one really is true.

Love it.

Honey mustard sauce got me thinking just now. Love it. The thing about honey mustard is that it is a combination of two things that don't seem like they go very well together.

Honey

sticky, sweet. Used on toast in combination with peanut butter to make an awesome sandwich.

Mustard

Abrasive, bitter. Used in combination with some stuff I don't understand to make a noxious gas.

Hmm.

But it's delicious.

It occurred to me that maybe simplicity is a lot like honey mustard. Maybe it's not about how do I choose what I'm not going to do, but how do I combine the bitter abrasive with the sticky sweet to make some awesome honey mustard?

Let me try one...

What if I have my Jr high students come out to hang with the homeless in the park, and then we could make a movie about what we learned?

How about...

I move to the inner city and start a creative writing program with some of the inner city kids so that they can learn to channel some of their energy into some type of positive thing? They could perform what they've created somewhere for their parents and other people too.

Or, even better...

Maybe I should move Open mic night to the park, where my homeless friends can come to it, then I could invite my Jr Highers to come and help, we could try to engage with the people that come with words from the Bible, as the students are learning to teach it. Somehow I'll have to fit teaching kids to read in there...

Seriously. It think I've got it. Life isn't about just abrasive or sticky sweet.

Life is Honey Mustard.