Bieber Hair

It was my second concert with the Montgomery Symphony Orchestra.  I was nervous because this was the first time I had been with the orchestra for a full concert session -- from first practice until performance day.  (My first concert I snuck in halfway though the process.)  I got to the venue super early and perched myself in the back of the horn section...hoping to blend in to the folding chairs until someone arrived to give more direction as to how I could help get ready.

After a few minutes, one of the french horn players arrived.  I had this dialogue in my head:  "Should I leave?  I'm totally in his section?  Should I try to make small talk?  We've never really chatted before.  His name is....um...something with an 'M" I think. Quick!  Think of something clever and Regina-like to say!"  But before I could settle on any opening words, his face got an "oh my goodness" kind of look and he leaned in and asked, "Is that Justin Bieber?"

Huh?

I followed the direction of his gaze.  Sure enough, there was a very-tall-for-his-age middle schooler sporting Justin Bieber's signature hair.  Employing the clever tactics of semi-whispering and significant look-giving, we spent the rest of the afternoon counting the Bieber look-alikes.  (Little did I know this exchange would signal the beginning of a very close and quirky friendship.)  In an audience of about 50, we counted five.  I make no claims to the thoroughness of our search.  We were also playing music at the time.  But five out of 50 certainly seemed like a high Justin/non-Justin ratio.  They were everywhere!

Later that night, I was leafing through the sheet music that lives in a half-organized pile on the top of my piano.  Somewhere near the bottom, I happened across the song "And they'll know we are Christians by our love."

It struck me that our love should be as noticable and distinctive as Justin Bieber's hair.  That when I walk into a room, people who have nothing else in common should notice the Jesus in me.  Even if they can't exactly name it, it should show.  (Who has swoopy hair like that?  Isn't there some kid who sings or something?) 

I'm sure those kids that day didn't have naturally occurring Bieber hair.  I'm sure they had to use any number of creative techniques to get the look right.  And I wonder how many of them had to wait for their hair to grow a bit longer, anticipating the awaited day when they could pull off Justin's signature swoop. 

Walking in love takes effort and intention too.  It doesn't just happen. 

But the person I'm imitating should should be as obvious as the hair on my head.  In fact, it should show on all of us.
 
They'll know we are Christians by our love.

Skadoosh

I love Po.  I love that he's imperfect and clumsy, and that his belly makes an awesome "boing" sound whenever it gets hit.

I also love that he doesn't turn into a flawless kung fu fighter. He has brilliant moments. But right after doing something fully awesome, he's just as likely to mess up again.

I can relate to that.

But what I love most about Po. In a word: "Skadoosh."

This is a word that only shows up once in each Kung Fu Panda movie.  At the end of the first movie, when Po discovers his self confidence, and in a battle during the second movie when Po has his first moment of peace with his heritage.

No one sees it coming because Po is an average guy.  His belly gets in the way.  He wrestles with these things.  He's a slow learner.

But I found myself mulling over that extra "something" in those scenes. The bit of faith.

It may be brought on by the inconvenient pressure of being the person caught between the rock and the hard place.  Or the acceptance that good, bad, or ugly, this is what you've got to fight with and the bad guy is right there so you're as ready as you're going to be.  Or the inspiration that comes from knowing you're a part of a fight worth fighitng.   Or maybe just the clicking into place of the wisdom people have been trying to tell you all along.  Maybe a little bit of all that.

But that bit of faith makes all the difference.

Deep breath.  Skadoosh.

That's why I love Po. 

(Well, that and his belly.  I do love his sound-effect-laden belly.)


Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you. ~ Matthew 17:20

Half-baked

- - - HALF OF 2011 IS GONE - - - -

So declares a daily email I recieve from a friend.  Don't worry, the daily message also includes a quote, a ponderable, a jeopardy question, a word of the day, and list of notable events that happened on this day in history.  So it's not all gloom and doom.

For whatever reason, I thought about all the half-baked ideas I have floating in my head.  You know those little snippets that will one day grow up to be blog posts?  I have a few laying around.  (Several are scrawled on post-it notes that reside on my bedside table. I'm very high-tech that way.  Now that I think about it...some are currently serving as bookmarks in the pile of books that also lives on/beside/around my bedside table.  Poor things.  They deserve better.)

As a perfectionist and an overanalyzer, I tend to hold onto these ideas for a very long time.  I need to get back in the habit of just writing.  Letting it out while the ideas are fresh.  So I think July will be about sharing my snippets...even if they are half baked.

Stay tuned.


P.S. - For those of you who are curious about the contents of my morning email.

• "He who lets time rule him will live the life of a slave." John Arthorne
• Why are they called hemorrhoids – shouldn’t they be called asteroids?
• Jeopardy category: Shall we play a game? $1000 Answer: Four of these “Hungry” animals compete to “eat” as fast as possible in a “frantic marble munching game”.
• Word of the day: Supposititious \suh-pah-zuh-TISH-us\   adjective 
• 1a : fraudulently substituted : spurious b : of a child (1) : falsely presented as a genuine heir (2) : illegitimate
• 2a : imaginary b : of the nature of or based on a supposition : hypothetical
• On this day in history:
• 1863 - American Civil War: the Battle of Gettysburg begins.
• 1904 - Games of the III Olympiad open in Saint Louis, Missouri.
• 1963 - ZIP Code introduced for United States mail.
• 1979 - Sony introduces the Walkman.
• 1980 – “O Canada” officially becomes the national anthem of Canada.
• 1987 - Excavation begins on the Channel Tunnel.
• 1999 - At the first meeting of the Scottish Parliament in nearly three centuries, Winnie Ewing opened with the famous words, "The Scottish Parliament, adjourned on the 25th day of March in the year 1707, is hereby reconvened."

You're welcome. *grin*

Speeding

This deep thought is brought to you by my morning commute.

I'm a rule-following driver. With as much time as I spend on the road, I feel I have to be. I want my unconscious habits to be ones that are keeping our crazy roadways as safe as possible.

On this particular morning, I was in a middle traveling lane, passing slower traffic on my right.  A car pulled uncomfortably close to me, then used the far left lane to swerve around me, barely clearing both my back then front bumpers as it dodged both my car and those in the "fast lane" to get past.  Pretty typical stuff for the metropolitan area.

What grated my nerves is that the offending driver was a policeman.  Talking on a cell phone no less.

This is one of my pet peeves.  If I drove like that, I would be pulled over in a heartbeat and handed a fair number of driving violations.  But in the past few weeks I've encountered several police drivers acting like this one -- little more than careless bullies.  This one was just icing on my commuting cake.

I allowed my annoyance to flare this driver.  How unfair!  How unjust!  You're supposed to be upholding the rules and setting an example, not disregarding them and flaunting/hiding behind a uniform.  I don't know who you are, but I know what you're supposed to stand for and represent.

Out of the clear blue came the thought:  That's just like a "Christian" who's being un-Christ-like.

Why oh why does that still small voice have to turn my anger around and back to me?

The annoyance, anger and frustration I felt at that driver:  I imagine that's just how others feel when they see someone who is supposed to be loving, patient, kind, peaceful, joyful, good, faithful, gentle, self-controlled... acting anything but.

Dear Lord,
          Open my eyes.  How often do I turn a blind eye to my own actions, justifying my own bending of the rules when I would be quick to hand out citations? How often am I distracted by my own worries and completely clueless to how my driving is affecting others? Am I upholding the laws I've pledged to follow? 
          Help me.  Help me to be a be a good example.  Not because I have any more or less authority than others, but because I've chosen to carry this mantle and to make your name glorious.

Marines

This is what I read on my lunch break today...

When I was in high school, I seriously considered joining the Marines; this was when they first came out with the commericals for "the few, the proud, the Marines." What turned me off was that in those advertisements, everyone was always running.  Always.  And I hate running.

But you know what? I didn't bother to ask if they would modify the rules for me so I could run less, and maybe also do fewer push-ups. That would've been pointless and stupid, and I knew it.  Everyone knows that if you sign up for the Marines, you have to do whatever they tell you.  They own you.

Somehow this realization does not cross over to our thinking about the Christian life.  Jesus didn't say that if you wanted to follow Him you could do it in a lukewarm manner.  He said, "Take up your cross and follow me."
Crazy Love, Francis Chan, page 80

Galloping

Mental battles.  Aren't they the greatest?  I recently found myself fighting a big one.  Epic.  It was keeping me up at night and dominating all my quiet moments. 

Long story short, I was completely over-analyzing a situation.  I was deconstructing all of my words and actions, and wondering how people interpreted them.  Did they read things this way?  That way?  Sideways?  I hope they didn't read it that way.  Or *that* way.  Yikes.  What if they did?  I bet they did.  I bet they're angry / hurt / suspicious / disgusted / disappointed.  I bet they think I'm a horrible person. I bet.... the downward, fearful spiral was out of control. 

Do you ever have a memory so vivid you can almost hear it out loud? In the middle of my mental hurricane, I suddenly heard my father's voice:  "If you tell goin' by on a gallopin' horse..."

I was nine years old, helping my Dad finish our basement.  We were working on cutting paneling for the wall at the base of the stairs.  I was as much of a perfectionist then as I am now.  And I was getting really... um... specific... (and frustrated) with this one line in the wall. 

Dad: It's fine. Grandpa used to tell me "If you can't tell goin' by on a gallopin' horse, it doesn't matter."

Me: *pointing out the obvious flaw in his statement* But you couldn't even see this from a galloping horse.

Dad:  Exactly.

Me:  Oh. *insert mental click here* 

Those words brought peace to my storm.  They snapped me out of my fearful spiral and allowed me a moment of clarity to remember that I spoke and acted the way I always would -- from a clean, sincere, loving heart. 

 

Suddenly all those condemning thoughts were miraculously silenced.

 

Sometimes details are important.  But sometimes being wrapped up in tiny imperfections is just counterproductive.  And I don't think there's ever a time when it's useful to worry about things I don't know or can't control.   

 

"If you can't tell goin' by on a gallopin' horse..."

 

Thanks Dad.  I needed to hear that.

Cleary

Ever since the speakers in my car decided they'd had enough, the times I spend in my car have become wonderful periods of reflection.  During one such time (driving home in the wee hours of the morning after watching Game 6 of the Red Wings / Blackhawks series), I had an epiphany.  Maybe because it's Stanley Cup season and I always have hockey on the brain.  Maybe it's because I feel guilty for not having a "word of the year."  I don't know.  But that morning I realized: 

I'm totally having "Cleary" kind of year.

I like Danny Cleary.  I've liked him ever since I was introduced to the wonderful sport of hockey.  He isn't a headliner like Zetterburg or Franzen.  He's not a living legend like Lidstrom or Datsyuk.  He's just a hardworking grinder who gets things done.  His work ethic is bar none.  He's a heart and soul player who truly loves his team. Every once in a while he gets to come into the spotlight, but most of the time Cleary's contributions are behind the scenes.  

 

My schedule hasn't really stopped since I came back from Uganda.  I have a highlight or two in there, but most of the time I've just been grinding away at everyday life.   (I suppose they don't call it the daily grind for nothing.)  It's been demanding.  But I'm taking a lesson from hockey.  Sometimes, it's those things that go on beneath the radar that make all the difference. 

Since it's graduation season, I'm seeing "11"s everywhere.  So perhaps it's no accident that 2011 should be a Cleary year for me.  Now that I've seen it, I want to embrace it -- to put my heart and soul in everything I do and attack this year with a work ethic that would make Dan Cleary proud.