From the Very Interesting Mind of Hunter S. Thompson, II

“We are all wired into a survival trip now. No more of the speed that fueled that 60's. That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary's trip. He crashed around America selling "consciousness expansion" without ever giving a thought to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all the people who took him seriously... All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they could buy Peace and Understanding for three bucks a hit. But their loss and failure is ours too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole life-style that he helped create... a generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody... or at least some force - is tending the light at the end of the tunnel.”

Nearing the End

I can't believe that graduation is so close by. It's really scary. One of my friends asked me if I was graduating in December, adding that she would be sad and scared if I did. I told her that I would be sad and scared if I graduated in December. Graduating in May allows me to procrastinate thinking of the real world out there.

There's a buzz among the graduates. As the class Vice President, I help plan out Graduation weekend, and I even gave the idea for the Class gift, so that's nice. Still, it feels very surreal planning out the biggest weekend so far in my life. All my classmates are also in some sort of denial, we can't believe it's almost over.

The IRR majors are gearing up for their Nicaragua trip, and I cannot lie, I still wish with all my heart that IRR would have worked out my freshman year. I really would want to be on that plane in January.

"God has never let me down": the Linda Becker story.

Dr. Becker's office is the far Northeast corner of the administration building, known in the common tongue as the (Everett) Dick building, inside the Student Services office. She is definitely a fan of Great Britain: her cabinets and walls are a collection of trinkets and magnets and post cards and even a diploma or two from over across the pond. I knock at the door and she is typing fiercely on her laptop and invites me in without missing a beat.

"How are you, Pablo?" she asks, as she finishes her spurts of typing.

"I'm good, thanks. Nice not to have as much going on as last year, but good so far. How are you, Dr. Becker?"

She sighs. "I'm a little behind, but all right."

"I can come back another time if it's better--"

"--No no, right now is perfect." This reassures me. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, for the Calling Program here at Union, they asked me to collect stories of how people met their calling."

She laughs, "Okay, now we're in the same pew. So do you want my story?"

"Yeah, but I had a couple questions first."

She looks a bit apprehensive. "Okay."

I go straight to the nitty gritty. "Why, uh, just why do you do this job, why stay here at Union?" She raises her eyebrows. "I mean, you're always busy, and the fact that many times discipline seems to come from you makes some students be vocal about how much they don't like you." Bold, I know, but why beat around the bush?

Dr. Becker is a daunting woman. She is the Dean of Students and that means that many times she is the voice--if not the giver--of discipline. Around campus, a visit to her office is comparable to being sent to the Principal's office in second grade, complete with all the "oooooooooooh!"s from your friends.

Yet, I know a different Dr. Becker. I had the privilege to work closely with her last year while I was with ASB, and I saw a person committed to students.

This is why I decided to make Dr. Becker my first stop in trying to define this, uh, "calling" that the campus is so eager to promote. Just for the record, to show how busy Dr. Becker is, I stopped by her office and met with her secretary to make an appointment--the nearest opening was a week away, and for only 30 minutes. The last time I did a personality profile, the interview took over an hour. I guess I'm supposed to be challenged by this assignment, so collecting Dr. Becker's story and gleaning something from it in only 30 minutes will definitely put me through my paces.

Dr. Becker doesn't seem fazed. "Well, you see Pablo, I do this job because of the students. While some students may not like the decisions I make with the rest of the administration team, being there for all students is what I work for. Students are great to work with."

"I guess to clarify better, Dr. Becker, what is your title?"

"Dean of Students."

"Did you always see yourself in this position, maybe not behind this desk, but doing this job?"

Dr. Becker laughs. "Never," she confesses, "never ever was this in my radar."

I don't think I hide my surprise very well, because she dives straight into her story.

"I went to Pacific Union College, and initially I was a nursing major. I was a nurse's aid for three summers, so I really thought that nursing was the best choice for me.
Around my sophomore year, I realized that while I loved helping others, I enjoyed helping those who were alive and well more than those who were sick. I changed my major to Education, with an emphasis in Home Economics and an English minor."

"What made you see the difference in alive and well as opposed to sick people?"

"I was very involved in student life while at PUC. I was the class Vice President my freshman, sophomore, and senior years there, and the Social Vice President at the Student Association there--so I spent a lot of time involved."

I hold on to my Composition book, writing furiously. My scribbling begins to look more like a straight line as I try to keep up with her story. "So, what next?"

"Well, Andrews offered to pay my tuition towards a Masters if taught Home Economics. I thought I would teach Home Economics all my life," she says with a smile, looking to a point just past my right shoulder. "Then, I married a seminarian, which meant that after he graduated we moved out to Loma Linda. There I taught Home Economics at Monterey Bay Academy. I got that job in a very unique way. Years before, when I was still in high school, I picked strawberries during the summer. Out of 15 students that started that job, I was the only one who finished. It turned out that the man who was in charge of that job worked at MBA, so he remembered me and hired me!
After that, I worked at Loma Linda Academy, and we even moved out to Newfoundland were I taught 5th grade and then I also taught at a Junior College for 5 years."

"What did you teach at the Junior College?"

"Nutrition."

Then her face changes a bit. Nothing too perceptible, but I know something big iss coming. "It was then that we moved to Hawai'i, and I became the principal of an Elementary and served as a Youth Pastor."

I write in awe of the amount of experience and mileage she had under her belt up to that point. Then it gets more interesting.

"I went back to the healthcare field. I got a job as the Director of Quality Improvement at the Casa Medical Center."

"Oh wow," I say. Not the best professional reaction. She smiles.

"This job had me working with patient complains, and, as the director, I also wrote a manuals for improved hospital quality systems, which they asked me to teach to hospitals."

"So it incorporated everything you had experience with."

"Yes, I especially loved teaching."

I smile as I write on. I try to ask a question but I'm stopped short.

"It was then that I became a single mother," she says. I don't know how to react. Thankfully, she goes right on. "So me and my kids picked up and moved out of Hawai'i, and ended up here at Union."

Ah, I think, this is where it all comes back. She continues, composed. "I was the director of the Career Center here for 3 years. During that time, Pastor Rich--"

"--this Pastor Rich?"

"Yes," she laughs, "this Pastor Rich. He asked me to to a presentation here about quality improvement. This was where I created many connections here at Union.
At that time, Andrews offered me a six month plan with pay to finish my doctorate."

"So you went back to Andrews?"

"Yes. So I was a full-time student, had a part-time job, and all at the same time I was a single mom."

I must have a dumbstruck face on. Becker continues. "I stayed at Andrews after I finished my doctorate as the Director of Human Resources. Here, I got to engage with people again, but I really missed having students."

"Right, that was your major."

"Yes, I missed that interaction."

"So what happened?"

"Well, there was no Student Services here at Union. The then president--you might remember him--Dr. David Smith called me to see if I could set up a student services here. So I came back."

I am surprised. I had heard before that her story is "crazy," but I was physically tired from all the traveling and jobs she had just described. The next question I have makes me a bit nervous, but across the desk Dr. Becker looks as calm and confident as she had when I came in 15 minutes earlier. Speaking of which, I need to make these last 15 minutes count.

"Well, I guess what I wanted to know next was what were the catalysts for action? Uh, to put it more simply, what were the turning points that guided you in your decisions?"

Dr. Becker looks solemn. "My dad was the Associate Dean of Students at PUC when I was there. We had a good relationship, and we talked often. However, my dad passed away my sophomore year, but two weeks before he died we had had a conversation about the possibility of me changing my major. He listened and gave me advice. From that conversation, I decided that I wanted to make a difference in people's life."

"This was your calling," I say.

"Yes," she says. "God has different callings for different times, though," she explained. "At that moment, I decided to believe in the God my father had believed in, that was always helping others and drove my dad to help others."

"So, what is this thing, calling?" I ask.

"A calling is more of an action--a commitment to do God's call for you: God's call for this day, for this week, this month, this year--God has a calling for every moment, and they may all be different."

"Different both for the immediate and long term," I say, starting to understand her position.

"God doesn't always ask us to easy things, but I believe that His biddings are enablings." I underline that line. "He may ask us to go outside our comfort zone, but always provides ways to come through."

"As with Moses, and God sending Aaron to help."

"Exactly."

"Are you out of your comfort zone?"

She smiles. "Yes, Pablo. I am very much a people pleaser, and some aspects of this job make it hard for me to please everyone. It's not always easy to discipline. However, Ellen White has a quote that says 'Those who present their petitions to God in Christ’s name will never be turned away,' and I firmly believe that."

"Believe that He provides the means to understand his plans."

"Yes. When I graduated from Andrews the first time, and I had 4 job offers I was praying about, my grandfather sent me a letter. In it, my grandfather told me that God has a place for us, and that God has a future for us."

"But the road hasn't always been all too easy," I try to make it sound as much as I can to a question.

"No. I have argued with God about some jobs, especially about the job I am now. But I have learned to  depend on God every day."

I underline that last, too. "Dr. Becker, what advice would you give one who is lost, maybe confused as to what their next step should be or how to make a decision?"

"God says that He is the vine. You have to allow God to reach His full potential in you. The move to Lincoln from Hawai'i took a lot of prayer and listing pros and cons." Dr. Becker looks like she's going to deliver an upper cut. "Through all my experiences good and bad, I have found that God has never let me down."

Double underline. "How does that translate in a practical way?"

Dr. Becker pauses for a minute. "Higher than the highest human thought, is God's. So, have higher goals. Your education gives you tools to live your life with, and enjoy the fun small things, you never know if that is the path to a new future."

"Wow," is all I can muster. I look up at the clock and notice I've taken two minutes past 30 minutes. "Thank you so much for this, Dr. Becker. This was truly a blessing."

"Thank you, Pablo," she says with a smile. We wish each other a good day, and I leave to the pattering sound of her keyboard.

Self-help (or, This series will get a better title once I start interviews, I)

I think my teachers are addicted to self-help.

In high school, we read The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Teens in American Literature (I'll explain later why that's pretty spot-on), and now that I'm in college there are professors and professionals who swear by the self-help books and personality tests.

I've never been much a fan myself. Maybe it's all the career test results that came back not with "two guaranteed fits for my future," but with eight--from artist to writer to engineer to doctor. After about the third one we took my Junior year in high school, I never trusted them again.

Stephen Fry, a British actor and intellectual, attributes the American obsession over self-help and the absence of it in Europe for the difference in humor, where American comedians always end up the heroes and British comedians are funny exactly because they're the anti-hero. My Guatemalan culture is very much like that: we make fun of ourselves a lot and it never destroys our self-esteem.

This also could be why I don't trust tests and quizzes and computer-designed sorcery too plan my future out for me--I've always had an idea of what I wanted to do. My "calling," if you will, was ingrained from the start.

One of the professionals mentoring me this semester, also obsessed with Gallup's StrengthsFinder, gave me an idea. My college is implementing a new program this year, designed to help students find their "calling" in a journey of sorts with different focal points during the different years at Union. One of the main driving forces of the program is the stories of people who have found their calling. All I have to do is collect these stories.

I'm really looking forward to speaking with staff members about this. I will write the interviews on here and see where this will take me: I have the sneaking suspicion that everyone is going to have a different definition for "calling."

In short, this collection of stories are going to be here to get advice from wiser people, help me define what "calling" is, and maybe (hopefully) help someone else along the way.

Who knows, it might turn into a self-help book.

Utterly Speechless

I saw this show a while back, and ever since I've been meaning to put this segment here. Just grabs me and teaches me a huge lesson. From An Idiot Abroad on Sky1 channel in the UK.

This is Muhammad's last message. I think the Prophet's on to something here.

"O People, lend me an attentive ear, for I don't know whether, after this year, I shall ever be amongst you again. Therefore listen to what I am saying to you carefully and TAKE THIS WORDS TO THOSE WHO COULD NOT BE PRESENT HERE TODAY.

O People, just as you regard this month, this day, this city as Sacred, so regard the life and property of every Muslim as a sacred trust. Return the goods entrusted to you to their rightful owners. Hurt no one so that no one may hurt you. Remember that you will indeed meet your LORD, and that HE will indeed reckon your deeds. ALLAH has forbidden you to take usury (Interest), therefore all interest obligation shall henceforth be waived...

Beware of Satan, for your safety of your religion. He has lost all hope that he will ever be able to lead you astray in big things, so beware of following him in small things.

O People, it is true that you have certain rights with regard to your women, but they also have right over you. If they abide by your right then to them belongs the right to be fed and clothed in kindness. Do treat your women well and be kind to them for they are your partners and comitted helpers. And it is your right that they do not make friends with any one of whom you do not approve, as well as never to commit adultery.

O People, listen to me in earnest, whorship ALLAH, say your five daily prayers (Salah), fast during the month of Ramadhan, and give your wealth in Zakat. Perform Hajj if you can afford to. You know that every Muslim is the brother of another Muslim. YOU ARE ALL EQUAL. NOBODY HAS SUPERIORITY OVER OTHER EXCEPT BY PIETY AND GOOD ACTION.

Remember, one day you will appear before ALLAH and answer for your deeds. So beware, do not astray from the path of righteousness after I am gone.

O People, NO PROPHET OR APOSTLE WILL COME AFTER ME AND NO NEW FAITH WILL BE BORN. Reason well, therefore, O People, and understand my words which I convey to you. I leave behind me two things, the QUR'AN and my example, the SUNNAH and if you follow these you will never go astray.

All those who listen to me shall pass on my words to others and those to others again; and may the last ones understand my words better than those who listen to me direcly. BE MY WITNESS O ALLAH THAT I HAVE CONVEYED YOUR MESSAGE TO YOUR PEOPLE."

En un 15 de Septiembre . . . (o, Feliz Cumple, Guate)

Palacio Nacional de Guatemala, quince de septiembre de mil ochocientos veintiuno.

Siendo públicos e indudables los deseos de independencia del gobierno español que por escrito y de palabra ha manifestado el pueblo de esta capital recibidos por último correo diversos oficios de los ayuntamientos constitucionales de Ciudad Real, Comitán y Tuxtla en que comunican haber proclamado y jurado dicha independencia, y excitan a que se haga lo mismo en está ciudad siendo positivo que han circulado iguales oficios a otros ayuntamientos determinado de acuerdo con las Excma. diputación provincial que para tratar de asunto tan grave se reuniesen en uno de los salones de este palacio la misma diputación la Excma. audiencia territorial, el venerable Sr. deán y cabildo eclesiástico, el Excma. ayuntamiento, el M. I. claustro el consulado y M. I. colegio de abogados, los prelados regulares, jefes y funcionarios públicos congregados todos en el mismo salón: leídos los oficios expresados discutido y medito detenidamente el asunto y oído el clamor de Viva la Independencia que repetía de continuo el pueblo que se veía reunido en la calles, plaza, patio, corredores y antesala de este palacio, se acordó por esta diputación e individuos de Excmo. ayuntamiento:

1. Que siendo la independencia del gobierno español la voluntad general del pueblo de Guatemala, y sin perjuicio de lo que determine sobre ella el congreso que debe formarse, el Sr. Jefe político la mande publicar para prevenir las consecuencias querían temibles en el caso de que la proclamase de hecho el mismo pueblo.

2. Que desde luego e circulen oficios a las provincias por correos extraordinarios para sin demora alguna se sirvan proceder a elegir diputados representantes suyos, y éstos concurran a esta capital a formar el congreso que debe decidir el punto de independencia general y absoluta y fijar, en caso de acordarla, la forma de gobierno y ley fundamental que deba regir.

3. Que para facilitar el nombramientos de diputados, se sirvan hacerlo las mismas juntas electorales de provincia que hicieran o debieron hacer las elecciones de los últimos diputados a cortes.

4. Que el número de estos diputados sea en proporción de uno por cada quince mil individuos, sin excluir de la ciudadanía a los originarios de África.

5.Que las mismas juntas electorales de provincia, teniendo presente los últimos censos, se sirvan determinar según esta base el número de diputados o representantes que deban elegir.

6.Que en atención a la gravedad y urgencia del asunto se sirvan hacer las elecciones de modo que día primero de marzo del año próximo de 1882, estén reunidos en esta capital todos los diputados.

7.Que entretanto, no haciéndose novedad en las autoridades establecidas, sigan éstas ejerciendo sus atribuciones respectivas con arreglo a la constitución, decretos, y leyes hasta que el congreso indicado determine lo quesea más justo y benéfico,

8.Que el Sr. jefe político brigadier D. Gavino Gaínza continúe con el gobierno superior político y militar, y para que éste tenga el carácter que parece propio de las circunstancias, forme una junta provisional consultiva, compuesta de los señores individuos actuales de esta diputación provincial, de los señores Miguel Larreynaga, ministrote esta audiencia, D. José del Valle, auditor de Guerra, marques de Aycinena, Dr. D. José Valdés, tesorero de esta santa iglesia, Dr. D. Ángel María Candina, y Lic. D. Antonio Robles, alcalde 3° constitucional, el primero por la provincia de León, el segundo por la de Comayagua, el tercero por Quezaltenango, el cuarto por Sololá y Chimaltenango, el quinto por Sonsonete, y el sexto por Ciudad Real de Chiapa.

9. Que esta junta provisional consulte al señor jefe político en todos los asuntos económicos y gubernativos dignos de su atención.

10. Que la religión católica, que hemos profesado en los siglos anteriores y profesaremos en los sucesivos, se conserve pura e inalterable, manteniendo vivo el espíritu de religiosidad que ha distinguido siempre a Guatemala., respetando a los ministros eclesiásticos, seculares y regulares, y protegiéndoles en sus personas y propiedades.

11. Que se pase oficio a los dignos prelados de las comunidades religiosas, para que cooperando a la paz y sosiego, que es la primera necesidad de los pueblos, cuando pasan de un gobierno a otro, dispongan que sus individuos exhorten a la fraternidad y concordia, a los que estando unidos en el sentimiento general de la independencia, deben estarlo también en todos los demás, sofocando pasiones individuales que dividen los ánimos y producen funestas consecuencias.

12. Que el Excmo. ayuntamiento a quien corresponde la conversación del orden y tranquilidad, tome las medidas más activas para mantenerla imperturbable en toda esta capital y pueblos inmediatos.

13. Que el señor jefe político publique un manifiesto haciendo notorios a la faz de todos los sentimientos generales del pueblo, la opinión de las autoridades y corporaciones, las medidas de este gobierno, las causas y circunstancias que lo decidieron a prestar en manos del señor alcalde 1°, a pedimento del pueblo, el juramento de independencia y fidelidad al gobierno americano que se establezca.

14. Que igual juramento presten la junta provisional, el Excmo. ayuntamiento, el Illmo. señor arzobispo, los tribunales, jefes políticos y militares, los prelados regulares, sus comunidades religiosas, jefes y empleados en las rentas, autoridades, corporaciones y tropas de las respectivas guarniciones.

15. Que el señor jefe político, de acuerdo con el Excmo. ayuntamiento disponga la solemnidad y señale el día en que el pueblo deba hacer la proclamación y juramento expresado de independencia.

16. Que el Excmo. ayuntamiento acuerde la acuñación de una medalla que perpetúe en los siglos la memoria del día Quince de Setiembre de mil ochocientos veintiuno, en que proclamó su feliz independencia.

17. Que imprimiéndose esta acta y el manifiesto expresado, se circule a las Excmas. diputaciones provinciales, ayuntamientos constitucionales y demás autoridades eclesiásticas, regulares, seculares y militares, para que siendo acordes en los mismos sentimientos que ha manifestado este pueblo, se sirvan obrar con arreglo a todo lo expuesto.

18. Que se cante el día que designe el señor jefe político una misa solemne de gracias con asistencia de la junta provincial, detonas las autoridades, corporaciones y jefes, haciéndose salvas de artillería y tres días iluminación.

Palacio Nacional de Guatemala. Septiembre de 1821.

Gavino Gainza
Mariano de Beltranena
José Mariano Calderón
José Matías Delgado
Manuel Antonio Molina
Mariano de Larrave
Antonio de Rivera
José Antonio de Larrave
Isidoro del Valle y Castraciones
Mariano de Aycinena
Pedro de Arroyave
Lorenzo de Romaña, secretario
Domingo Diéguez, secretario.

A Manifesto

I'll be the first to say that my life has been pretty easy. If you know me, you know I don't believe anything easily either: I've read too much, I need proof.

Any "miracles" that I had "seen" up until right before I came to college were, if you really wanted to, explainable (I think I just made that word up) by the word "coincidence."

Growing up in the church I learned enough book knowledge to win prizes in church competitions. I could beat anyone in finding the most obscure verses with my eyes closed. I attended Revelation seminars and understood them by the time I was 10. Baptized at 13. Teaching the Great Controversy by 16. Yet, for all I knew, I was pretty ignorant. If you asked me, "to you, Who is Jesus?" I wouldn't have given you a very good answer. Or, any answer would be canned, with all the preservatives that come with canned foods.

I wish I could say that I have never needed God to manifest in a big way for me to realize that He's really there, you know? Especially during the hard times, it was hard for me to know the peace that He promises. I pray my heart out and after "Amen" it's too quiet, too peaceful. I look up at the ceiling and wonder if there's anything there. Or maybe my prayer just got stuck in the insulation.

It has looked as if there is no hope: either there is no God, or if there is, I'm definitely doing something not according to His will because there is no answer. None at all, not even the all time favorite when describing this sort of things, "wait." Nothing.

Truth is, I can't convince you there is a God. Heck, I'm not even gonna try. Yet, the contrary also stands true.

You can't convince me there isn't a God.

In the last couple of years He (for I know it was Him) has done and undone and utterly left me speechless. I have felt loved, not for who I am but because He loves me either way. Because I have seen too much. I have experienced too much. There is too much proof that He's there.

Most of these miracles can be attributed to coincidence, but I have found that I only tend to do that when I feel lost. Only when not believing is easier than holding on. Only when distrust is the easiest option: if He fails, and I say He doesn't exist, then no one failed except my expectations.

Except that I see that this is my weakness: in my weakness, I forget that He's never weak. I'm reminded of Abraham, waiting (im)patiently for 100 years for a son. 100 years! Paul, 12 years(!) between voyages, or even being denied heading to Spain.Why rush things? Why do I try to excuse things? I know His character: He left 66 books about it. Ten commandments about it. A new commandment about it: He is love, and wants us to love.

What's important is not if everything is going the way it should be, or even going right, or just-so. It's realizing that even if nothing is right, He's not finished.

Truth is, I can't convince you there is a God. Heck, I'm not even gonna try. I just know what He's done for me personally--things I cannot explain... I've seen too much, I've experienced too much. Those who don't want to believe don't want to because they simply don't want to. It's easier to not believe. But man oh man, I know He's there!

To West Texas

(This post is better appreciated if you click on the pictures to see them in all their glory while listening to this)

Ah yes, good ol' Texas. If you don't remember about where I live, go down to a post called "And the Sky Darkened" in November or December.

Huge expanses of mesquite-strewn land, crops, and sweet nothingness to disturb stargazing. Rich history: Native American, cowboy, black and hispanic lore alike. While no mountains can get boring, it can also be beautiful: the sky is bigger here than anywhere I've ever been to. Home to the second-biggest canyon in North America and some big bugs, too. Wait, "show, don't tell," is the motto many teachers live by. So, here goes.

Houses like these are all over the Great Plains, left over from homesteaders facing hard times. Some of these are left over from the Homestead Act of 1862, while some I reckon are abandoned due to the Great Depression and the famed Dust Bowl.

The second largest canyon in North America, aka the Texas Grand Canyon aka Palo Duro Canyon in Canyon, TX

As a wise man said, "All these historical markers telling of atrocities to the Natives should start with 'It is with great shame that . . .'". I figure it is because of the shame that they say it.

My mum, dad and sister looking down on the Canyon.

At the end of the stick, my dad is holding a centipede.

Yup. Scared my mum and sis half-to-death.

Although BBQ is king here, it still can't beat a Guatemalan churrasco.

Sunset over the plains.

"The stars at night are big and bright *clap clap clap clap* deep in the heart of Texas!" The song was banned in the UK during WWII because distracted workers would slow down production to join in the clapping.

Spring and Summer mean storms pop up somewhere over Texas every evening. I've seen softball sized hail before.

A tornado roping out by I-27 en route to Lubbock. My mum pointed it out and we weren't sure it was a tornado. By the time we were convinced it was and my camera was out, it was roping out. My sister and I called 911 and called it in, only 1 of 2 tornadoes reported that day in the US. Thankfully, it never touched the ground and the storm did not spawn any more tornadoes. 

After the storm, several rainbows appeared. How fitting.

Worth a read, from CNN's Belief Blog

Why millennials are leaving the church

(click on the title to head back to the original)

By Rachel Held Evans, Special to CNN
(CNN) – At 32, I barely qualify as a millennial.
I wrote my first essay with a pen and paper, but by the time I graduated from college, I owned a cell phone and used Google as a verb.
I still remember the home phone numbers of my old high school friends, but don’t ask me to recite my husband’s without checking my contacts first.
I own mix tapes that include selections from Nirvana and Pearl Jam, but I’ve never planned a trip without Travelocity.
Despite having one foot in Generation X, I tend to identify most strongly with the attitudes and the ethos of the millennial generation, and because of this, I’m often asked to speak to my fellow evangelical leaders about why millennials are leaving the church.
Armed with the latest surveys, along with personal testimonies from friends and readers, I explain how young adults perceive evangelical Christianity to be too political, too exclusive, old-fashioned, unconcerned with social justice and hostile to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people.
I point to research that shows young evangelicals often feel they have to choose between their intellectual integrity and their faith, between science and Christianity, between compassion and holiness.
I talk about how the evangelical obsession with sex can make Christian living seem like little more than sticking to a list of rules, and how millennials long for faith communities in which they are safe asking tough questions and wrestling with doubt.
Invariably, after I’ve finished my presentation and opened the floor to questions, a pastor raises his hand and says, “So what you’re saying is we need hipper worship bands. …”
And I proceed to bang my head against the podium.
Time and again, the assumption among Christian leaders, and evangelical leaders in particular, is that the key to drawing twenty-somethings back to church is simply to make a few style updates – edgier music, more casual services, a coffee shop in the fellowship hall, a pastor who wears skinny jeans, an updated Web site that includes online giving.
But here’s the thing: Having been advertised to our whole lives, we millennials have highly sensitive BS meters, and we’re not easily impressed with consumerism or performances.
In fact, I would argue that church-as-performance is just one more thing driving us away from the church, and evangelicalism in particular.
Many of us, myself included, are finding ourselves increasingly drawn to high church traditions – Catholicism, Eastern Orthodoxy, the Episcopal Church, etc. – precisely because the ancient forms of liturgy seem so unpretentious, so unconcerned with being “cool,” and we find that refreshingly authentic.
What millennials really want from the church is not a change in style but a change in substance.
We want an end to the culture wars. We want a truce between science and faith. We want to be known for what we stand for, not what we are against.
We want to ask questions that don’t have predetermined answers.
We want churches that emphasize an allegiance to the kingdom of God over an allegiance to a single political party or a single nation.
We want our LGBT friends to feel truly welcome in our faith communities.
We want to be challenged to live lives of holiness, not only when it comes to sex, but also when it comes to living simply, caring for the poor and oppressed, pursuing reconciliation, engaging in creation care and becoming peacemakers.
You can’t hand us a latte and then go about business as usual and expect us to stick around. We’re not leaving the church because we don’t find the cool factor there; we’re leaving the church because we don’t find Jesus there.
Like every generation before ours and every generation after, deep down, we long for Jesus.
Now these trends are obviously true not only for millennials but also for many folks from other generations. Whenever I write about this topic, I hear from forty-somethings and grandmothers, Generation Xers and retirees, who send me messages in all caps that read “ME TOO!” So I don’t want to portray the divide as wider than it is.
But I would encourage church leaders eager to win millennials back to sit down and really talk with them about what they’re looking for and what they would like to contribute to a faith community.
Their answers might surprise you.
Rachel Held Evans is the author of "Evolving in Monkey Town" and "A Year of Biblical Womanhood." She blogs at rachelheldevans.com. The views expressed in this column belong to Rachel Held Evans.

bloody brilliant

Fry for Prime Minister. Oh wait, I'm not British.

Mein Gott! The comeback trail

The comeback trail is long and rocky. Or I should probably say dusty since I live in Lubbock, TX. Actually, a town just outside Lubbock called Shallowater. Redneck, huh?

Either way, I'm running 15 miles this week, a long ways from the summers I had 70 mile weeks.

And I'm already behind--I should be sleeping. After about three hours of tossing and turning, I decided to do something productive . . . sort of . . . and write.

It's a good job it's not gonna be hot tomorrow. Which is nice, since it's always hot here.

And dusty.

Book Update, VII

I'm overhauling the outline. The addition of Ronald makes everything run so much smoother now. I'm trying to finish the book by the time I have to get back to school, so here's to sleepless nights and long days of seclusion.

Book Update, VI

I've been writing! A new character, Ronald Ponce has worked his way in. Here's a little teaser!

PROLOGUE

January 20, 2007

Asheville, NC

Dear Mr. President:

When faced at a crossroads where a decision is to be made in which your family’s welfare is in jeopardy, and there are only two options to take (one being “sit there and pretend nothing is happening”), what is one to do? A man’s only moral and correct choice is to protect his family’s welfare. At least on paper, that is. It is easy to say “yes, I would sacrifice everything I have and uproot myself so that my children don’t have to go through that situation,” but when the chips are down things change drastically.
Even so, I still have not met anyone that was under the circumstances that I, your humble servant, found myself in that did not decide to make their sacrifice when he looked into the innocent eyes of his children.
You may be wondering what the purpose of this letter is, apart from completely depressing your already busy and depressing job. The purpose of this letter is simple, based on the precepts the great Union you preside over are built upon. This nation’s law provides for the right of speech, intended to shield the people from an abusive government and to assure that the people will have a voice. Without a voice, no one can make themselves heard. If they are not heard, they do not exist.
I form part of a large group of people that does not exist. I am not saying this crying the blues,  but as a truth we have come to embrace. We are marginalized, exploited, overworked, underpaid, ignored, hated, persecuted, abused, stereotyped, and rejected. We do not complain, for we have no mouths.
We cannot speak. We do not have a voice in this country. You and all the politicians have made a point  of it to tell us that we hold no true rights in this country, except the right to remain silent. As long as we are silent, nobody gets hurt. That is the only reason we get jobs, we go to school; we spread our roots on hostile land, bearing fruit that benefits those who are hostile towards us.
Why do we take it? Good question. Why do we stay put when they strip us of all that is naturally ours?
Maybe because they cannot take away our dignity. That is the only thing we have.
I am illegal. I am paperless. I overstayed my visa. I crossed a river. I crossed a desert. I am a man with ten reasons and one justification, a woman with a vision, and a child with no choice.
We get accused of being criminals. Tell me this: which is a bigger crime, to not provide your children with the future you wish you had or to cross an imaginary line to provide your children with the future you will never have? This is why we keep coming. As long as this land promises what it cannot deliver, and our lands provide no opportunity except the one that should not be taken, we will keep coming. You may kick us out, but we will come back. If not us, our wives; if not them, our children.
I am their voice, my mouth, their words, my breath. I write this so that you may know that we are here—not just be aware of our existence, as I am sure you most certainly are, but truly sense our presence, and that we have a voice.  I write this so that this land, self branded “land of opportunity,” can see just how serious we take that claim. To show that we believe in what we know but don’t admit to be wrong; that the American Dream is not ours. We chase it not for ourselves, but for those who may follow behind us. I believe in this great false hope. Don’t deny it any longer, please don’t come across as liars. Make this hope a reality.

Sincerely,

X

Mere Storytelling (or, An Introduction to Mere Hospitality)

As a budding journalist I tend to dream of that one story, that breakthrough that will make me indispensable to some news network. A Watergate, a Rwanda--something big.

I should probably keep it more realistic. I'm on a borrowed MacBook Pro I need to recharge soon, with a new story pitched at me and I realized I have not written much at all in this past year. How rusty am I going to be?

Either way, I have to admit I was a bit skeptical about this at first. If and when I write it down, I don't know where I can publish it. I don't know where any of this is going to end up, and I hope--dear Heavens please--let it not end up as another one of these posts.

I'll brush up on some Journalism lingo and jargon and I'll visit the source sometime this week in a local hospital. Already I'm feeling nervous: hospitals are very touchy and I have horrid vivid nightmares of being stuck in a pickle afterwards, but I think it is just my imagination firing on all engines.

Meanwhile, I better get past the dedication page on my Qualitative Research in Journalism book. I wish I had paid more attention in class . . .

I'm back . . .

After 8 months of virtually no life thanks to editing the Clocktower and another full month of Microbiology, my brain is thoroughly deep-fried, southern-style.

I'm going to do absolutely nothing for a while.

Come midsummer, I will attempt to read A Midsummer Night's Dream in one night.

For now, I feel completely spent.

Spring Cleaning

Today, I cleaned and returned the keys to what was my home for the past ten months.

I gathered mt belongings in a small box and said good-bye to my office one last time.



I don't know how/what to feel.

Sounds about right . . .

from txhumor.com

Chik-fil-A does more than delicious chicken sandwiches...

http://vimeo.com/51610957

From "The Choice to Serve." The entire article can be found at here.

In life, it's not what happens to you, but what happens in you and through you that counts. When adversity visits your life, you have two choices: to be a victim or to be a victor. Victims allow life circumstances to get them down, and they spend their lives asking others to redress the grievances life has dealt them. Victims are needy and demand to be served. Victors, on the other hand, rise above the challenges they encounter. They rebound from life's hardships with newfound strength, and they use their strength in service of those around them.

 

***

• Where do you focus the majority of your time, on self or on service?
• When the hardships of life show up at your door, do you back down or rise to the challenge?
• On your journey through life, will you allow yourself to be victimized, or will you be the one who claims victory over adversity and serves others out of your strength?

taken from http://network.chick-fil-aleadercast.com/content/#!/the-choice-to-serve/

"Hallelujah!" (or, It's Way Too Easy to Judge Sometimes)

These last five days have been amazingly difficult. Not just for me, mind you, but there was something new in the news (I don't know if it's a good thing to have variety once in a while--it's usually bad news when it is) almost every day. Still, I couldn't help but notice some things:

• The whole nation forgot whether or not they supported gun rights, gay rights, Obama or immigration reform. Everyone gathered and prayed for Boston.
• Everyone seemed to forget about the Earthquake in Iran. More people died there than in Boston (not taking anything away from the bombings.)
• Everyone seemed to forget about the Earthquake in China. Again, more people died (and again, please, don't get me wrong, I'm not taking anything away from the bombings.)
• This is the first news event since the Egyptian revolution that relied heavily in emerging media, both to spread a message and to crack down on the suspects.
• People tend to group any terrorist action with Muslims.
• Chechnya left the Mission Impossible canon and landed in the hands of racist/ignorant Americans, some of whom now have an irrational personal vendetta against anyone from Chechnya.
• Some said Americans don't realize that Chechnya and Czech Republic are two totally different things

Still, I felt something jolt inside me when the news broke that the last suspect was caught. All throughout my Facebook and Twitter, people were posting that they were happy that he was caught. Again, don't get me wrong, I'm glad there won't be any unnecessary spill of blood anymore, this is not my issue--my issue was with the people who wrote heavy stuff. One person said, "One bomber killed, the other caught. Hallelujah!"

I'm sorry, but when did it become all right to celebrate the death of another person in that way? Yes, what they did was wrong, and yes, it's a relief that they are no longer threats, but, hallelujah? I don't know. It just doesn't feel right. 

Words from an Ordinary Radical, Shane Claiborne

“I'm just not convinced that Jesus is going to say, "When I was hungry, you gave a check to the United Way and they fed me.”

“To refer to the Church as a building is to call people 2 x 4's.” 

“A pastor friend of mine said, "Our problem is that we no longer have martyrs. We only have celebrities.”

“So if the world hates us, we take courage that it hated Jesus first. If you're wondering whether you'll be safe, just look at what they did to Jesus and those who followed him. There are safer ways to live than by being a Christian.” 

“How ironic is it to see a bumper sticker that says 'Jesus is the answer' next to a bumper sticker supporting the war in Iraq, as if to says 'Jesus is the answer - but not in the real world.”

“Most good things have been said far too many times and just need to be lived.” 

“When we truly discover how to love our neighbor as our self, Capitalism will not be possible and Marxism will not be necessary.” “I wondered if there were other restless people asking the question with me: What if Jesus meant the stuff he said?”



 From his book, The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical. He'll be at Lincoln on Sunday . . .

Is Christianity Relevant? (or, Why I'm not a Religionist, V)

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm getting into deep, hot water here.

Saturday afternoon I made my way downtown and headed to the Lied Performing Arts center to watch a production of C.S. Lewis' classic The Screwtape Letters. I was especially keen to watch it since I've read the book more times than I care to count, and I was curious as to how they would adapt it to the stage.

I was not disappointed, and, happily, they left the moral intact. Delivered in monologue form, with some skits here and there to illustrate Screwtape's examples in his letters to his bumbling Junior Tempter nephew, Wormwood, the execution was powerful. I especially liked that they started with the sequel (here performed as a prequel) Screwtape Proposes a Toast, and I thought it worked well.

I had chills running down my spine throughout the play. It reminded me why I read the book at least once a year: I see myself, as in a mirror, when Screwtape mentions how to tempt the human Wormwood has assigned. C.S. Lewis has a knack of finding my tender spots.

I left the play awake. Fully awake. For those not inclined to theatre, the monologue style for 90 minutes was a bit much to follow. Some of the people (yeah, I dropped some eaves . . .) said they fell asleep at parts. I could not understand why . . . at least for the time being. The play, to me, drove a point home: I am a filthy sinner, and there is a very real and vivid, intense battle happening right here, right now, for my soul. And it's all up to me, the outcome.

Leaving the Lied Center, I overheard more conversations critiquing how well the play stuck to the source material or maybe discontent with the delivery style. Yet I didn't hear anyone assessing the effect it had on them, as an individual.

The friends I rode with stopped at Starbucks before heading back to campus. I was not in the mood for Starbucks, though. I sat at a table and pondered more. Then, I opened the program and a review for Screwtape Letters from a New York production jumped out at me.

The title said, "Is Christianity Alienating?" I read.

When I finished, I understood why people fell asleep, or why the production itself was what was being critiqued.

Christianity sounds, to be frank (and in the fairest, nicest way possible), bizarre. As the article put it, "Christianity is something for bible-thumpers and right-wing conservatives—something that we are predisposed to mock rather than venerate." I realized then that I was a part of a movement that is losing its relevancy.

Being a believer is now more closely associated with being a "Belieber" (I probably slaughtered the spelling), and church attendance among my age is dropping--quick. One friend in High School told me, "I don't like the idea of relying on someone, something, I know nothing about. I'm far too independent for that." I didn't know how to answer. The pre-cooked answer is "He'll take your burdens!" or "He's been there before, you can trust Him!" How could my friend, and those who don't relate with the book, trust in someone, something, they haven't experience? Much less the "bad" force portrayed in the story!

Hold on, before you lynch me. It's not losing its relevancy because of the message, rather because we have forgotten how to spread it. Christianity is alienating simply because we make it so. When we talk about it (when we're brave enough), we make it sound distant, proper, strict, and rather mystical. More like a cult than a movement. Instead, we should portray it as Jesus did: practically.

Everything Jesus taught has a practical application. It's when we become Pharisees and make rules that take the practicality out of worship for the sake of keeping worship "pure" (and what does that mean, anyway?) that we turn Christianity irrelevant, alienating: open to the select few, an elite club of insiders.

By living out the message I carry I can assure its relevancy. This works in all phases of life (i.e., practical). For example, when a candidate runs for office, they are expected to practice what they are promising the citizenry. As a journalist, I am expected to keep the audience's trust by being trustworthy myself. Giving myself ten thousand rules and regulations as to how to make, manipulate, the audience trust me is worthless if I do not try to become trustworthy.

So what do I say to my friend? How do I make the sleepy theatre patrons question how Screwtape impacts their own life?

In the book, Screwtape advises Wormwood to use the human's acquaintances and friends he surrounds himself with against himself. In other words, poor company makes for great opportunity, Wormwood! But, if the human surrounds himself with the right people . . . it's all over.

Why not I be the right person? Why not I be the Love the Jesus was every day on His life here on Earth? That is what drew people to Him (as opposed to alienating them): His lifestyle was a practical experience in Love.

Random Verses (or, A Mute's Plea Falls on Deaf Ears)

Out in the open, he receives not mercy from the great mother

A cardboard sign, ten quarters, and a sharpie to go with his worn out house shoes

The cards dealt to him no man wants, everyone fears, and all avoid

As if somehow they'll catch it, via some unseen evil gust of wind:

"We fear what we do not understand" --

All the while he re-counted his quarters and inquired of his soul:

Asked too much of myself,
left kneeling with empty pockets,
open eyes, and a shattered heart on the bookshelf.

It's not enough to be forgiven--
It's easy to be sorry for things I didn't do,
yet it's completeness that I crave: re-fill my pen!

I don't ask for a new book
A new beginning, I fear, is too late
but new ink a new story will tell.

In the street, the church bell tolls

One hundred pious actors bearing their sins as obvious as their mask

Turn the other way, protecting their child--or so they say,

of the threatening monster begging for compassion, a love he has never known:

a begging we dare not understand

****


Just what entered my mind when I left the Lied Center after watching Screwtape Letters and seeing a homeless man standing outside the door. No one, as far as I saw, gave him anything.

Great advice from what was once my favorite band, Muse

Now why the heck they, being a VERY secular band, would have a song like this . . . is beyond me. I guess Satan is working hard, too . . .

Apocalypse Please

declare this an emergency
come on and spread a sense of urgency
and pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end of the world

it's time we saw a miracle
come on it's time for something biblical
to pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end of the world

proclaim eternal victory
come on and change the course of history
and pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end of the world

Found on the wall of my High School Government Teacher, Ms. Sisk (Bless her heart!)

"God put me on this Earth to accomplish a certain number of things. Right now I'm so far behind I'll never die."

Life, at the top of my lungs

My platter of General Tso's chicken arrived, but it didn't appeal to me at that moment. Across the table from me sat James. He hadn't ordered anything. Instead, he gave me his own special platter of perspective, with a side of honesty. No fries.

"You've got to live as out loud as possible," he jabbed.

I invited James Mello to the local Chinese restaurant to chat and catch up. Mello is a theology major at Union College. He spends his extracurricular hours working, either at Cedar's, working for children and youth on probation; Nighthouse, a youth development center run by a local high school that strives to offer a safe place for the youth community of Lincoln; or at home, as a foster parent.

"Isn't it scary sometimes?"

"No, not scary. Stressful, yes. Rewarding? Absolutely. Here you get children who have been given up on, who need someone who cares. It is difficult because they are children that have been raised entirely different, and sometimes the hardest part is teaching them purity and respect, especially towards women. But when you see how far we get together, you can see God's work."

"So you have these children for a long time."

"You never know. Some of them you have for a while, while others can be there for a couple of days or a couple of weeks. One teen we've had for eight months now. Any one of them may get you stressed and discouraged, but when you see the big picture you notice the difference."

Busy man, yet loving every second of it. I know very few people who would put loads as heavy--and important--as these willingly. Mello, however, believes in this with his whole heart.

A minister's son, he spent the first 10 years of his life immersed in the church. "I had a pretty typical Adventist upbringing," he reminisced. "At the age of 10, my parents split up. My mother took us five children and moved to Tennessee. There, she started over from scratch."

For the next six years, Mello sought to forget all. He surrounded himself with the wrong people, made the wrong decisions, and wanted nothing to do with God. "I was an angry kid. The way I was living and thinking was very unhealthy."

God, as he does, had other plans. At the age of 16, he became a Christian again, and this time he knew he had to go all out. "I realized that Christianity is something that is lived fully. You can't be a so-so Christian. It's all or nothing. I had empathy and sympathized with those around me who were as broken as I was. I became passionate about helping them, especially overseas and in the inner city."

A year later, Mello decided to join a youth group headed to China along with 40 other youth. "It was life-changing," he asserts. "I had never been in a group like this one. We were all there in one accord: unity in God and in love for other people, in this case children. It has been the best experience of church I have ever been in."

"Why China? Why children?"

"Because I saw in them that they were as broken as I had been, and I want to help them."

"You've got to live as out loud as possible."

I had taken a total of three bites out of my rice and chicken. He went on with the story.

"I graduated High School and met Kyra, a wonderful person. We went back to China, got married, and worked at a boys' home for six months. Living in a different language really put things into perspective. With their minimal English and my lack of Chinese, I noticed that everything I did and how I acted had a much bigger impact. This is where I got the concept of living intentionally, carefully calculating every word and every action."

I was curious. "What does living out loud mean? Living intentionally?"

"Every moment is an opportunity to speak truth by your actions and words. This can only happen if you let Him take control of your life, for how do you portray someone you don't know?"

"And how does this translate into working every day with the foster kids at home and the kids you tutor at Cedar's?"

"There is no regular day as a foster parent. Every day there is something new. The biggest goal is teaching children to trust when they have never had a reason to trust anyone. We all have scars, and I want the children to know that Kyra and I aren't giving up on them--we're sticking it out along with them."

I looked at my chopsticks and decided to get one more bite, but my meal had gone cold. Somehow, though, I felt like I was being fed. "Is there anything that would make you stop? Say, you wanted to start a full family?"

He smiled at this last. "Kyra is pregnant. And we talked about it and we don't see ourselves stopping anytime soon. Kyra is a nanny, so at any given point there are up to six children and teens running around the house. We can handle it, and they need us as much as we need them."

I asked the waitress for a to-go box. "How do you handle it," I asked, thinking of the amount of time and commitment and energy that having one child could mean.

He smiled again. "Matthew 11:28 says, 'come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.' I find that if I give time to God and do what he expects of me, set in Micah 6:8, I will never be overwhelmed. I have to allow God to speak through me, act through me, as out loud as possible, and He will grant me rest."

Lent

When I came back from the ONE project at Chicago, I did not want it to die as all the other Jesus highs I've had. I wanted it to last.

For my interpersonal and intercultural communications classes, I have to do something I don't partake of and journal about it.

So I thought I should do Ramadan. But that isn't 'til June so that won't help my grade any. The next thing that popped in my mind was Lent.

For fourty days, I have to give up something, starting last Wednesday.

What to give up was the hardest thing to come up with. I was constantly battling myself and justifying keeping certain things. Then I decided I would give up one of those things I was justifying--you know, logic right? Give up something I've idolized.

Then it hit me. What if I truly give my tithe?

Not just money wise. I would give up a seventh of my life. I realize that is not ten percent, but it makes more sense: do something throughout an entire day other than just the Sabbath; give 3 hours of my day to Him.

Harder than I thought. But I plan to stick with this. Hopefully I can pull it off.

And no, I'm not becoming Catholic.

My ability to sleep . . .

has been forever changed.

At the University snack shop, they have ZzzQuil, sleeping pills that self-proclaim no addictive or habit inducing abilities.

I asked how much they were and they said they would give me a discount. I got them for one dollar.

Friday night it was 2 in the morning and I wanted to sleep. I read the directions and it said "two pills for children and adults over 12 years of age." I popped one and didn't wake up until 12:20. Thankfully, I had a shirt and some trousers ironed from before (thanks dad for the habit!) and headed to church and only missed the protocol.

I slept like a baby. Felt so good, although a little guilty at missing Sabbath School and a bit of the service.

I didn't take anything last night, and it took forever to fall asleep again.

Today, I finished a research paper around 2:45 ish, but still can't go to sleep. It's 5. I have a class at 8:30. I guess it's too late to take one of those puppies.

I even went running today. Why can't I go to sleep?

But Pablo, that doesn't make sense!

Ah, let me explain.

I hate guns, but I am anti-gun control.

Here goes, once again, my opinion no one wants to hear anyway.

I hate guns. Guns were a man-made solution to problems that could have been solved by conversation. "That only happens in a perfect world," I was told.

Really?

I recall that not two weeks ago I had the day off of school in honor of a man called Martin Luther King, Jr. Also, I remember being a Christian, follower of a man who called all to lay down their arms and love each other. Ask anyone, and they'll tell you that the key to love is communication.

I realize that it's too late to not invent guns, and, at least ideally, no one should have guns. Not even the government. I would call for global disarmament. No one, absolutely no one, should have a gun. Yes, the gun isn't the problem, and since we can't take the man out of the man, we can take the gun out of the hand of the man. All worldwide guns should be in the ocean somewhere where they cannot be retrieved.

"This is so pro-gun control!"

Hold your horses.

See, the problem with this debate isn't guns and whether they're automatic or if criminals can get to them or if Obama shoots them, it's about rights. If we let the government take away a right that is so explicitly set forth on the Second Amendment to the Constitution, it becomes that much easier for the government to take away other more important rights. That's just the way things work with people with power: give them an inch and they'll go a mile.

That's why I'm anti-gun control.

Giving back

At the end of probably one of the worst days I've had in a while, I decided I needed to look away from myself for a second.

The entire day had been less than enjoyable, and even the weather decided to get against me: it started snowing. (We might get up to 5 inches. . .)

When I decided to stop complaining, something told me to go outside. So I did, and it instantly hit me: build a snowman, and give it to someone.

So I built a snowman and put it in my neighbor's yard, where tomorrow the kids will see it when they go out to play.

From "the Bard of the Yukon" Robert W. Service

The Quitter

When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
    And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle
    To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
    And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it's easy to blow . . .
    It's the hell-served-for-breakfast that's hard.

"You're sick of the game!" Well, now, that's a shame.
    You're young and you're brave and you're bright.
"You've had a raw deal!" I know — but don't squeal,
    Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It's the plugging away that will win you the day,
    So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit:
    It's the keeping-your-chin-up that's hard.

It's easy to cry that you're beaten — and die;
    It's easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope's out of sight —
    Why, that's the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each gruelling bout,
    All broken and beaten and scarred,
Just have one more try — it's dead easy to die,
    It's the keeping-on-living that's hard.

And the Sky Darkened

Looking towards the South. My backyard in Shallowater, Texas

(click on the pictures to view larger)
My room had a weird earth color to it, reflected from outside. I smelled dust and my nose was runny all day. The next morning I blew my nose and it came out bloody.

I never thought I'd live in West Texas.

There was a time in which I considered applying to Texas Tech here in Lubbock, but I never did. The thought of living out in the middle of nowhere didn't sit well with me at the time. What was I going to do in the middle of dustfields?

Granted, where I ended up and the snow storms there are the other end of the spectrum. The very next day I arrived in Texas for Christmas break, there was a small dust storm. I was amazed at how much dust was picked up. My mom and siblings told me that was not the worst it had been at all. . .

A couple of days after that, I checked weather.com and was surprised to see a warning I had never seen before: Dust Storm Warning, beginning at 11:00 AM. As in, Dust Storm Warning. (Ironically, I had seen a PBS documentary on the dust bowl not three weeks prior when I arrived for Thanksgiving.)

I could see the sky getting brown towards the west, so I ran out side with my camera and saw this . . .

. . . the storm was closer than I thought. The train tracks at the end of the road there are less than a quarter of a mile away, and as you can see, the dirt has begun encroaching this side of the tracks.

I snapped the photo and flew back to my house in a speed I haven't hit since High School. I admit I may have overreacted, screaming bloody murder at the top of my lungs: "Train tracks! The storm is at the train tracks!"

I'm sure any neighbor who heard me merely smiled and said, "Foreigners."

Within five minutes, all doors and windows were shut tightly and my family got back to business. This was all new material for me, and I just couldn't stop looking out the windows.

Here's about five minutes after the "train tracks" incident:

That's my backyard, and you can notice the sky isn't the normal clear blue of the Great Plains. The whole place had a weird red color to it, and I realized that there were worse things than the snowstorms we get in Nebraska.

As the day wore on, things only got worse. The wind blew harder and harder and only picked more dust up.

All I could think about was the Dust Bowl. They say that the sky went black during these storms, that candles were lit. I could not imagine living in a time when all you saw when you went outside was sand and a dust storm would hit you fairly regularly.

After some time, I went around and looked at the windowsills. What surprised me was that, even though they were tightly shut and had plastic sealer going around it, dust still crept through and there was a thin film of it all across the sill.

Here's looking out my window looking north, in front of my house:

As with any storm of any sort, there is a time where it is the thickest. At the height of it, here's how things looked:

For a glorious second, the sun grew a bit brighter. . .

. . . but all it did was make things more dreadful.


The storm didn't quite clear up until after the sun had gone down, and I was taken aback. Apparently, it had been one of the worst storms the Lubbock area had seen in a while, and there ended up being many accidents on the roads.

Then I got to thinking about the Dust Bowlers again.

If I were them, with a house with no plastic sealant on the windows, much less on the doors, with no crops to sustain the family/sell, I would have picked everything up and left. Many did, but to the ones that stayed I tip my hat.