Tuesday, August 13, 2013

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.

Monday, July 29, 2013

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.

Monday, July 1, 2013

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.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

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.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

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

Sunday, June 2, 2013

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 . . .