God-Sized People

As humans we have an ironic knack for perverting our own humanity.  We disobey in the garden.  We construct massive towers, striving to reach the heavens and rival God Himself.  We trust our voices above the gentle whispers of the Holy Spirit.  We equate ourselves with the Almighty, even as good-willed followers of Christ.  We fail to remember just how small we are.

My wife and I recently babysat my seven-year-old niece and five-year-old nephew.  My nephew pretty much schooled me in how to perform complicated actions on his PlayStation 3…at five years old.  I couldn’t rewind a VHS tape properly at the age of five.  Aside from gaming time for the fellas and crafting time for the girls, we also watched Honey I Shrunk The Kids.  Talk about a classic piece of cinema.

Through the course of the movie we see a quartet of children get shrunk by the whacky father’s invention—spoiler alert, in case the plot was too thinly veiled by the title—and subsequently embark on a journey across their front lawn in order to return home.  The adventure is fraught with danger due to the fact that the children are now smaller than insects.  Ordinary and often over-looked things suddenly became monstrously large and threaten the children’s very lives.  Cue the frightening scenes with lawnmowers and jurassic-sized scorpions.

In the movie the kids come across Anty.  This oddly adorable creature is just your average old ant, but thanks to the shrink-ray, he towers over each child like a dinosaur over a caveman.  The kids try to slay him to absolutely no avail, and ultimately end up befriending him while sharing a cream-filled oatmeal cookie that’s the size of a house.  Anty helps carry them through a leg of their journey and becomes a very cherished character that sacrifices himself to protect the children.  I almost cried seeing this again as a 30-year-old man.

Hold the phone here.  We’re talking about an ant.  I crush them with fierce prejudice when I see a few scouts in my kitchen.  Not in this house, little crumb suckers.  Get your food somewhere else.  But, in this fantastical movie world where humans are put on the same playing field as insects, the characters personalize this creature.  They don’t see a pest that might inconvenience them in a barely noticeable way.  They are confronted with something they can’t ignore or crush on a whim.  They are forced to see something bigger.

I was suddenly hit with a flood of thoughts.  What do I pass by every day without noticing?  What situations do I completely overlook simply because I think I am big enough to step over them?  What would happen if I was no longer the biggest thing in my world?

There are situations we are put in every day where we could help someone in need, but we just have so much going on, don’t we?  You’ve got, like, 20 shows queued on Netflix that aren’t going to watch themselves.  You have grocery shopping to do and books to read on your Kindle.  You’re busy, and it’s not your problem when a facebook friend shares a status about going through something rough.  How could you possibly help?  You click the “like” button and move on. You have your own problems.  You mentally give the finger to the jerk tailgating you on your way to work.  You scoff at the pregnant girl in the grocery store when you notice she doesn’t have a wedding ring.  Jokes are made about that weirdo in your office—the one who reminds everyone of Milton from Office Space—and you join in, afraid that defending him will ostracize you from the group.

How quickly we go from being loving Christians to the self-absorbed kings and queens of our own lives.  How quickly we forget the way Jesus lived.  How easily we push aside the very same people Christ focused His time and energy on.  We are great at loving our families, our friends, co-workers, and the kids in our church’s youth groups, but what on earth do we do to love the un-loved?  How do we help people with severe needs?  And we can’t even try to justify it by calling it a time or money issue.  Jesus didn’t go around handing black American Express cards to the prostitutes and lepers.  He invested himself.  He freely gave genuine smiles and encouraging embraces to the downtrodden and broken.  Jesus wasn’t too big for anyone or anything, and nobody’s problems were beneath his notice.

We need to pray every day that God would help us shrink ourselves.  If we see God for who He really is, if we fully grasp how much bigger He is than everything on Earth, shouldn’t that mean that we are all ants to Him?  And yet, He loves.  And yet, He cares.

If you have the means to read these words now, you are blessed beyond measure in this world.  Shrink yourself.  Give the small things in your world the attention God gives us, who are so much smaller than Him.  And if your current season of life is raining down hardship and troubles, may the people around you not be so big that they step over you without noticing your tears.

 

Kill The Grumpies

Attitudes make this world go ’round. There are good ones, bad ones, and others that fall into a blurry, ill-defined world where good things can be genetically mutated into bad things.  I’m generally one to possess a sunny and chipper disposition. I try to smile a lot, unless it’s towards strangers because I don’t want anyone thinking I’m that friendly. I definitely laugh a lot, though mostly at my own jokes, or my own bone-headed mistakes. All in all, I really try to make the best of life and not let the ocean of bad crap in this world wear down on me too much.

But dang man, there are certainly days when that’s difficult.

 

Unfortunately, today has managed to be one of those rare days. I wish I could identify where this starts, in hopes that I could turn that frown upside down all quick-like and make with the shits and giggles again.  I didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed. I stumbled out in the same walking dead manner I always have before hot shower water hits my face. The day didn’t even start badly. All was well until I had one small work snag. It really was small, too, and typical. It was boss related, and everyone has boss related snags on a daily basis. Unfortunately for me, my boss’ name is Dad. By and large, that isn’t a great kerfuffle of a deal. Ain’t no thang. I’ve been working with my Dad for as long as I can remember and we love each other enough that, for the most part, we don’t tear each other apart or get too pissy that often. For those of you that might not have the pleasure of working  alongside a very close family member, you learn a multitude of things under those circumstances. Most of those are things you come to loathe and be irritated by very easily, usually because they are qualities that you were fortunate enough to have had passed down to you.

I need to properly collect and arrange my thoughts here. This isn’t a rant about mixing business with lineage. All this is to say that my father did something to upset me, which is nothing even close to newsworthy, and I am used to dealing with that eventuality every day. What this is a rant about, is how one thing, however infinitesimal on the greater scale of actual life problems, can change the course of an attitude and pull you into an ever widening pit of despair and sadness. A place occupied by silence, but for the wailing of a thousand tentacled netherbeasts whose splintering cries creep between the folds of your brain like weeds, taking root, spreading and growing until you’re certain that the only end to the pressure is to close your mouth, plug your nose, and blow with every shred of strength you have left.

That could have been a hair’s width on the dramatic side, but I’m trying to work on my creative writing skills, after all. But for realsies here folks, it was like an avalanche of the grumpies took over my mind. My attitude had shifted away from it’s normal happy place. I was suddenly allowing my mind to run rampant on the things that bother me about myself. If demons have specialties, I was definitely being attacked by a self-critical demon. I was bogged down by thoughts about things I wanted to accomplish that I hadn’t, or things I was working on that I was suddenly sure would fail. It was a terrible way to spend the day. It amazes me how one relatively small thing can overtake you and filter out into the world. It wouldn’t surprise me if my briefly pessimistic and destructive attitude helped bring someone else over to my wallowing pit of bitterness. I mean, what if one encounter I had during this time affected someone else and caused them to feel this same way? What if I carry this attitude home and relate to my wife under this terrible fog?  I was carrying a pestilence with me everywhere I went, and my attitude permeated every aspect of my outward relations. It really wasn’t until I sat down and put some words onto a computer that I let myself realize the origin of the problem. It had nothing to do with some extraneous event, or some wrong deed that was done to me. Outside forces assault us constantly. Circumstances change, we can’t control the actions and attitudes of others. It’s difficult enough to control our own. I was like a ship with no anchor, just wandering in the ocean. Every gust of wind took me wherever it desired, and I was acting helpless to stop it.

That’s not the truth of my life. I have a foundation. A fool floats along with a tide, ignorant and unaware that they are moving, ever so slowly, miles away from where they intended to go. I have a rock in my life to grasp when I’m tumbling down a river, inches from the waterfall. That rock is Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. It’s my wife, and family, and friends that care for me. The world is going to take a dump on you. It’s gross to think about, but we swim in a world of dookie. That’s what Satan wants to force into us, with the hopes that crap is precisely what we will become. He wins us over my millimeters and nanoseconds. Microscopic changes in our minds and attitudes, like a frog gladly being boiled alive on the stove. Once we realize we are in danger, it’s already too late to get out without being skinned and eaten on a baguette. What I need to remember is, this world reeks of danger. It’s on my tv and radio. It’s on billboards and in magazines. And it’s in every single one of us.

I urge you all, don’t spread this disease. Trust in the promises of God and the fact that you have been made perfect in your imperfection. Without that we are all just slinging feces at each other like monkeys in the zoo, perfectly content  to roll in filth and spread that filth to everybody within an arms reach. Use that Jesus hose and clean yourself off, then do what you can to clean off the others around you. How great would it be if when we felt our attitudes altering into the negative that we had people surrounding us to help, and remind us of our value? I’m certainly not worthless. And you definitely aren’t, because if you have ever read anything on this blog and added to the site views counter, you’ve made a world of difference to me and the relevance of what I have to say.

Break Away – Maintaining A Godly Perspective

My motivation for going to a church service on Sunday: The culture we live in breathes down our throats every second, every minute, every day. We have people working for other people, speaking to us through our radios, televisions and computers with an agenda that never includes God or any loving thing. We stand in line next to people for coffee, food, and entertainment, none of which satisfies in any meaningful way, yet we are compelled to satiate these desires more than trying to satisfy the desires of God.

I need a time to break away. I need a time to put something good and wholesome, loving and right into my mind. When I let the world in all day, every day and dont allow time for God I decrease in love, and treat people accordingly. I cant do anything righteous or good because it isnt in my nature; but, when I take an hour out of a Sunday and focus on God’s goodness, His grace, and the salvation I’ve received in Jesus Christ I am reminded to ask God to use me for His purposes. If I’m not living for my Father, in constant thanksgiving for the incredible gifts He has given me, then I am living for myself and the world I occupy.

I dont go to church simply to increase my knowledge, or to enjoy fellowship with other brothers and sisters in Christ. I go because without that time this world swallows me up entirely, I find myself yearning to satisfy needs that are meaningless, and I begin to place myself above others. More importantly, I begin to place myself above God. I am thankful for having a place to go to reset my wayward mind at a church full of people who so acutely reflect the love of God.

Life On Auto-Pilot

It’s funny how often my own thought-life feels like I am simply talking to myself. I hope that’s not what doctors mean when they refer to crazy people hearing “voices” inside their head. Sometimes I wonder why hipsters are trying so hard to be different from everyone else, when every too-cool hipster fool is exactly the same as the next. Freaking howling wolf t-shirt with suspenders and plaid pants, give me a break. Other times I wonder why bacon has become so popular lately, when it has been delicious ever since God created pigs and fire. I’m tempted to lick the hot pan after bacon is fried like it’s frosting on an electric mixer. Damn, bacon’s good…but I digress. My point is that I think many thoughts, of wildly varying quality…clearly.

The other day, post-delicious bacon fantasies, I was browsing Craig’s List job postings for writers. Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not a professional writer, would need significantly more education to come close to that, and I have a job I don’t plan on leaving any time too soon. However, this little blog project can clearly be served as evidence that I have been kindling a tiny flame of desire for putting words together in a thought-provoking, and hopefully, passably entertaining way. Fingers crossed on that one. So, I was riding a thought wave of what employers would be looking for in a budding wordsmith. I’m sure that simply pasting a link to this blog on my resume would be insufficient in proving my abilities, as high-larious and profesh as my work here may be.

Why am I qualified? Well, I have written, like, four opinion pieces on WordPress. Not to mention the “cats with laser swords in space” fiction from my elementary school years…

I was browsing away, clicking through post after post of Orange County area businesses needing writers for web content, social media marketing, etc. After my 30th post perusal that wasn’t looking for a sarcastic, plain-speaking wanna-be blogger, I figured I would need to research what actual big boy writers did to prepare a portfolio of writing samples. It was this scenario that got me thinking about how written articles are formed. How do writers choose topics? Where does “news” come from? I felt like a child asking mommy and daddy about babies for the first time. I started googling things that had never been typed on my keyboard before. Alien terms, like “Associated Press” and “News”. I was truly spiraling down into the rabbit hole now. I also decided to ask my Dad. He was near me during this brain safari, and he just so happens to read every newspaper known to man, every day. The look on his face when I said, “Dad, where do news reporters hear about the news?” was pretty priceless. He ended up going into an explanation about informants, press releases, field reporting, researching…stuff that, no joke, sounded like a butt-load of work.

So I let this information percolate and I continued to analyze what I read every day as “news” stories, in the areas of interest I hold. Entertainment news. Video game journalism. What made this stuff news? Then it hit me. I made it news. Me. This little guy. The reader. People. We make the news important. Holy insightful revelation, bro. It isn’t some wild stork in the sky that chooses what makes the journalism cut, it’s what a writer feels is important to a reader. The only thing that separates my neighbor’s awkward life updates from things published in the New York Times is how much the listener actually cares about the information. There is a mutual bond that exists between a writer and a reader, just as there is between a homeowner and a construction contractor. Or a consumer and a retail store. A consumer is interested in a thing. A writer/contractor/retailer wants to provide a thing. All of the sudden it didn’t seem as complicated. I think there are some economic principles at work here too, but I don’t remember enough of my Junior College experience to elaborate.

The bottom line is that life is very interesting. There are things going on that people want to hear about, whether it be current and late-breaking news stories, entertainment updates on a socialite’s party excursions, or reviews on the latest games, movies or television shows. People thirst to know things, and the ability to potentially share those things in an understandable and insightful way is what makes someone a writer. I had the weird, backwards thought in my mind that there was some news guru out there who chose what was newsworthy. After some searching, and, more importantly, questioning, I am realizing that there is no bespectacled journalist in the sky determining the important issues of the day.

If I am going to write anything at all, it simply needs to be something that I feel people want to read about. I need to create an informative and relatable article. A reader needs to have something to take away with them. The point of all this news we read and watch every day is to not only be aware of what is going on around us, but to use the information we gather to help us live our every day lives. All too often I read articles, listen to sermons at church, or hear interviews on the radio or tv, and the information that literally just went in to my brain never sticks around longer than five minutes. If I don’t ask myself why information is important, and I don’t take a few minutes to think about how I can be a more productive and informed person through that information, then what is the point at all? I might as well be thinking about annoying sub-cultures and bacon all day.

I have written a few items over the last couple weeks, and for the most part the purpose has been simple. Pump myself up. Put my own insights down on a sheet of virtual paper in an attempt to look at life a little bit differently. It’s been selfish to the max, which is sort of okay, considering this is my website, after all. Unfortunately, I’m just not that interesting on my own. I titled this blog “Uncertainly Awesome” for a reason. My awesomeness isn’t certain, is what I’m saying. I am going to take the new few hours, days, weeks…whatever it takes, to think about what I want to share. What is going on in this great, wide world of ours that I want to talk about? Time to consider a potential audience, maybe a potential publisher or employer…what is going to inform and/or entertain a demographic that goes beyond me?

Giving Fear The Nose Boop

Deal with that

Life is a funny thing. We all have hopes, dreams, and desires; Goals we would like to see ourselves achieve. For the longest time, I dreamt of being an Air Force fighter pilot, a la Will Smith in Independence Day. That dream was shattered when my Grandpa reminded me that I needed to be able to fit in a cockpit. I was a large young man. But for every lofty and high reaching “fighter pilot” sized goal I might have, there is also a slew of aspirations residing in my brain that are much more manageable and achievable. The internal dialogue that I have with myself throughout every day touches on several of these goals, usually out of nowhere, on a daily basis. I would love to lose more weight and get myself in a better physical shape. Beach body, GTL, swole patrol. I would love to write a book some day. I would love to have a job that allowed me to work in an interesting city, like San Francisco or Seattle. I would love to effectively learn to play a guitar or piano. I have this awesome vision of arriving at a dinner party, because I am invited to loads of dinner parties, where there is a piano regally adorning the living room and I can get all Chopin up in that piece. These are the things I fantasize about. I need crazier fantasies.

Now, I quite desperately wish for all those things. I have lost a tremendous amount of weight in my past and simply could utilize the super power of self-control to lose weight and work out regularly. If only my kryptonite wasn’t delicious calories. I have a computer that is, crazily enough, attached to a keyboard on which I can type words and write things. I love singing and have been greatly privileged to exercise that passion at my church, but I could be so much more effective in that ministry if I played an instrument. The way things are right now, I have the means to actually work towards these goals in my life. I have a decent amount of free time. I am mentally capable of handling these challenges and inching my way towards musical competence, physical prowess, and literary greatness. So why do I waste days off playing video games? Driving through Del Taco? Listening to music rather than creating music? Reading books instead of throwing words on to a page and seeing what I made? The only thing that I can point a finger at and pin down is the ever-present and unavoidable fear of failure. Also, laziness. But mostly being afraid.

Any time I entertain thoughts of starting something new or taking a risk on a new endeavor, the dialogue in my head changes. It’s no longer me pumping myself up with my usual, “Dudebro, you’re flippin’ awesome. You can do anything. Everyone loves you,” which is generally thought while winking at myself in the mirror. The locomotive of brainwaves changes to doubt. I can’t do that. Look at the people out there who are super fit, I could never get there. Listen to that song, no way I could be that good. Don’t write that, someone else could do it better. I don’t want to look foolish. I don’t want to get a mile down that road then realize that I am doing something wrong or discover my own shortcomings. It’s easier to just not try at all. These thoughts carefully lodge themselves into the cracks of my subconscious, rooting themselves. Eventually, I can’t even ponder my own hopes anymore and it takes three hours of focused thought while trying to write a blog just to rattle the hold this negativity has on me. The thing I am slowly realizing, mostly through the insanely therapeutic process of writing my thoughts out into a public space, is that if I don’t risk anything, I will gain absolutely nothing.

That is the cheesiest, most cliché thing I probably could say on this subject, and a google search could produce a hundred quotes on the riches lost through inaction and apathy, but it is the truest thing that I can tell myself in this situation. What am I afraid of? What horrible outcome is going to result from taking forty-five minutes in a day to sweat a little bit? I truly am my biggest threat to being unsuccessful. The worst case scenario for trying something new, and potentially failing, is that I have experienced a whole new side of life. If I write something and it turns out to be appallingly awful, that experience alone can reveal untold things about my character. Trying new things works your brain in ways that you are not used to, and are quite possibly not at all comfortable with, but it is this temporary discomfort that allows us to grow as people. The funny thing is, the only person that can really be disappointed in my own failure is me. I have been blessed with some incredible friendships and loving family members. These people are my biggest supporters and that is not in danger of changing because I put myself out there and try to lead a more well-rounded life.

This subject has been so prevalent in my mind as I have begun this blog. The comfort bubble of sticking to the familiar is an incredibly resilient one, and it will only burst when I am ready to apply enough force to break it. I am sick of telling myself I would be good at things. It is time to start doing. This is a time of action. I am at the point in my life where things will no longer just “happen”. I’ve been through school. I have a job. I am dating an amazing and wonderful girl. My life is here, now, current, present and accounted for. There isn’t a single thing left to wait on. I have dreams that my heart aches to fulfill, and it is time. I am my own worst enemy, but God is my greatest ally.  Philippians 4:13 has become a bit of a life verse for me, mostly because it is just about the only scripture I ever memorized, but through Christ I truly can do all things. The only thing I have to actually be afraid of is not living up to my potential. Not being the great man I wish to be. I know who I am, I know what I am worth and I know what I have to contribute to this world. It is this moment that marks the time when I stare my own hesitations and apprehensions in their eyes and poke them on the nose.