Tonight I spent a good three hours watching Kevin Costner's remake of David Brin's excellent novel The Postman.

The movie follows the path of one man who steals a postal uniform from a dead mail carrier and pretends to be a part of the Restored United States following nuclear holocaust, and a destroyed world. He is simply trying to find a way to get food, but his lies spark hope in the lives of those he touches. And that hope blossoms into something bigger than he, or anyone else, ever imagined it could - true restoration of civilization.

The movie struck me with two main thoughts. First, it's been a long time since Hollywood has produced a Nuclear Holocaust movie touting the depravity of humankind, which leads me to believe that the real world has just a bit more hope in the world at large since the end of the Cold War. Second, it struck me at how much force and power even a hint of hope can have to motivate people to change. It struck me, because I have been living with just a touch of hope recently, a touch of hope that seems to beckon with a grandeur beyond my understanding or even belief.

Now, Hope is an expectation of something unseen, something desired, but not yet actuated. But the uncanny thing about Hope is that it requires Risk be taken in accord with the hope. Which of course leads to great decisions coming face to face with the following question: "Does the hope provided by the vision outweigh the fears provided by the doubts?"

In the movie, the sheriff of Pineview, OR struggles with kicking the Postman out of town, while at the same time holding on to that scant bit of hope that the Postman might not be a fraud. With the whole town watching, he simultaneously tells the Postman to go, then rides after him with a letter, saying, "Damn it, if you are real, take this with you." Hope in a vision vs. fears and risk played out in the passing of a letter.

Posted by Michael at 11:30 AM | Permalink

My friend left today to interview for a position in another city. Last night we sat and discussed the possibility of her moving, and what that would mean for her. Naturally, the concept of beginning someplace new, having to form fresh networks and test out unfamiliar, untrodden patterns of existing within this sea of interaction we call life, bubbled to the surface of our conversation. We were both excited for what it could mean for her, and excited at the adventure of it all.

What would it mean to leave existing networks of friends? To leave familiar patterns behind? How would I cope, given the same possibility for outward mobility? How does anyone cope?

Well, two things she said touched me quite squarely between the eyes. Two phrases - or two concepts - rather. The first was transitional objects - which are things such as security blankets, rubber duckies, or any other object that carries over a sense of familiarity into new territory; in short, something that helps one to cope with the unfamiliar landscape. The second was transitional community, meaning that the graduate school we both recently completed has a revolving door of people, such that our own network of friends might only be present here for another year or two before they too would find fresh places and faces to lure them away.

And yet, it seems, here I remain, and to what end? For what purpose? My life has recently felt like a plane taxiing on the runway, waiting for God only knows what before I am allowed to take flight. I've never been one to need transitional objects, always willing to take to the adventure without even a decent sense of sanity. And I've always been the major element of transitional community, leaving when others stayed. And yet, here I remain.

And so her comments beg the questions: Am I the architect of my own holding pattern? And if so, why?

It's off to the desert now, where answers are found, and God speaks in the wind and the stars.

Posted by Michael at 10:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Though it was wet and miserable for our 9mile training run, my friend Brian and I rather enjoyed it. There's something comforting about it, and it wasn't until we were almost finished that I think Brian touched on the right answer: humidity. With all the rain in the air, our lungs don't burn, and consequently, we stay more mentally positive and willing to keep moving.

Posted by Michael at 10:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My friend Jeff lives on a street in a not-so-upscale part of town. His patio overlooks this street, and allows him to watch humanity as it flows past his field of vision. Some of what passes by defies explanation.

The two of us have sat on his patio late into the evening, and have seen some patterns emerge. One is a man who rides by on a bicycle, first going north up the street, and shortly thereafter, riding south down the street. He always wears what seem to be the same clothes, which is odd in itself. Odder still is that some days he bikes by completely unaffected, and on others he rides up the hill screaming obscenities and accusations against the government and God only knows what else, only to ride down the hill in complete silence. Seriously. Up the hill screaming - down the hill silent. Some days, silence both ways. At least he's consistent. Another is a woman who runs around with a shopping cart picking up cans and plastic bottles, though never speaking to anyone, and completely without any form of musical technology - CD player, tape deck, MP3 player, what have you - dances around to a music only she can hear. She's clearly enjoying herself, and it's intriguing to watch her.

Now, both of these people draw attention to themselves for their peculiar behavior - outlandish at best - but I wonder how many of us have peccadillos that we simply don't notice, but everyone around us does? Making us the outlandish oddity in a sea of conformity?

Posted by Michael at 10:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Britain deals extensively with the bovine disease foot & mouth disease which causes these poor animals much grief. These poor creatures have to deal with some strange symptoms, including pyrexia, smacking of the lips, grinding of the teeth, drooling, lameness, and stamping or kicking of the feet.

Unfortunately, it appears that this disease also afflicts humans, the first case having been found in Pasadena, CA last evening. Our unfortunate patient was deemed infected when he first was overcome with pyrexia. Then, in an ill-planned - and certainly ill-advised - attempt to eloquently state the matters floating around in his head, he was suddenly given over to paroxcisms of drooling, bouts of momentary lameness, whinnying noises and a certain stamping or kicking of his vestigial, and yet still virtual hooves.

All in all, I think the date went rather well. She does still wish to spend more time with me, so something went right.

Romantic incompetents, UNITE!

Posted by Michael at 5:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's amazing what walking through an open door can feel like, even though you know that you can possibly contract skin cancer from the glaring sun outside.

Nevertheless, Tuesday's momentary nervousness was replaced by a certain sense of contentment as I await tonights events. In short, she said yes.

In my head the evening is well planned and exciting, and she is laughing hysterically at my clever jokes and witty comebacks. Let's hope reality at least approaches my fabulously enchanted evening playing in Cinema Carsten.

Posted by Michael at 3:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As part of my job at the bookstore, I write blurbs on the website for the new titles that come into the store. Today I ran across one titled, When You Love Too Much

Apparently, according to the author, it is possible to have a romantic - or love - addiction, and not just an addiction to sex. When this happens, you need ever greater doses of romance, or romantic gestures for you to get your fix. I could be convinced to buy into this concept, since I see how some people are driven by expectations of love that are humanly impossible to achieve. If this isn't done just so, then it means they don't love me enought; or if they don't respond appropriately, then they aren't worthy; or a red flower means God has ordained this union, and we will be blissfully happy until eternity falls at our doorstep.

Get real. Romance is a big part of life & love, but so is disappointment. Anton Chekhov wrote, "If you are afraid of loneliness, don't marry." Loneliness will creep up its head even in what should be the most romantic and loving of relationships.

Posted by Michael at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today was an interesting juxtaposition of differing worldviews. The first half of the day at work - during the breaks - was spent catching up on life with women friends. And it was fun, talking about changes in personal histories, concepts of future plans, etc.

The second half of the day - following work - was spent with the guys. I taught one of them to change tires and tubes on a bike, then we ate pizza, watched American Idol, and played PlayStation 2: Fighter Jets, Gran Tourismo, and Streets of LA. Not sure we talked about much of anything. I'm sure we grunted a lot, and trash talked each other.

Different views on life and different means of communicating. I know I need them both.

Posted by Michael at 11:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

An odd word, and an odd concept.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines Risk as follows:
1) The possibility of suffering harm or loss; danger.
2) A factor, thing, element, or course involving uncertain danger; a hazard

This evening I contemplate a course of action which has large amounts of uncertainty in it. At first, I considered it a risk. But then, upon contemplating the word, I realized that I would not be suffering any danger or harm, should my course of action prove to turn out less than I desire.

So is it really risk? In other words, if my course of action results in me not getting what I want, but leaves me unharmed and out of danger in the end, where is the real risk? According to the dictionary, there really isn't any.

So why am I nervous?

Posted by Michael at 6:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

On my way to work this morning I saw a sign advertising a yard sale, the proceeds of which would go to help the Tsunami victims.

My first thought was, How nice, good idea. My second was, What percentage is going to the victims? My third was, How do we know they aren't just using this as a means of arousing people's emotions to rake in a profit?

And then I noticed how my thoughts went successively deeper into the mistrust of my fellow human. The worst part about it though, was that I wasn't sure whether to be disgusted with myself for my lack of trust, or commend myself for understanding how a shrewd mind works - or perhaps, rather, how a mind devious enough to cheat others works.

Then, of course, came the clincher. Did I know how a devious mind works because I would do the same thing? Or did I know this because my mind always explores every single option in any given situation? I'd like to believe that it's the latter...

Posted by Michael at 6:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Lots of things look good "on paper" as the saying goes. Maybe there's a spreadsheet showing how all the aspects of one thing fit so - obviously - well with the other. Maybe it's just all in our heads, as we do a mental tally.

Nevertheless, I find that it's the little things that matter most in any relationship, be it business, friendship, or romantic (well, especially romantic). The big things can all line up, but if the little things are not there, they make the big things virtually impossible to keep together. Think of it like the crank on a bike. The chain rings are there, the chain is there, the cranks are there, even the lube is there; but if you're missing the ball bearings, you can forget about moving forward.

My best friend took ill today. Fairly violently ill. Now, the two of us disagree on several big things - politics, religious worship styles, thoughts on the environment, on art, etc. But one thing is certain: it's the little things that we do for each other, and the little things that we agree on, the little things we communicate - daily - that makes our friendship so strong. I brought him movies to distract him, and made soup and bread and tea, hoping to speed his recovery, simply because I knew that he would do the same for me.

It's the little things that make me happy, bring joy, and bring a feeling of belonging; and in the end, it's those little things that add up, and the multitude of little joy-makers defeat any complex smattering of differences. And in the end, I would choose a friendship or a relationship based primarily on the little things, rather than the "on paper" goodies.

Posted by Michael at 11:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sharing is good, especially when you can control how much...

Today as I sat in my friend's office for lunch, I pulled out my Nutella and some bread. Jeff asked if he could have some. "Sure. But no bread." Then our friend Stephanie came in, and also asked if she could dip a finger of Nutella. "Sure. But no bread."

Master of my own Nutella domain...

Posted by Michael at 8:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Expectations are shrouded in mystery.

Or so it seems at times. They are nebulous and hidden and even ambiguous. Yet when they are not met, they produce some of the most clear and unambiguous results.

A while back, I pursued a young lady for more than friendship. During that time, I wrote her some emails that had - if I'm honest - the curious quality of saying nothing much of anything (at least nothing I hadn't said before), but were laden with the sickly aroma of expectation that must have dripped ever so sweetly from her screen whenever she read them (the puddle of ooze on the keyboard must have been quite a sight). Some of them she simply chose to ignore. Good for her.

Having been the recipient of my fair share of communiqués that involve that nebulous concoction of surface harmlessness and submerged expectation, I can only say the best way to handle everything is to do one of the following: 1) ignore them, or 2) take them at complete face value. This causes the following results, just as it did for me. First, the individual in question must come to terms with the fact that they did indeed have expectations attached to their communication with you, and needs to discover what it was; more often than not, its something that one wants to avoid bringing out into the open. Secondly, taking things at face value is how we ought to take communication anyway; it is not our responsibility to read into things that others communicate with us - especially when they are unclear.

Posted by Michael at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

During which the ants came marching 200 X 200, forcing me to kill mercilessly with Raid, buy plastic containers for my linens & things, and sleep in the living room...

A 60ft tree fell and blocked a major road near my home;
Water started pouring in over the wall in my kitchen, flooding a portion of it;
Water seeped in under the concrete in my living room (how, I'm not sure), and left a big wet semi-circle;
Flying bugs have sought refuge near my refrigerator, forcing me again to find a nest and spray Raid...

All in all, it's been an eventful weekend, though rather than writing or reading, I've been moving furniture...

Ahh, the beauty of rain.

Posted by Michael at 4:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I recently heard someone say that "You never regret the things that you do, only the things that you didn't do."

The American Heritage dictionary defines regret as 1) to feel sorry, disappointed, or distressed about, and 2) to remember with a feeling of loss or sorrow; mourn.

On a recent evening I sat with a friend who has much to mourn, and we discussed the very thought of regret, and whether we regretted those things we did, or didn't do. Both of us felt that it is simply an untruth to claim that we do not regret the things we did. However, I can honestly state that I regret much more the things that I failed to do than the things that I did. In fact, I mourn some of the things I didn't do when I had the chance because the chance has passed. And, I feel sorry about some of the things that I did do, for now the consequences must be paid. Still, never knowing the potential outcome of a situation is more difficult than dealing with what really happened.

So when I hear people respond to the question "Do you have any regrets?" with a firm and solid "No," I can only wonder how they've lived their lives. Either they've lived for every moment and taken every opportunity - or they've never made any mistakes that they mourn, or feel sorry about.

In the end, regret is a catalyst for change. I do regret the things that I failed to do in the past, but now I have learned to jump upon the opportunities when they present themselves to me. And, I regret some of the things I did do, but experience has taught me not to repeat the same mistakes. So in one sense, those things I regret have led me to a place of more peace; so should I still regret them?

To have no regrets, then, is, perhaps not to have lived, or not to have learned. Or, perhaps more accurately, to have lived and learned and decided not to mourn.

Posted by Michael at 9:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Some people just bring out the worst in me,
and
I bring out the worst in some people.

These statements are incontrovertible fact. And I believe this to be a normal part of life.

This past Fall I had the opportunity to spend some time with some acquaintances for a weekend getaway. Toward the end of the weekend, I was livid. I had surpassed my capacity for showing common decency to anyone, and I acted like an ass, partly because I was unable to adequately deal with the multitude of emotions swirling through me at the time, and the only one that bubbled to the surface was anger. And that fact bothered me, since I am normally the most easy-going person you will ever meet.

I mentioned this entire episode to my boss, who made an astute observation, to which I subscribe. Simply stated, she pointed out that some people bring out the worst in you. It has nothing to do with the other person, or with you. You may both be wonderful, kind-hearted individuals, but somehow, your methods of interaction, and methods of communication are like ships passing in the night. Or, perhaps more appropriately, like two rams butting horns in the dark – you don't mean any harm, but somehow you just get each other's goat. And it's not the prize goat – it's the nag.

So do you try and work things out? Or do you simply agree that it would take too much work to find a happy medium in your communication and choose to walk in different directions? My vote is for walking in different directions, and reveling in the other person's gifts and kind-hearted nature – from a distance.

Posted by Michael at 11:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Carsten, I just shredded you!" That's how my academic advisor greeted me recently. Apparently, that means that the school has double checked every last shred of documentation, and decided to make my graduation official.

Carsten Seiler, M.Div.

5 years of graduate work. That sheet of paper will make it all worth it...

Posted by Michael at 4:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just recently I heard someone proclaim that no matter what your religion, you're worshipping the same God. Or, to put it another way, all religions are essentially the same. Nothing can be further from the truth. A dedicated Buddhist, Hindu, and Christian will tell you that at the core, their religions are worlds apart. There may be many similarities of teachings, but at the core, it is the differences that - dare I say it - differentiate these religions.

We need to remember that if anyone faced a smorgasbord of religions, it was the Apostles and the authors of the Scriptures. Yet none of them felt the slightest hesitation about calling out for one Truth among the many religions proclaimed in their day. And why is that? Because they knew that to proclaim one Truth, and one Truth alone might seem utterly arrogant, completely unrealistic, and bigoted. That is, unless their message was true. Then it would be a great show of love to proclaim the Truth despite being labeled culturally insensitive (not to mention beaten, jailed, ridiculed, tormented, and killed).

So what of it then? What are we to do today, faced with a similar landscape of religious pluralism that the Apostles faced? We proclaim the same Truth, because, after all, if we claim that all religions are true, then none of them really can be. We proclaim the same Truth, even at the risk of being beaten, jailed, ridiculed, tormented and killed. Or worse, being labeled a bigot, or politically incorrect.

Posted by Michael at 11:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Monica was a young mother who, during her son's infant years, dedicated him to the Lord, and prayed fervently that he would be a blessing to the kingdom of God. Her own faith was well known and well respected, and when her son grew up, his own intellectual prowess was equally well known. Unfortunately, his debauchery and hatred for anything of God just as infamous.

Now, Monica had a dream, in which she saw her and her son walking hand in hand in heaven, and she knew that God was sharing with her the fact that her son would find salvation. But reality never sat quite in line with her dream; instead of growing closer to God, he grew more committed to evil and more arrogant, despite all of her prayers for change.

It happened that a well respected leader of the church came to her city and because of her reputation, she easily obtained a private meeting with the man. She told the story of her intercession, and the lack of change in her son. She begged the man to speak with her son, but he knew that to speak to this young man would only harden him all the more.

"How will my son be saved?" the mother sobbed.

"Woman," he said, "It is impossible for the son of those tears to perish." End of meeting.

The rest is, of course, history. Monica’s son found himself suddenly surprised by the voice of children singing "take and read, take and read..." only no children were in sight. He took up a Bible and read, and miraculously his heart transformed.

His name. Saint Augustine.

Adapted from Surprised By The Voice Of God, by Jack Deere, and from St. Augustine’s Confessions

Posted by Michael at 8:37 PM | Permalink

My parents live in Tucson, where the government has one of its many Air Force bases. Many military personnel, and their relatives. Most everywhere I went, I could see the yellow ribbon magnets on cars that read "Support Our Troops." So I purchased one myself, and affixed it to my car, as a show of my support.

Now, I've entertained some conversations with people regarding the show of support for our troops, and the comment I hear most often is that a show of support for our troops is a show of support for the war(s) that the United States is waging against the "tyranny of evil." This is, of course, not my opinion.

Many of the young men and women in Iraq and Afghanistan joined the military for various reasons: to defend our country against attack, and therefore to fight for the freedoms we hold dear; to raise money for college; to see the world; or, for some, simply to have four more years to figure out what they are going to do with their lives. But now, they find themselves in a foreign country, fighting for what seems a nebulous cause, and facing an enemy that has no borders. Not to mention, they hear nothing but how the world considers their actions a gross negligence of sovereignty. Talk about demoralizing, disheartening, and just plain hellish.

So yes, I'll support our troops, while at the same time I'll tell our government to figure out a way to get us out of these conflicts.

Posted by Michael at 10:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)