February Showers Bring... March Flowers?

Entering the realm of politics is such a thorny tangle of competing motives. Making the decision process in coming to a particular stance all the more difficult is the distinct lack of biblical commands pertaining wholly and completely to government policy. Because of this, we are presented with a slippery slope when we are tasked with discerning the will of God and pursuing wisdom in the discharge of our civic duties because we, as humans, want black and white pronouncements on all things to relieve us of some of the burden of analytical thought. We would prefer sticking to some sort of schematic over prayerful consideration, meditation, and searching the Scriptures to arrive at a biblically informed conclusion. Blueprints are simple to trace our decisions from onto the graphs of our lives. Searching the revealed moral will of God takes more time, effort, and when you get down to it, humility, because we are admitting that we must rely upon the Lord for our wisdom.

So in light of this, it has to be concluded that there are some stances that are not in themselves unbiblical or wrong. I am loathe to write so topically, as it were, because I would prefer to focus less upon temporal realities and more upon eternal ones, but how often do I actually implement that in my life? It's an ideal worthy of commendation, but its emphasis can short circuit and turn into ignoring important things in the here and now. I'm thinking specifically of the proposal concerning state employees being scrutinized by many in Wisconsin right now. Emotions are running high, and I think that this knee-jerk emotionalism is one of the bigger issues for individuals to overcome in trying to discern how to reach a conclusion that is pleasing to God. I have a predisposition to knee-jerk reactions of one sort, and we have heard reactions from the opposite end of the spectrum, and all of us are wrong in that. Rampant emotionalism is not a vital ingredient in seeking and applying wisdom. More often than not, it's a "Road Closed" sign suddenly appearing on the route you're used to and your GPS isn't on hand.

I have a bad habit of fostering my dissatisfaction and disgust by seeking persons with similar temperaments and bad habits and together nursing our collective indignation and vitriol. I am too easily pleased with hosting my adult version of a pity party, but I'm spared some degree of shame by the knowledge that that is what human beings do. It's not right, but that's our natural inclination. If we were honest, that's one of the primary reasons we listen to talk radio and bait ourselves for outrage and scandal and all manner of bitterness, and we guzzle it down like a Gatorade after finishing the Tour de France- we love to indulge the chips on our shoulders and feel superior to others. The craziest part of this, I think, is that as we grow more frustrated and angry, we feel a proportionate sense of moral accomplishment for some reason. I mention this because of the sheer volume of rhetoric being volleyed to and fro, and I perceive little to no resulting edification in much of it.

When the Bible does not offer a proposition in the form of "Do this," or "Do not do this," one must examine carefully the motives of their actions, words, and thoughts and not stop at, "There's no direct command, so it's fine." Saying that is the failure to recognize that an action in and of itself may be acceptable but that the underlying condition of the heart may be sinful. You need look no further than some people's stances on music. I think everyone knows I like me some rock, but listening to rock music is not the lighthouse beckoning all into the freedom of electric guitars and away from the shoals of legalism. I could waste tons of hard-earned money which should go towards other things of more pressing importance and higher priority, or I could be listening to it as some infantile form of rebellion or take me back to a time in my life I should not be fondly recollecting and should rather be persevering away from. None of those things are good, and they mar the action which by itself wasn't a bad thing necessarily.

Very careful scrutiny must be made therefore to know why we're for or against such and such a proposal or bill or what have you. It may be the case that one person is for and one against and neither is sinning because the issue at hand is not specifically addressed in the Bible and their hearts are not harboring sin as the motivating force for their decision. In other words, I can't condemn someone against the proposal regarding state employees on the basis of their being against the proposal because we don't have a "Thou shalt not reduce the benefits of state employees" command. Where the aforementioned thorniness enters is in why I hold the stance I do. If I'm for it because I believe, "Teachers are entitled to fantastic benefits because... well, they just are!" that's wrong. If I'm against it because I'm thinking, "Now we have our chance to teach those teachers a lesson!" that's wrong. It has to come down to dealing with objective reality we all face, speaking solely in terms of facts gathered from that reality, and then trying to pursue a reasonable course of action that satisfies the preliminary condition. That's hard, but it does lead to far fewer shouting matches (which are just plain obnoxious and typically signal an unconscious white flag being raised).

So to reiterate (because this is applicable in countless ways), "Why do I want x?" is an examination of the heart which is essential towards responsible decision making for the believer. Owning a $100,000 car isn't wrong- it's a car. But if you ask, "Why do I want that $100,000 car?" and you find that you want to inject a sense of class into your suburban existence, be the pride of the neighborhood, and elicit a few envious looks from others, then you have pretty terrible reasons for sinking that much money into a hunk of metal and bolts. A hunk of metal doesn't stamp significance onto your file all of a sudden. All it does is get you around to where you have to go. And with a ride that sets you back $100,000 my guess is that you're not actually going to be using it that much versus if you just stuck with a Ford Focus* or something. This has been a lesson for me because I am so prone to both the "Everyone is entitled to my opinion" error and the self-nourished bitterness error. When Scripture speaks, we must listen and live accordingly. When Scripture is silent, we must put to death our sinful inclinations and seek the wisdom it does offer to guide us forward.

In other (happier!) news, Kristin and I became members of Morning Star yesterday and we couldn't be more thrilled! Thank you, MSBC for making us feel so welcome, for accepting us and for living out the gospel everyday!

*I promise that was not a burn on anyone with a Ford Focus!

Are you brain-dead? I'm not going in there with a Jedi!

In our interpretation of Scripture it is vital that we recognize cultural expressions and modes of behavior the authors engaged in and were familiar with, as that understanding gives shape and force to their words which modern English idioms and usages many times do not; "adoption" (huiothesia) and "brothers" (adelphoi) are two which have heightened impact when the implications of their first century definitions are applied. To know intellectually that we are a part of God's household is a fact we may affirm without a profound reshapening of the dimensions of our hearts; our affections may not be stimulated to the proper degree or direction if we do not examine the legal realities brought into being by the Roman system of adoption or understand the freedoms, inheritance, and change of status the term denotes. In like manner, the discussion of head coverings in 1 Corinthians 11 is informed by a study of the cultural background of the practice, and we can rightly conclude in light of this that the practice in and of itself is not systematized for believers but rather that the spirit which occasioned the practice (itself a cultural expression brought into existence by a number of other contributing factors particular to that culture) is to be continued. So ladies, you can put the bonnet back in the closet (unless you just really like your bonnet, in which case I should probably just stop talking about them*).

The holy kiss is another such practice. I'm all for that one staying discontinued, but Henry doesn't seem to share the vibe- he's surfing another wave altogether.

In all fairness, I egged him on, but in no way did I think he would so eagerly accept my challenge and lay one on my cheek. I believe I saw a streak of pride in his flagrant disregard for contemporary social mores (or maybe I only saw the childishness of my outburst, "I dare you, Henry!"), but I know for a fact that my heart seized in sudden, icy terror when I saw him rush my way, puckering up, and then I was en philemati hagio'ed into the dark corridors of oblivion.

I'd offer some sort of explanation for you why this incident took place Sunday afternoon, but I honestly can't remember.** Truth be told, this episode has many parallels with alleged alien abduction cases- I clearly remember seeing a vaguely humanoid figure, feeling paralyzed, and then coming to in a completely different location with only a fuzzy recollection of what had just transpired (in this case, the couch in Jeremy and Anouk's living room with The Phantom Menace going***). The first century church would have had no problem with this, I'm sure (given Paul's urging to "greet one another with a holy kiss"), but it still strikes me as a little bizarre.****

Henry- touche. The Laurel Wreath of Audacity is yours. You earned it.


*I know you're out there.
**I mean, aside from the obvious immaturity on both our parts. Besides that, I just don't know.
***...which only served to make it even more disorienting.
****Consider the source though, eh?

Pwnituri Te Salutant!

Something isn't right if I'm not getting pwned somehow; each month simply isn't complete without a random (and typically awkward) injury for me to sustain in the line of duty. Super Bowl XLV, besides offering a soul-searing rollercoaster ride of alternating euphoria and despondency, provided just that woe immediately following a general issue, joyful "Whoa!" After that second Packer touchdown in the first quarter, I leapt towards Shannon Brown for a testosterone-soaked triad of shouting incoherently, jumping up and down, and bear-hugging as per our (newly christened) custom.

It just can't end there though, can it?

Feeling strangely unfulfilled from the usual hijinks and following the prompting of the Spirit (unfortunately for me it was Team Spirit and not the Holy Spirit), I thought it best to pick up Shannon and his son Evan and shake them as if they were a vending machine stubbornly clinging to the bunched-up corner of a Swiss roll's wrapper I just paid forty cents for. Upon wrapping my arms around Shannon who was already holding Evan (two Browns with one stone!), I dug my feet into the carpet of his living room and issued forth a mighty, barbaric yawp and felt my heart fracture as the Laws of Nature morphed and amplified the Earth's gravitational force to thwart my celebration attempts. My back curved hideously farther and farther until I looked more like the St. Louis Gateway Arch than an intern, seeking in vain to apply maximum force via inertial  kinetics to launch Shannon into the atmosphere.

Shannon remained at his would-be launch platform, firmly rooted to the ground, still cheering and whooping. And I, laid low by vicious fortune (in unholy alliance with the weakest of the four fundamental interactions*), choked down my anguish of heart and proceeded to freak out at the unveiling of the newest Transformers 3 trailer. Pain ain't nothing but French bread when Optimus Prime is on offer, rocking Decepticons like a hurricane and wading through their ranks like a juggernaut. Sixty seconds of shimmering, cinematic grace showered down upon that gathering of football fans and lifted me out of the mire of my vertebral distress.

But after the majestic endorphin rush from Transformers crashed and burned, it was on; it was so on, as a matter of fact, that Donkey Kong rolled his eyes. And so, here I am recuperating at home, nursing my spine back to its former health and seeing to most of my textbook reading from bed, interspersed occasionally with a trip to the freezer to trade out a new icepack.

There may come a day far in the future when I stop getting pumped and performing spontaneous acts of exultation, but I think the day that Michael Bay stops by our apartment and admits that he has no idea what he's doing and needs me to start from scratch and draft scripts for a new trilogy of Transformer films will come first.**


*Electromagnetism, strong nuclear force, weak nuclear force, and gravitation y'all!
**Oh, if only...

Daze of Christmas Post, part the second

Finally- we can restore everyone's peace of mind and wrap up all the breaking news associated with December!

Friday, December 24th marked the gloriously anticipated Heesen/Zellmer/Olson Christmas Present Exchange we all had so long awaited. After coffee and bowls of the delight known as Marshmallow Maties, Kristin and I trekked eastward with Sarah and Ben back to West Allis and finished wrapping some presents at their newly-painted home. Half a vegetable tray later we disembarked for Steve and Laurie’s, where I proceeded to parallel park a little awkwardly due to the ice deposit forming along the curb directly along my lateral axis. It took a minute or two since I didn’t want to collide with the early development Everest taking residence there but as a result of my attempts to steer clear I kept coming out too far into the street. Enter Kristin (actually, she was there the entire time, but you know what I mean), offering her services in a rational manner to take a stab at docking operations. I gave her the con and, grabbing a batch of presents from the back seat, made my way to the sidewalk with Ben and Sarah to wait for Kristin and praise her parking ability. Instead, after one attempt to ease into the Free Parking Space of Doom, we watched (to various degrees amongst us) as she suddenly took off down the street, turned left, and disappeared into the hazy wintriness.

We three laughed uproariously at such a random turn of events, but the laughter subsided as the December chill crept into our coats and cast a frozen pall over our frames. We waited a few moments before reaching the conclusion that Kristin was going somewhere and it wasn’t where we were. We beat a retreat inside, theorizing over where she could be heading- back to their house to pick something up we had forgotten (presents? the other half of the veggie tray? her phone?) but we realized quickly that couldn’t be the case (their house was locked and they had the only key). Other theories were advanced, covering the mundane (maybe she went to get a loaf of bread?) to the fantastic (maybe she’s a sleeper agent, heard her activation word, and was on her way to prosecute a mission?) to the ludicrous (we were actually in an episode of Dallas and this was all just a dream).

We entered the house and happily greeted Steve, Laurie, Josiah, Jenna, Mom, Dad, and Mike, and immediately thereafter tried awkwardly to explain where Kristin was (“Um… you know, I’m not really sure right now…”). I gazed forlornly out the window, awaiting the sight of my beloved’s silhouette emblazoned upon the sun-soaked horizon. Silence engulfed my little corner of the house as I searched for a handle on the moment. After unsuccessfully trying to get a hold of her via phone four times, I heard the door open and at last she returned! All of our bizarre theories were offered and rebutted to the tune of riotous laughter. It turns out she was unsatisfied with the original parking spot and was attempting to carve out some real estate in another location, but the presence of so many one-way streets kept funneling her onwards until she was bottlenecked in unfamiliar territory.

Finally, we were all together! We had a grand old time sitting by the fire, passing around Jenna and listening to Josiah’s pronouncements of what type of vehicle we were.
“What am I, Josiah?”
“You’re a 747.”*
“What about Auntie Anna?”
“Auntie Anna is a hang glider.”
"And Uncle Ben?"
"Uncle Ben is a helicopter!"

Ah- from the mouths of babes…

After dinner we prepared for the glorious exchanging of presents, but first came the Heesen tradition of reading the Nativity account in Luke’s Gospel and singing “Silent Night.” As ever, it was a beautiful moment of recollecting as a family the coming into the world of the Son of God, but eruptions of a different vibe altogether made themselves known whenever Jenna would seize the string of tinsel cupped in my hand and shriek with hilarious glee. I don’t care how pious you are, it’s hard not to laugh during prayer when such a munchkin as her refuses to stop finding that funny!

After everyone’s suppressed laughter was fully released and purged from our systems, we got to the business of shredding open gifts, one present at a time going up in age and then cycling around to begin with A.J. and ascend through the years again. I had Mom as my secret recipient this past year and gave her a popcorn popper and a blind-friendly digital voice recorder. Anna had me, and amidst the Transformers-wrapped boxes (that in and of itself was too cool for words!) she offered my way was… an iPod? At long last my misconceived (and ill-defined) antipathy towards 21st Century music technology would have to come to an end. My former analog-purist self would cringe at how easily it died. The hundreds of cubic feet of torn apart wrapping paper obscured our lines of sight to one another and testified to everyone having scored some serious swag. All in all, it was a great Christmas Eve, and it was hard (as always) to say our goodbyes and swing the ol’ Conestoga wagon back home.

Kristin and I awoke the next morning and enjoyed our Christmas custom of imbibing sparkling grape juice. We savored our first draught of supple yet full-bodied Welch’s in our Christmas tree glasses and then opened our presents from each other. Kristin, completely unbeknownst to me, had ordered all six volumes of Matthew Henry’s Commentary on the Bible and kept it hush-hush until Christmas Day! Needless to say, I was struck simultaneously by schoolboy-ish glee and by the recognition of just how much thought went into her gift to me (it was literally exactly what I wanted!). In my stocking was a Brewers keychain (Phase 2 of my official conversion!), a Star Wars M&M dispenser (with a comedically scared-looking M&M!), and a Transformer with a Transformation difficulty of 0, which I proceeded to not know how to transform… maybe there really is something wrong with me! Kristin’s stocking was almost exclusively candy, which I regretted in light of how much cool stuff she had packed in mine. Next year I will overwhelm with her fantasticity** via her stocking gifts!

We watched A Muppet Christmas Carol and were blindsided by how devastating that film is emotionally! There’s a scene where Scrooge (portrayed brilliantly by Michael Caine) stands behind his former fiancée as she sings of how Scrooge once was and why she must leave him and how he won’t miss her at all before long. He begins to sing the last verse in harmony with her, but begins to weep and cannot continue as the enormity of what is happening seizes and overwhelms him with the despair of losing something so precious and knowing he will never have it again. Man… pwned! Whoever would have imagined that a Muppet movie would pack such a potent emotional punch?

Having drunk deep from the joys of Christmas morning with one another (and weep sufficiently at the Round 1 KO that was Muppet Christmas Carol), we took time to look our best for Christmas at my grandparents’ that after noon, which necessarily meant I had to shave my goatee (finally). As much as I enjoyed it during its brief time on planet Earth, I knew it had to go when I started finding crystallized remnants of soup from the day before or other such assorted and sundry items contained therein. If I may quote James, “Brethren, these things ought not so to be.” We spent the afternoon and part of the evening with my grandfolks, my sister, and both my mother and father; this doesn’t happen often, so it was especially pleasant to have grace and peace abounding at 2129 Mole Avenue that day. Grandma pulled out all the stops for dinner (which, anymore, is to be expected, so I need to find a new phrase to describe the unparalleled heights of eating epicness she concocted that day). Afterward, we communed with one another in the living room, miserable from too much food (except me, for the first time in literally years!), reminiscing on Christmases past.

Having had time for sufficient digestive processes to kick in to restore freedom of movement, we were able to stand up once again and thus exchanged presents. Kristin and I finally took my mom’s personal dislike of presents seriously this year (to her surprise and delight) and she was presented with new earrings Kristin had made especially for her. I was thrilled to open a toolbox complete with several tools from my grandparents and father, which I took to mean two things: first, I am officially recognized as the Man of the House complete with all subsequent rights and titles, and second, that it’s about time I stop asking to borrow theirs week in, week out when I’m trying to work on a project of some sort! It’s all right- I can take a hint!

My superiors at Farm & Starfleet don’t recognize December 26th as a holiday, and so I found myself closing the Hardlines area and helping approximately zero customers (none of whom actually existed). Time well spent! After about an hour of trolling around like a vulture waiting for a helpless creature to kick the bucket, looking for something to do, I received a text message from Kristin that Uncle Bob and Aunt Sandy (who previously were planning on visiting Janesville that week) were going to be in West Allis that night due to complications with their previously planned flight back to Texas. Because of the projected costs of a flight later in the week, they were opting instead to fly back the next morning, which meant that if we wanted to visit with them before they were history (or, as the French would say, histoire), we would have to go that night. This was especially pivotal for me, because I had not met them yet and had only heard stories of what they were like. I knew they were missionaries in Juarez, Mexico, but little beyond that. The verdict was in- we were going.

I finished work around a quarter after six (it always takes a little longer to kick everyone out of the store around the holiday season and convince them that yes, we really are closed- that’s why the lights are off***) and hurried home, changed into a different shirt and before you could say, “You may fire when ready, Gridley,”**** Kristin, Anna Banana and I were burning rubber for West Allis once more (as you can see, this seems happens a lot!). We made it in a time that would make Han Solo jealous***** and were able to spend the right of the night hanging out with them and learning valuable baby wisdom at their feet. Proverbially. When they hit the road that night, I like to think that they approved of me as Kristin’s husband. Or mostly, at least!

The next week was a much more subdued affair with more time spent lollygagging and enjoying the full measure of what winter break is. Kristin and I finally fashioned an office out of what was formerly our odd-and-ends room, loaded to the brim with desk parts and seas of books. Encouraged by Kristin’s patience with my obsessive-compulsive tendencies to turn where my books are into a museum, I made it through the process of clearing everything out of the room, putting together bookshelves, and cleaning it altogether top to bottom. At long last, I wouldn’t have to work on homework in the living room anymore, where the couch was beginning to conform to my backside a little too much! I type now from the office that Kristin, more than anyone, whittled out of a log of pure chaos.

I don’t know if that metaphor really worked…

I also had the chance to hang out with the Buzzmen (a.k.a. Joel) that week; he and Jared came over for a hilarious viewing of Home Alone 2 (rendered more hilarious by our Mystery Science Theater 3000-isms as we were watching it) on Tuesday, making that Joel’s second visit and Jared’s first. The next day, Joel, Justin, his girlfriend and I went sledding in Edgerton of all places (I didn’t know that “the most ultimate sledding shredding spot ever” Joel was talking up so much beforehand was there, I swear!) and we all got pwned. Joel and I did a lot of talking and caught up on a lot from the past couple of years. I am beyond grateful for our time spent that week reaffirming how close we truly are and how that’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

And so we were brought at last to that most hallowed of year end events... Well, the list is pretty short when you really consider it, but what I mean is, of course, New Year's Eve! Kristin and I made the trip up to West Allis (are you beginning to sense a pattern?) to have brunch with the Heesens and the Zellmers at an oh-so-choice pancake joint where I glutted myself on far too many delicious breakfast items. Later that evening we attempted to find some Cold Duck (our New Year's Eve sparkling grape juice of choice) but, to our dismay, Woodman's had none and Sentry was closed. Refusing to give a foothold to despair, we persevered in our mission to buy an unhealthy amount of soda for Phil and Deanna Pickering's party and counted our Cold Duck but loss toward the greater end of ushering in carbonated frolic and frenzy for our friends.****** We drove to the posh, upwardly mobile quarter of the west side where they own their palatial estate and proceeded to rip the old year a new one. There were a few less people at their party than last year which was, truth be told, kind of refreshing; with fewer randoms, there was better opportunity for more fruitful group discussions to take place amidst the hilarity of Travelling Pictionary, Wii Super Mario Bros. and yours truly trying to teach Stephen and Cameron's daughter Naomi how to say "chupacabra." As midnight struck, the Pickerings unveiled their finest vintage of sparkling grape juice (rendering everything right with the world) and we bid welcome to the new year as one.

The next day offered fellowship with Andy Steiner up in Madison which had been put off for far too long. We met up at Qdoba, the Mexican-ish dining stop of emperors, before going to Barnes and Noble for a Christmas book exchange coupled with running commentary on the non-existent quality of most young adult fiction these days. I bought Andy Knowing God by J. I. Packer, and he in turn gifted me with The Bondage of the Will by Martin Luther. What a bro!

Afterward we went to the home he is staying at in Sun Prairie and hung out, eventually watching Despicable Me. Well, most of us watched it, or at least most of it... I both punked out and passed out about an hour and some change into it and refused to awaken despite ample provocation from both Andy and Kristin in the form of pinching, tickling, and screaming. It seems that almost everytime I hang out with Mr. Steiner I end up falling asleep. This is not a negative assessment of the quality of his friendship; rather, I think he releases some form of narcotic agent from his sweat glands which I am more sensitive to than most and to which I yield after prolonged exposure. His departure for a meeting occasioned the need for me to finally get up and so we made our way back home to Janesville and resolved to just chill and recuperate from more fun than most human beings can withstand in doses of that size.

And there you have it. Here we are, in 2011, and the mission objective hasn't changed; if anything, the means to our end have become clearer as we work out the best ways to accomplish our goal of glorifying our Redeemer with the circumstances which have been granted to us. I'm excited for continued growth and maturation in Christ as well as its corollary: the freedom to glorify God in the enjoyment of Him as the all-satisfying object of worship. What could be better?


*I don't think he understands the basic premise of fat jokes, but sometimes you wonder...

**Another Ianism which should really be recognized officially as a word.

***You would think that that would follow logically, but you would be surprised at what a revelation that is to countless Farm and Fleet patrons.

****From the Battle of Manila Bay, May 1, 1898, the first naval engagement of the Spanish-American War. Admiral George Dewey issued the now-famous phrase in his order to Captain Charles Vernon Gridley to begin the assault against the Spanish Pacific Fleet (which they pretty much pwned that day).

*****Han Solo famously made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. Sounds pretty impressive until you learn that a parsec is actually a measure of distance denoting "parallax of one arc second." It comes from the astronomical measurement of an imaginary right triangle measuring interstellar distances and equals just about 3.26 light years. It has nothing to do with measuring time. George Lucas famously refuses to admit that he got it wrong back in '77 and is still offering retcons to this day explaining how it makes sense. Just admit it, George... you didn't know what a parsec is! It's okay! It would be far more respectable if you just owned up to the fact that you thought it sounded cool as a bit of boastful dialogue back in the day. For real.

******Now that is alliteration.