my life, in danger
At work, we keep a lot of our tools and supplies in some storage sheds out back. There’s an apartment amidst them, where the owner lives. She has several dogs–a few yappie ones, but at least one big, Rottweileresque, scrap-yard wannabe. She routinely lets them out to play frisbee in the empty corridors between the storage sheds.
Ever since I got nipped in the seat of my pants by our neighbor’s dog while ringing the doorbell, I have a healthy respect for the aggressive canine. If nothing else, it’s embarrassing when the neighbor opens the door and you’re left there stammering with a furry animal furiously hanging off the ground, attached to your bottom.
So the other day, I pulled in and saw that the dogs were out a few corridors away, playing with their owner. Including the largest one, busy chewing a frisbee in two between his powerful jaws. No matter, I’m brave. Courageous. Etc.
As I got out and walked around my truck, I heard a sudden scurry of claws on pavement. And yelling. “Get back here! No! HEEL!”
They weren’t words I wanted to hear.
Calmly I assessed the situation.
I jumped on the hood of my truck (F-150s are pretty high off the ground, btw. If there was a video camera around at the time, I’d be on the front page of YouTube by now). The roof of the storage shed was only a mere five feet more to go. With a bit of healthy adrenaline, perhaps I could get away with the carnivorous monster hanging off my heel, instead of my ass.
Just then the frenzied clacking of claws rounded the corner.
Oh.
I jumped down and patted the little curly-haired terrier on the head.
Right about ankle height.
Hi beautiful.
—-
I went to a nearby state park recently. When we got there, several hundred people ringed the lake. Darn.
Then it started to rain. Score. Everyone left.
The rest of my guests camped out under a pavilion. I was left grilling. Under an umbrella. Darn.
My fire went out about five minutes after igniting the briquets. Darn.
So I did what any rational person does. Especially if they’re male.
I got the lighter fluid. Score.
I didn’t exactly drown the coals in flammable liquid, but I did put a healthy dose of tonic over their steaming surfaces. Nothing happened. Darn.
I got the lighter. Score. I like doing this.
I kneeled down in front of the grill. It was one of those kinds that had a solid, pull-down lid on top…leaving only a horizontal opening to the outside.
The thought struck me. This might not be a good place to have my visage. Plastic surgery wasn’t high on my priority list. No matter. I’ve done this before.
I inserted my lighter and clicked. A small flame flickered, then died. Nothing. Darn.
I clicked again.
Darn.
When I picked myself off the ground, all I could recall was an enormous, hot, booming wall of liquid fire enveloping my every sense. And all I could smell was my burning hair. Daaarnnn.
I scrapped the ashen remains of my hair off my forearms and pried open my molten eyelashes. DARN.
Are you alright? My friends casually asked as they stuffed their sandwiches into their greedy, lazy, somnolent bodies.
—-
I came back to the shop just a day or two ago to get some pipe fittings for a coworker. Driving out of the parking lot, I noticed two police cars across the way. That’s odd. Maybe they were having a speed trap. I wasn’t exactly going fast, but I slowed down and took a closer look.
Holy crap. The one dude had a pistol behind his back.
Holy @#$^!!! The other guy had a freakin’ AK-47 Rambo gun!
Ok, it was just some big semi-automatic, bu–. He’s firing. Smoke is coming up from the gun in little puffs of grey smoke. Cool. Wow. Weird.
Cool? I hate guns. What am I thinking?
OK, but it was a boring day, so far. This could be Big. Really BIG.
And I’m about twenty feet behind their cars. Directly behind their cars. Hmm. I think I’ll continue on. H-e-double hockey sticks, I was born in The Ghetto. I know what can happen when the cops start shooting. Yes, I was three years old when we left, but that’s what the Ghetto will do to your psyche–it makes an Impression. Especially on my sister, apparently, who routinely alludes to her time there. Everyone knows you can’t over-dramatize the impact a few months in a newborn’s life The Ghetto will have…
I stepped on the gas, hard, without even seeing what the Fuzz were firing at. There was a police station right around the corner. In this day and age, maybe they were having an anti-terrorism training routine.
Another cop car passed me on the road, going Quite Fast. Lights on, the works.
Hmm. Maybe there was a rabid animal. A bear, perhaps. There was one on our porch last fall, when we were gone. I still regret missing it. I’ll have to return and see what they were shooting at.
By the time I came back, there was about fifteen squad cars, lights whirring. An ambulance was just pulling out towards the hospital.
I left it at that and got back to work.
At the end of the day, my boss looked at me, eyes wide and a huge grin on his face. You were there??
I was indeed.
They took him out. The guy with the shotgun. After a substantial firefight.
Oh.
It made headline news around the world, btw.
—-
I’m enjoying life. Chiefly the being alive part.
www.noisetrade.com (again)
They’ve posted albums by Kate York and Disappointed by Candy.
I advise continuing to check out the site.
www.noisetrade.com
So, Everyone who’s Anyone (and a whole lotta wannabes) are giving away their music for free on the nets these days.
Here’s another one: www.noisetrade.com
Of interest: Sixpence’s new EP, Kate Herzig (a new favorite as of downloading), Waterdeep, Derek Webb…
Let me know if there are others on there that I should check out.
a worship question
Kirsten and I have been talking about a question re. worship.
Should worship leaders lead out of an overflow in their own lives?
Historically, this has been my philosophical conviction.
At the current moment, however, when I come to participate in worship, I often feel as “needy” as anyone else in the room. I’m not necessarily looking to “lead” anyone–I just want to meet with God, to lay my questions and struggles at his feet, and declare something in faith. Ideally, I would think this would be the kind of “lead worshipper” that Matt Redman talks about in his (excellent) book, as opposed to a “leader.
More and more, I desire to be as honest with God as I think he wants us to be (which is totally). The same goes with my relationships with other people, both inside and outside of a church setting (and I use that word in the “two or more gathered” context). Sometimes, this doesn’t look like leading out of an “overflow” in my life, or equipping others…sometimes the only encouragement I can give others comes from my declaring something in faith that I need for myself just as much as the other people in the room, and not out of an overflow of conviction.
But I know from personal experience and observation that it can be very dangerous for people to “lead” from a place of need/discontent with God. I think it is extremely foolish to give people a blank check, as it were, to shrug off all sense of personal spiritual responsibility. What’s the difference?
I tend to think it’s a combination of factors, including whether you’re looking for that time to be your healing, and (again) your honesty. Am I trying to present a front to anyone (including God!), or am I trying to behave a certain why to usher in a certain atmosphere, a certain set of reactions?
I think there is scriptural evidence that we are supposed to prepare and to come with the overflow of our hearts. I think there is also evidence that we are supposed to simply come with our needs and hurts…
Most of all, I conclude, we’re supposed to simply come and be completely honest with the one who knows everything about us. And while I think there are movements that have greatly abused the idea of “speaking things into existence”/”declaring”/”creating spiritual reality,” I think there is truth to be winnowed from the idea. Maybe the answer is to do it in humility, and not from a place of spiritual pride? From complete recognition of our need, that isn’t fatalistic or dramatic, but simply Honest?
What do you think?
letting go
My biggest problem as a photographer? Well, you may have your own opinion…but time. (To all those that have waited in the past, are waiting now, and will be waiting in the future–thanks). Editing twenty gigs of raw images on a five year old computer and a trial version of photoshop takes time.
As does the rest of my life. I’m put in an awkward situation these days when people ask me what I’ve been up to. I am not a fan of people continually boasting about their exploits–yet when I say I’m working all the time, it’s simply the truth. Hopefully, it looks to be winding down a bit now…trust me, it’s not an exploit in my book!
