Reflections

I saw the life of a friend celebrated today.

I remembered how he hugged me, and humored me.

I witnessed his energy, comparable to a four year old.

I felt his heart, through the tear-soaked eyes of his wife.

I heard his music touch lives, and bring a smile to the soul.

I chewed on the wise, silly words of his wisdom.

I saw a thousand people stomp, clap, cheer, laugh, and cry at the mere thought of him.

Ben, you reflected Christ. Your life is the example we dream about, yet your life points to God, not yours.

I am proud to have known you, and I love you. And I WILL see you again, brother!

Into The Wild

I just watched this movie for the first time last night. Part of it was filmed at George Fox. I met Emile Hirsch and Sean Penn. The scenes from GFU never made it to the film, but still.

This movie definitely became one of my favorite movies. Maybe it is because I met a couple of the famous people in this movie..... maybe not. I did not get the opportunity to really talk to either the actor or the director, probably because some of the stage hands were pushing me around for taking pictures of Emile while he was being filmed.

***If you have not watched it, stop reading, because I'm diving head first. ***

At first glance, this based-on-book/real-life story just seemed like it was Chris McCandless's attempt to be Hippie Numero Uno. Don't get me wrong, he meets hippies along the way, but that's not the point. I found myself deeply entrenched in this story about Chris, who aptly renamed himself "Alex Supertramp" when he began his journey, because as the story continued, I discovered that his life, this image on a bus in Alaska, was a complete detour of what he missed along the way.

Chris's story begins shortly after he graduates from Emory University (which Penn picked Fox's location because it's Macy dorm looked like one of Emory's). He and his sister/best friend are the "bastard children" of overtly materialistic parents who layer lies upon deceit to keep a straight face to the rest of the world. In Chris's mind, this journey he takes is his way of telling his parents to discover what really matters. 

He travelled from Atlanta, to South Dakota, to Los Angeles & other parts of California, to Mexico, the Grand Canyon & Colorado River,  the Yukon territories, and finally Fairbanks, Alaska, and many other places along the way. On that path he meets some amazing characters:

A simple wheat farmer in South Dakota

A hippie couple, twice, once on the road and another in "Slab City"

and my favorite......A WWII vet

Chris's journey, to me anyway, seemed to be a path of finding out truth, being inspired by some great writers in history: Tolstoy, Thoreau, and London to name a few. His home life was something he did not want, partially because of his parents lacking the vision to see that they were constantly pushing their children away. To Chris, his trip, ending in Alaska, was how he was going to discover his purpose. Over time, Alaska became his purpose. 

Throughout the movie, you start to realize that the people he encounters have a strong sense of love and care towards this young 23 year old. The narration of his sister only strengthens the purpose of the film. I for one found that Chris's Alaskan ambition blinded him to one simple truth: He was looking for love.

About an hour before the end of the film, he meets Ron Franz, a WWII vet who's lived in Salton Sea, CA all his life. Ron didn't have much purpose at first glance. He's lived his life carving images into leather after his wife and son died in a tragic car accident while he was in Okinawa, Japan. After he met Chris, he found purpose. He found out that true happiness came in loving people. He went out of his way to house Chris during his journey, feed him, teach him the art of leather carving. Chris, in his usual manner throughout the film, tends to leave his hosts early and suddenly in his pursuit of Alaska. Ron, in his loving ways, caught Chris early in the morning, gave him miscellaneous supplies, and drove over 100 miles to get out of the desert to drop Chris off to continue his journey. In what I think is the most God-inspired scene in the movie, Ron gives Chris a proposition. He asks Chris if he can adopt him, so that Chris wouldn't have to run anymore. Very politely, Chris said "We'll talk about it when I get back from Alaska." With tears rolling down his face, Ron sits in his car as he watches Chris hitch hike his way to the great unknown.

In one of the last scenes, Chris is dying of starvation in an abandoned bus outside of Fairbanks in the true wild. During his 112 days in the wild, he kept a journal. He thought he found true happiness being alone in nature, in all its beautiful yet dangerously unpredictable scenery. However, being trapped and dying, he realized that by taking the name of "Alexander Supertramp," he realized how alone he was out there. He wrote something along the lines of "real happiness is shared." With images of the people who loved him flashing before his eyes, he died knowing that his ambition of Alaska sealed his fate to die alone. 

I find that many times in our lives we are Chris in that car with Ron, only Ron is God (not really, but follow me). Ron gave Chris everything he could. Everything. He even offered family, love, and a cherished life. No strings attached. Yet we have our own dreams, our "Alaska," and we say "We'll talk about it later." God's gift of love is real, and we tend to push it away. It almost seems too good to be true. We go hitch hiking, leaving God broken hearted after we've thrown his gift back in his face. 

My interpretation of Sean Penn's film might not be what Penn intended, but then again, God works in really funny ways.

What Real Men Look Like.

This last weekend, I spent it with about 125-150 other men, ranging from the 16 year-old energizer bunny from my youth group to the an 80+ year old WWII vet, all from the FM churches around the NW. What an unreal weekend. To me anyway.

I've never been on a men's retreat, let alone a "Men's Advance." I didn't know what to expect from a massive sausagefest at my old camp stomping grounds of Aldersgate. I still remember the eight poles lining the downslope path that I slalomed while at junior high church camp many years ago, getting my sleeve caught on the last one and getting swung around like a tether ball. So many things change.....

After two different sessions, we had something called "church groups," where the men from their respective churches gathered as a smaller group to discuss the topic our Italian-descendant depicted. It was a very vulnerable situation from where I was, because I've never seen many of the men from our church in a vulnerable position before. Some of them revealed things, scars from their past, I would never have known in any normal situation. Others had expressions of solemn and reflective complacency that spoke more volumes through their silence. 

During free time activities, I saw more still from these men, like how they act in situations they enjoy, or lack the enjoyment. How they react when it rains and hails while attempting a 15-foot putt. Or their meticulous personalities becoming magnified in a mysterious nameless billiard ball/bumper/bowling game. Or what subjects arise in simple conversations, reflecting the passions of these men's souls. What about the simple nature of how much the volume of consumed food, especially prime rib and baby back rib meat that fell off the bone, spoke about a man's appetite; or his values?

I learned much about these men, and my respect quadrupled. I think about what many of them have gone through in life, sometimes thinking that they've wasted much of it pursuing vain existences. I don't believe that. I don't believe a single moment in these men's lives was a waste. I think their hindsight affects young guns like myself, or the teenage boys I'm watching grow up. I believe that their experience of life, both good and bad, has and holds a purpose. 

These men aren't the stereotypical "macho" men our society demands. Many of them are meek, while others are immature, like myself. Some are strong in personality, while others' actions speak louder than words. I believe all of them have lives that cannot be regretted. At all.

Each of them has a story to share. Each of them need an ear to hear. They are real men.

A Whole New World

A few weeks ago I had my first official sermon in front of 50+ people at Willowbrook Church. I spoke about the world of teenagers on how they view us, themselves, and the world around them. I talked about how adults have such an impact on kids, and how they remember you for who you are and what you do.

Today, I was reminded about what I got myself into.

I recently got hired to work at the Teen Center in the Sherwood YMCA. My job description is to basically be a positive impact in kids lives while hanging out and playing games. Part of my job also has me visiting the local middle school in Sherwood. Here are some thoughts that either ran through my head or mouth when I saw these munchkins:

"Holy crap, they're tiny."

"Man, he's HUGE!"

"Why do are they so sassy?"

"They think they own everything."

"Why are they so jumpy?"

"Why are they so mean sometimes."

"What's wrong with mingling with kids in other grades?"

"How are they seeing me?"

"Why is my new name 'FredWin'?"

...

After about two hours of passing out flyers to promote the Teen Center's activities, I found myself drained from the immense pile of information storming my brain. I couldn't believe how they mostly responded positively to me without trying to spit at me. They remembered my name (I had trouble remembering theirs, but oh well). The small talk topics stuck with them as I left and they yell back at me with toothy grins. 

As Don Miller would most likely say, "how's my story impacting theirs?"

Ripples of People

I just learned on Saturday that my AP English teacher from high school has lost her long-fought battle with breast cancer. I had to hear about it from my sister, who's in Chicago, while I'm here about 50 miles away from my alma mater. 

The word "dedicated" didn't even scratch the surface with Carolyn Dowd. She was one of the hardest teachers my old high school will ever see... but she wasn't a tyrant. She didn't let the answers come easy. She was meticulous. She graded hard. Her red pen was like Raphael's brush on the Sistine Chapel, except not quite that pretty. The class discussions didn't end with simple answers. She kept pressing and pushing us beyond our usual yes's and no's. She pretty much forced us to dig deep, because she knew each one of us had the ability to think, to achieve, to doubt, to wonder.

My sister told me about the Facebook group a fellow high school alum set up dedicated to Mrs. Dowd. Almost 200 people joined it, and the comments left on the forum were all fond memories of how she was either a great educator, or a great person. I'm very certain that there are former students of Mrs. Dowd who didn't have such fond memories of her. That's a given to anyone who's been a student. However, as I scrolled through the memories I realized that her ripple effect was tremendous. 

Mrs. Dowd's life was driven by a passion that I believe is dying a slow death in our country's education system. She wanted students to be successful, but not as a grade point average. She wanted us to set a precedence in out life. She desired that through her passion and teaching, we would find something that fills us with passion; something we have an opinion about, something we will fight for, something that drives us to the brink of our limit. As I look back on how hard Mrs. Dowd pushed me, the dumbest person in the class by far, I realize that before she had a say in it, I didn't like writing, or reading, and anything of literary meaning. I don't want to be an English teacher, but those aspects formed my psyche, my personal beliefs, and how I would pursue those beliefs.

Teachers like Mrs. Dowd are to be valued. To remember her, I hope that everyone I meet will have a ripple effect and influence the way I live, just as she did.

We'll miss you, Mrs. Dowd. I know you're waiting for us.

Mmmm... Powder

I saw the new Warren Miller ski film, "Playground," at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in Portland on Saturday night...
Whooooo!!!! Winter's here!... Bring it, snow! Bring it!
Nothing better than speeding down a mountain of silence, gliding over fresh powder (a rare breed in the NW), with a fat, frozen smile across my face.
I feel free when I'm skiing. I think it's the thin air. In high school, everyone thought they everyone else was a totally different person when it came to that cold mountain air....
Go Shred.

War

Some friends of mine were recently talking about how some children's books are being geared as anti-war/anti-fighting literature. I guess the seeding of ideas and beliefs do start at a young age; even political issues.
I am actually still on the fence about the whole issue of war. Are some of the wars this country has fought in more heroic and meaningful than others? Are our present wars more gray areas between right and wrong than the black & white 'we must bring evil to justice' wars of the past? Is it right to kill an enemy who is only an enemy because your leaders said so, or are they your enemy because they directly threaten you and you alone? Are they your enemy because they simply don't like you specifically, or they just don't believe what you believe?
Personally, I used to be all gungho about war. Action movies do that to you. Yet war takes on a whole new meaning when your closest cousin and one of your best friends both get shipped out, not knowing whether they will return sane and/or uninjured.
One of my favorite singers, Derek Webb, has a song called 'My Enemies Are Men Like Me.' Interpret it how you think DW is writing this song:

i have come to give you life
and to show you how to live it
i have come to make things right
to heal their ears and show you how to forgive them

because i would rather die
i would rather die
i would rather die
than to take your life

(chorus)
how can i kill the ones i’m supposed to love
my enemies are men like me
i will protest the sword if it’s not wielded well
my enemies are men like me

peace by way of war is like purity by way of fornication
it’s like telling someone murder is wrong
and then showing them by way of execution

(bridge)
when justice is bought and sold just like weapons of war
the ones who always pay are the poorest of the poor

At a Bible study, one of my friends talked about a pastor who had just recently returned from Iraq. Since democracy has been installed, a revival of sorts has sprung out amongst the people of Iraq and the soldiers occupying the country. There is still persecution for the people of Iraq, but at least it isn't illegal to say Jesus anymore. I'm not saying democracy was the savior of Iraq, but God has a funny way of using anything, whether we agree with it or not (which doesn't matter in the first place), to bring God's name to anyone, anywhere. Period.
I will always support our troops, no matter if I like any war or not. Peace is something we all strive for, but our world is evil, therefore war is still a fact of life. It won't stop. I'm not saying we should try to mute our attempts to stop it. I'm just saying it will always be there.
The Bible, namely the Old Testament, is filled with war and bloodshed. I remember reading an interview with Mel Gibson (I'm not a big fan, just reading) about the amount of detail going into the visual depiction of Christ's death in "The Passion." Though the movie was very graphic in nature, is it still considered "mild" by many experts who have studied the act of crucifixion. Since the Fall, man has been at war, whether with each other or with ourselves. The way I see it, all events in history are just interesting and provocative ways God has brought people to God. We might not like it, but then again, we can't exactly put God in human terms.
Thoughts? I thought so.