The Gimme

I'm a lousy golfer. If you get a chance to play with me, you'll understand. And while in the midst of a round you may feel inclined to have mercy on me and confidently tap my ball back to me when its too inches from the cup, don't you dare do it.

I hate the gimme. Not only does it call into question the honesty of a game based on character, but am I the only one who think it defeats the purpose? Lets look at the details. In a full game of golf, your goal is the ball to fall into 18 holes. On average, a it will take a good golfer at least four strokes to reach the objective for each hole. For me, its usually between six and ten. Anyway, starting at some points over 500 yards away, your only goal is to get the ball to fall into a four inch diameter hole. So what do so many golfers do? They get it within two inches, having come some 500 yards, and pick the ball up. At least relish the satisfaction of that simple sound. Its like leaving a baseball game in the 8th inning. You've made that far, why not stay? At least in that case there is the benefit of beating the traffic. But in golf? Knock it in the freaking hole!

If I've come that far, its going in the hole.

Philly's Emergency Preparedness

Philly is on the ball when it comes to disaster and emergency preparedness. Should you expect anything less from the greatest city on earth? Anyway, the city Office of Emergency Management has gotten really serious about this in the last few years and has put together some great material. Check out www.readyphiladelphia.org for everything from evacuation maps from every neighborhood to a sign-up to have emergency updates texted to your phone! Its really out-of-the box stuff. Check it out.

The Sound

The sound. It was only my second solo aid climb ever, but for some reason I’d felt compelled to move up overhanging, rotten rock on two body-weight placements with ground fall potential. The first, a trusty pink tri-cam placed actively in an upside down flaring pocket, had been dumb enough. The second, though, a #1 BD wire in a crack I’d had to clean the moss out of just to consider, was pure lunacy. Soloing with a grigri up a short rock in the woods I discovered for myself the dark side of my confidence.

I weighted the wire carefully, eyeing it for movement and wondering why I would consider hanging off something so small and thin in the first place, never mind its lousy placement. Committing entirely to the aiders, I moved a slow foot up and sat slowly back loading my fifi hook. It seemed solid, but if a piece was ever going to blow, it would be this one. I studied the nut closely, examining its placement in the constricting but far from solid crack. “I’m here now, better look for something to back it up on.” I felt the cracks above hoping for a small cam placement, but this funky rotten rock wasn’t biting. I put the cams back on my rack and as I did I thought I saw the nut shift.

“Must be my imagination, it still looks like it hasn’t moved.” I reached up again to feel the rock in search of holds, feeling two positive edges that may yield a solution. Only a foot from the top, maybe I could call it quits now and huff my way over, or maybe one more placement exists to finish this properly. I happened to glance at the piece for assurance. In that moment, there was none to be found.

Ping…

I don’t know, maybe it was more of a bong, or the “ugh” someone makes when they get punched in the gut. Either way, I heard a distinctive sound I’ll never forget and after a blurry instant I was dangling free by my fingertips at the top of a climb. It’s amazing how aware you become of your surroundings in a moment like that. Aware that I was very much alone. Aware that though brother pink may hold, he may not, placing me on my ass on the ground, very much alone, and very much broken. Aware that I knew that piece wasn’t going to hold so why did I trust it? Aware that maybe this aid climbing thing sucks. Aware that I was hanging by my fingertips at the top of a climb and maybe I should save all of the other awareness for latter before I’m too dead or maimed to be aware. Back to reality…

“Wow, my hands are still holding on, that’s a good thing. Can I make it over the top? Sure. Pull slack through the grigri. It’s jammed, not letting me pull it through with one hand. Screw it, just undo the grigri and go ropeless. You sure? Yes, any other ideas?”

A few grunts and scrapes later I’d belly flopped my way over the top of the climb, scrambling a few feet from the edge to bask in my new found safety. Aware of life once again, I rigged a rappel to retrieve my gear and packed my bags in silence. It was silent anyway, after all I was soloing. But it was a sober silence I’d never before felt, perhaps induced by the sound of a failed piece, a sound that demands all others pay it reverence and respect for the gravity of awaking it from its much deserved slumber. From now on, I’ll let it sleep.

Violence Continues in Kenya

http://www.bbc.co.uk/mediaselector/check/player/nol/newsid_7190000/newsid_7192000?redirect=7192077.stm&news=1&nbwm=1&bbram=1&nbram=1&bbwm=1&asb=1

http://www.bbc.co.uk/mediaselector/check/player/nol/newsid_7180000/newsid_7182000?redirect=7182057.stm&news=1&nbram=1&bbwm=1&nbwm=1&bbram=1

Please continue to pray, or start praying, for Kenya. The violence there following December's Presidential Elections has only grown worse, leaving 600-1000 people dead and causing a massive humanitarian refugee crisis in the countries western regions. Pray for peace.

The Rider on the White Horse

"Then I saw Heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of Kings and Lord of Lords." Revelation 19:11-16

The last two weeks have been hard for me. Why, you might ask, as they have included Christmas and the New Year, time with family and friends. Well, they have been two weeks where I have been reminded again of the depravity of the world. They have been stressful as I've revisited friends suffering from the effects of broken homes, divorces, parents that stayed together but did such a lousy job parenting their children suffer for years, broken relationships leaving scars of guilt and anger and insecurity, old age and the inevitability of death, alcoholism, poverty, and war, mixed in with my own sins and frustrations.

And then there is Kenya. The photos above are from demonstrations held earlier today in Nairobi in the wake of last weekend's corrupt election. Over 300 people have died in the violence that has ensued, and while things are far more complicated than the mainstream media explains, anyone should agree that political violence is lunacy. These events hit close to home for me because I spent three weeks in Kenya in 2006, working in Nairobi's Kibera slum, the center piece of the current violence. I have friends there, and despite its poverty, it was a stable environment at the time of my visit. I've been to lots of places after or during times of chaos and destruction through various disaster response trips in the the U.S. and abroad, but this is the first time I've seen a place I know that was peaceful descend into violence and chaos. Some of the kids and families I worked with may no longer have homes, or worse yet lives. So far all reports I hear from those I know have been positive, but there is no clear end in sight.

All of these things have given me a renewed slap in the face of the depravity of man and the sin I see in this world. But, there is hope, and perhaps these weeks were an appropriate holiday season as they have reminded me of who the God is that I serve and what he promises. I am thankful for a God that loves me, a God that loves me enough to kill his own son that I may I have life. I am thankful for the reality of the Crucifixion, but even more so for the reality of the Resurrection. I am thankful that despite the pain I see around me, there will be a day when this humble lamb, this baby Jesus that once slept in a manger and obeyed death that I might have life, will come again. And when he comes, he will come not as a baby, subjected to the laws and pains of this world, but as one who has conquered these things. He comes as King of the Universe.

I am thankful that he will come back for a fight. He will come not with humility but righteous anger. He will come not as a servant but as the leader of the armies of heaven. I am thankful that he will bring a sharp sword, bearing a name too wonderful to know. I am thankful that he is faithful and true. And I am thankful that he will be tattooed by his father with the most powerful name in all creation: King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.

I am thankful that this rider on the white horse will come back, and when he comes he will clean house. If it is true that he knows the hairs on our heads, then he has a clearer view of the suffering in this world than I do, and he has greater anger over this suffering than I do. And when he is through routing the false prophet behind our pain, he will restore the families, forgive the mistakes, heal the sick, pardon the guilty, bolster the insecure, clothe the impoverished, and make right all the things that have hurt me in the last two weeks.

So pray hard, knowing that you pray not to a baby Jesus anymore. No, not even to a nice guy, humble carpenter. But you pray to the King of King, the Lord of Lords. He hears our prayers, and he is sharpening his sword. He is able to do far more than we could ever ask him. And though the pain in this world will continue a little while, I have hope that I will one day stand before this rider after he has retired his sword, battles won with no pain left to be conqured. And he will look at me fondly and call me forward. "Come live with me, my beautiful bride, for in my father's house, there are many rooms."

1 in 4 Homeless Americans are Veterans - WTF?

A Philadelphia Inquirer article today reported that Untied States Military Veterans comprise 25% of America's homeless population. That makes me sick. Have we really that little heart to reach out to these who have stepped up to serve, then have to live alone in suffering? Think what you will about politics, war, etc, these men and women deserve our respect and our assistance.
I watched the move "Jarhead" the other day. While I can't recommend it for everyone because of explicit language and sexual content, I get the impression from some former Marines that it paints an accurate picture. If you're interested to see WHY so many veterans find themselves so lost when they return to civilian status, I believe this movie provides some answers.

Back to Basics

Forget everything I wrote yesterday. Well, it was all true, but I was way too concerned about fitting the word "listless" into my post. In the last 24 hours I've screwed up a lot and have been led back to the fact that all this is simply about following Jesus. That's it. I seek to follow Jesus. I do a lousy job of it, but that is what I seek to do and that is the task at hand that I need to remember. "A life in non-fiction" sounds sexy, but really I just need to follow Jesus. So, scratch what I said. I want to live a life that follows Jesus. Donald Miller is right. It really is that easy. As the wise Matt Spainhour once said, "Life is simple."