Ah Starbucks

Ah Starbucks, their all the same and I love it. Now, here in Billings there are several coffee shops, though far less than I am used to having been schooled in Eugene and raised near Portland. Off the Leaf would be my favorite, because it is a lot like the ones I frequented back in Oregon. There are a few cafes that I also like more than Starbucks. However today I am at Starbucks because it is consistent and because I have a gift card. I still don't have internet set up at my house, so that means Facebook and Google are only available where there is public wify, which I'm ok with because being in public makes it much more likely that I will meet a new friend, and I could use a few of those out here. I find irony in this. At my small studio apartment I don't meet or see any new people, and I don't want to spend time there because I have no internet and little entertainment to occupy my rather hyper self. Boredom forces me down from The Watchtower (the name I've given my studio, borrowed from the Justice Leagues outer space headquarters), into a public space so I can get on Facebook and keep tabs on my friends back home. However, since I need to be in public to do this. See what I'm getting at? It's easy enough to spend hours on Facebook, even if we've read, liked, and played everything that we can, we still stay on that website waiting for a red notification to pop up in the top left corner, which is really (at least in my case) waiting for a digital reminder telling us that someone out there approves of what we do. I know my friends like me. That's why we are friends. And I love it when we can message each other or video chat on a social networking cite, it really can make my day. But when my dedicated addiction to these social mediums robs me of an opportunity to physically be around other people, its gone from something that helps keep us in touch to a thing that will prevent us from receiving any sort of touch. This has all been said before, but with where my thoughts are going as I jog these days I wanted to give a bit of information ion what I think about social networking, since that will be crucial to understanding what I have to say in my next few posts, probably. As always, more is to come. -P.J.

I wish I were more religious, in the genuine way

I wish I was more religious. Truly, that would make me happy, or at least content. Why? Because it is a beautiful thing. Now, I’m not talking about the kind of thing practiced by medieval lords or a faith that consists of simply habits or rules. That’s not what I mean. I talking about the stuff that makes me look at people with extremely forgetfull eyes that pierce skemeas and expectations so they see whats actually there. Hands that spend more time holding other peoples troubles then they do clenched. You know, like lending a couple hours to a single mom or giving a minimal sum of cash so some kid in a picture will stop looking weird with that bloated belly and skinny limbs. The stuff that changes the world through sacrifice, forgettfull forgiving, love that acts (not feels), and ultimately a church that looks a little bit more like Jesus. I am a big fan of that guy. He tends to ignore how much of a moron I am, and how excellent at displaying my faults I can be (though I do want to point out that He is in fact my architect, so I feel like he should accept at least some of the responsibility for how often I fall short). The guy made some good alcohol, spent a whole lot of time with hookers, befriended high school drop outs (those would be some of the first 12 apostles), and told certain religious leaders where they could put their hypocritical attempts at worship and spiritual instruction. He also was at least BA enough to make his own whip and clear an entire temple with it. Ultimately, Jesus was nothing like what people thought he would be. And I imagine hes quite a bit different than who I think he is. But I do know that Jesus was very religious. He observed Jewish customs, since he was after all a Jew, and followed the commandments that we read (or more likely skip over) from the Old Testament (which was the only part of the Bible in His day). When he prayed, he covered his head in a prayer showel. When it came time for a religious feast, he participated. And when it came time for him to step up as the biggest skape goat ever, he did it. Why? Because he was religious, and because he had this crazy thing called love for people that I realy don’t get (probably because I was an Resident assistant in college and worked retail for a while. Those are two great jobs to have if you want to see how much people suck at being kind, or at least polite). His prayer in Gethsane was both a personal conversation with His (and by adoption our) father and an act of religious devotion to His God (and by choice, mine). The two work together. See, when I say religious you think judgemenal, or see an angry nun, or a bunch of rules, or whatever. I see me and Jesus sitting down for Coffee or a beer and talking about my life. And I also picture me flat on my face crying and sobbing as I pray alone in my room. I think of buying Richard, an 40 some year old hblack guy I met once who was homeless, dinner. Or Sarah the cookie lady who dedicated her life to helping young men get off the street, and often gave them wonderfully made chocolate chip cookies. I sometimes think of my Granma, who I call Nana. She is religious. She prays when she wakes up and only ends up getting sleep because it interrupts her bedtime prayers. She is strong, she is kind, and loves better by how she lives than anyone else I know. She is religious because she is dedicated to God’s work and invests herself in the people around her. Nana prays because she trust God to do a better job handling things than her, and that is part of her religion. She talks about Jesus with the same familiarity she would her father, who sang with the voice of an Irish Tenner. The Christian religion to her is practiced by putting your faith in who the Bible says Jesus is, and then going and doing what Christ teaches us to do. Her faith and her religion are one. She understands that servant like devotion to the will of God is religious, and it is part of her life. If we are going to call ourselves Christians, we should at least recognize that this means we have a religion, and that religion is very demanding by todays standards. The weird part about these religious rules though, is that they exist for our benefit, to keep us out of harms way. Kinda like mom making me hold her hand at the zoo, which I hated at the time because I wanted to go hug a lion and couldn’t understand why she was so against me having what I wanted. It was of course because she loved me and didn’t want to see her son get chomped by a massive kitty. Though in my teenage years, I’m thnkfull we didn’t go to the zoo often. It is my hope that I can be part of this emerging generation’s efforts to reclaisom and redeem religion. This is not something we can do on our own, but it is possible. Jesus, after all, has already saved religion once.

I live 9:15 miles away from the place I consider home. The drive from Corbett Oregon to Billings Montana took me about 14 hours of driving, with a six hour nap and 4 gas/potty breaks. Tomorrow I will move into my own studio apartment, and will bet he only resident. I have no family and few friends in my new city, but still am happy to be here. I moved to Montana because I got a job that I like. Working as a youth pastor is infinitely better than holding down two minimum wage jobs just to pay off student loans and get by in life. Now I make a little bit more money than I did, work about half the hours, and actually enjoy what I do, which consists of hanging out with kids and talking about Jesus. Not a bad deal. Moving so far away from the ocean and so absurdly high in elevation (3.5k ft.) is a big step for me. I'm the kind of person who considered his family his best friends, especially my siblings. They all live either in LA or around Portland Oregon where we all grew up (actually we grew up in the country east of Portland, but no one knows where Corbett is so saying "around Portland" usually gives a better picture of where I'm talking about). The distance between what is familiar and where I am is nearing the greatest its ever been, and is beyond the point of my comfort. If you've not realized it, there are a lot of things which I am unsure about, and even more that I miss. the countering balance to these drawbacks is that I believe I am supposed to be here. The place I have arrived at is one which will allow me to improve the quality of other people's lives, all the while bring able to work on my personal insecurities , foibles, and general improvement. I also will be able to spend time writing and reading, the two most time destroying addictions of my life. That is all to say, I am scared, anxious, excited for, and content with where I am at in life. I expect to see myself grow and make some changes I have been hoping hoping for. One of those being updating my blog more often, so you can look forward to more of my rambling insight on things that maybe I only care about, but probably not. As always, I appreciate feedback, and more is to come. - "Pastor" (I'm highly amused by the title) Jed

Completeness

And finally it can be concluded that nothing ever surpasses completion. And it is undeniably true that all things have failed to achieve even this basic form of efficausity. Existence Is a work in progress, and that progress leads to a destination which will either provide us with a new goal to reach, or will be the end of all.

The end cannot be a location because it is the end, the nothing cannot be something. The word itself exists only so we have a name for an unknown. It’s kindred are, so I would think; infinity, never, eternity, and completely. We do not and cannot know these things because they are beyond our understandings. Which might explain why it has been tried so many times by people greater in intellect than myself to hold these things in the confining grip of understanding. To know something is to limit it.

We stare at the stars with the same eyes used to watch the ocean. Waves come in amounts I call limitless as stars hang at heights I cannot measure in volumes I would not care to count, and still I would try. Maybe that’s why things like poetry and music intrigue me as much as they do (I must apologize to the artists who sculpt, paint, dance, or so on because I am more limited than most in my appreciation for these forms of beauty).

Art is tied to emotion. Emotion, and I believe the poets are to thank, we link to our soul; and our soul is what we are when stripped down. We are beings who are drawn to the infinite not because we want to master the untameable, but because the unreachable calls to us. It is the something that adds worth to who and what we are. It is the destination. And because that destination is itself infinite it can never be reached. We simply can’t touch it with the tools that we have been given, yet allt he same the human soul will not be content willout it. So what then are we left with? Feeble attempts at philosophy, theologies of religion, self improvement, experiences of pleasure or pain, and desire.

Whatever we, the human, could once do to satisfy our hope is no longer viable, lust and want have put away hope for the time. Then what of our efforts to arrive at the destination? They are hopeless. It is my conclusion, and I have spent more time than most of my ages considering this, that it is not up to us to complete this journey.

As I’ve said, the destination calls to us. Just as our nature longs to be with the infinite, so does the destination desire for us to journey with it. So it calls us with our emotions by painting its beauty, both simple and infinite in the soul of the human.

For my part, I have concluded that humility is among the first steps which must be taken to obtain understanding. We must realize that the destination is unreachable, that the infinite is uncontainable, that the eternal will not allow itself to be measure, and that this is in part a point to the journey. It was meant to be this way

Help these hands to write

Help these hands to write the words you want my life to speak.
Make me the one who shouts when the voiceless can’t be heard.
Create in me the mind knows your heart.
Bind my hands with the strength of serving you.
Punish me with correction
that comes from love.

Empower my weakness by your strength.
Call me though I refuse to listen.
Pursue me when I run.
Be the balance to who I am.
Teach me though I learn poorly.
Stand me up even though I’d rather sit stagnant.

Show me what my distracted eyes are missing.
Illuminate my darkened soul.
Complete me where I think I’m whole.
Please fulfill me where I’m sure I’m full.

Be you
so I can be me.

Allow my life to tell a small truth
of what is you.

El Caminos and Attraction

My life has never been much of a love letter. I would like it to be, but for whatever reason this is among the unfulfilled desires in my life. I sometimes think about how awesome it would be if I were one of the sporty guys, who was built either more muscular or slimmer than myself. I would have a great tan because I’d have no problem taking my shirt off to jog, or play soccer or something. Girls would of course dig me because I was cut and a stud on the field. I’d probably also have a car that works, instead of my busted ’71 Volkswagen, and be a lot less awkward. I might know how to swing dance and be able to name popular musicians outside of country music or Ke$ha (I’m still confused as to how she got famous), and maybe I would not have such a hard time making eye contact or paying attention. I could probably even handle being touched by people. And the list of wonderful attributes fantasy-athlete Jed possesses goes on.

A big problem with fantasy Jed is that I keep comparing him to the real one, and I try to introduce us, but we refuse to get along. It seems that the real and ideal are not made to mesh when the idealistic version of our self is made from our own imaginations. That’s probably because we are not perfect, and so it stands to reason that what we create cannot be perfect. All the same, a lot of my time is spent wishing I were more like fantasy Jed. Even when I’m doing cool things like MMA or weight training, I’m forced to think of how much better I could be doing if I’d erased just one item from the “if I would have” list that makes up my past. Of course that extends beyond just physical things.

When I am most unlike the dream version of me is when I’m trying to relate to people. You see normal people don’t need to remind themselves constantly that it’s appropriate to look at someone while talking, instead of glancing around the room, and that eye contact is better than staring at where the chin and the neck meet. I do. And there are a lot of other nuisances about myself that rub me the wrong way. I can only assume that people I talk to find my behavior somewhat odd, and possibly outright awkward.

And all of these foibles seem to be magnified times a lot whenever romance is thrown into the mix. Girls seem to like guys who resemble fantasy me, and not many dream of comic book collecting novice theologians who work at Walgreens, and it would be really weird if they did. My identity isn’t reduced to those two things, but when I think about what the ladies are looking for, I don’t seem to come up with a lot of checks in the “he has this cool feature” box. And from what I know about it, which isn’t very much, dating is like care shopping. There are sports cars, which are the fantasy Jed’s. Then there are SUV’s, which are less appealing but can handle hard and rugged terrain, then the minivans, trucks, used cars, and the ever so strange El Camino. Now, all of the cars are meant for a specific kind of customer and can pair up great with what that person needs, except the El Camino.

The El Camino is this weird half car half truck enigma that is too small to be much good as a truck, and too truckish to be excellent cars. Now, it’s important for me to mention that I don’t know much about cars, especially when it comes to the engine. For all I know the clunker could be the best sudan and truck ever built, combined into one. My evaluation is based completely on what I’ve seen of the car and not on what it can do (In case your dense, I’m using what’s called a metaphor here). I have always been slightly fond of the El Camino just because the car is so ugly and odd.

When it comes down to it, I’m not a great athlete or romantic, but I am me. I am crafted for a purpose that is a heck of a lot more of a something than a El Camino can do. And who I am is not determined, based upon, or even very much connected to my appeal to the softer sex. It is who I am before God (the master mechanic, if you will). And my guess is that his evaluation of me, and I suppose you is well, is much more favorable and based on a better insight than my own estimation. I take comfort in that.

Mick D's

I find it worthy of my time to comment on the place I'm at in life. Metaphorically, that is. Locationally I'm at a table in McDonald's, regretting eating a double cheeseburger since it pushed me to the edge of today's calorie limit, and its hardly past noon. In life, I'm soon to be 23 years old with a bachelors degree and a part time job at Walgreen's, though part time has thankfully meant 40 hours a week lately. I'm loosing weight, as I'm sure you guessed from my dietary comment earlier, training in mixed martial arts, living in a sweet house with some great, if not insane, roommates, and am pretty content with the social life I have. However, this is not where I imagined I'd be after 16 some (if you count the four I spent homeschooling) years of academic study.

My biggest problem with working retail is that it allows little time to stop on the job for introspection, and I have to act nice when customers decide that displaying the emotional maturity of a toddler is appropriate. I would much rather be working in a field I studied at the collegiate level; communications or ministry. But reality and the ideal rarely intersect, and if they do I imagine it would either be lovely or boring. I'll let you know which if ever I find myself in such circumstances. All that is to say; I am thankfull for where I'm at, and especially the work I've been getting. But it's a not where I've thought I'd be at this age.

It is frustrating that I endured Junior high, which was the worst two years of my life, four years of high school, and worked (not suffered) through undergraduate school for this. Now, my growth in maturity and social abilities have been substantial, especially during college. But what good does that do me right now? I am well aware of the mindsets which usually great this question, and find them of little worth. To think of where I'm at as a waiting room truly robs today of it's value. To say that I'm not looking hard enough insults me, and if the audacious among you would suggest something along the lines of my hubris showing or that I need to be thankful for where I'm at, start paying attention.

I can't get it out of my head that I have always been meant for something more (not other) than what I am doing. Now that I am done learning in the classroom, at least for now, I ask; what could be done differently to ignite the telos in me waiting to burn? I would not be surprised if this whole time something has been in the works that I've missed, I hope that's the case anyway. But it becomes hard to not be flustered in fear of this time being wasted. All the same, I write this because I am confident that I've many peers standing where I do. A good number of folks my age are probably fine working a job so they can fulfill their purpose outside of the workplace, but I am forced to admit I am not one of them. I do have the advantage of believing in a deity, and a kind one at that. I cling to the hope that this God is working something in me that will soon make itself known, but I will have to wait and see if this hope has been misplaced.