Once upon an August morning...

I was jerked awake at precisely 5:27 by a squirming knot in my stomach. Its cause was this dreadful realization: I had parked in a place where I could get a ticket... or possibly towed. Rushing outside with an impending sense of doom, waves of relief washed over me as I saw my fabulous, enormous, wood-paneled wagon still sitting in the lot (next to a tiny smart car, which gave me quite a laugh) completely ticket free.

Praise the Lord!

                          —Not even for sparing me a headache and inconvenience, really, but for this:
I was dragged out of bed in a frenzy, fully expecting the worst, only to step out the front door and literally have my breath taken away by one of the most glorious sunrises I've ever seen. Vivid magenta clouds illuminated the horizon, ribbons of crimson and gold reaching their spindly fingers up into the retreating darkness. And in that moment, I was struck by the overwhelming mercy of my Savior.

So I drove to Cup of Joe, got some chai, and sat on the river,
drinking in God's word and the splendor of His creation. 


                                                                   But this I call to mind,
                                                                          and therefore I have hope:
                                                                   The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
                                                                          his mercies never come to an end;
                                                                   they are new every morning;
                                                                          great is your faithfulness.
                                                                   “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,
                                                                          “therefore I will hope in him.”

[Lamentations 3:21-24]

how Iowa is a picture of Truth

I had a dream one of the first nights of being in Jacksonville, and it went something like this:

Meandering up a country road, the wide horizon of a Midwestern landscape stretched out before me. Pale yellow gravel crunched beneath my feet as I stepped onward. Smooth hills rolled up to meet me, enormous waves of earth too lethargic to ever crash like the surf on Neptune Beach. As I walked, the world around me came into crisper focus; tall black-eyed susans gained prevalence among the wild, unkempt grasses growing in the ditches and I watched the dust around my feet, agitated by movement, stir up in purposefully chaotic wisps, carried away in the breeze. Glancing beyond a faded road sign standing askew, I became aware of a hazy light reaching over the crest of the rising ground ahead. I pressed on up the incline to the prize of gaining the summit; a broad, fruitful valley opened up beneath me, the patchwork quilt of farmland laying out as in a hammock under the sun. Details previously overlooked became obvious; the farms yielded alfalfa, beans, and corn, and I discovered deer tracks and a thin, twisted stream cutting through the Earth— nuances found only by those who walk this path with purpose. The road wound down into the valley, and I spotted it in the distance, a narrow golden thread stretching over the opposite brim, reaching on and on toward what I know only to be a beautiful Mystery.

Comprehension of the gospel, I'm beginning to think, is not a destination that I reach, but rather a road upon which I have walked, am walking, and will continue to walk into eternity. My inability to fully grasp the majesty of God's sovereignty and grace, then, is not an inconvenience, but a joy and a gift daily given; the longer I walk, the sweeter His revelation.

At the Castle in the Air

     "You must never feel badly about making mistakes," explained Reason quietly, "as long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong reasons."
     "But there's so much to learn," Milo said, with a thoughtful frown.
     "Yes, that's true," admitted Rhyme, "but it's not just learning things that's important. It's learning what to do with what you learn and learning why you learn things at all that matters."

[The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster]

bleach + caramel

I was spending my Tuesday afternoon cleaning the sink in my dorm room, causing my hands to smell profusely of clorox. Naturally, after all my hard work, I sat down to enjoy a Dulce de Leche scratch cupcake. I took one bite and—

             BANG.

I'm eleven years old, sitting on a big, super-hot cement block next to the baby pool outside Ames High with Mary Schliesman. The sun is shining on my face, with the scent of pool water wafting through the humid air and a caramel apple pop stuck to my molars. 

____________________________________

Except it's -2 outside, I haven't seen Mary in 6 months, and I can't remember the last time I had a caramel apple pop. What is it about tastes and smells? I haven't thought about our summer escapades in years, yet the combination of bleach and caramel triggered the strongest flashback I've ever experienced. The human brain is such a mysterious, marvelous thing.

courtesy of xkcd.com

THAT kid.

I sat in the back row of an early-morning Humanities III class, trying to keep a low profile. Most of the 35 students looked as though this was the last place in the world they wanted to be.
     "Have any of you read Frankenstein?" our professor asked us expectantly. Myself and three others raised our hands.
     "Only four?" He blinked at us enthusiastically, allotting an awkward silence before gushing about modern day allusions to Mary Shelley's novel. He then held up a copy of the Communist Manifesto.
     "I bet even fewer have read this one... Anybody? Anybody?" I'm probably going to need more coffee to keep up with this guy, I thought to myself, raising my hand along with one other student. He grinned at us.
     "What high school did you go to?" he asked me. Thirty-five heads turned my way.
     "Ames," I replied quietly, trying to suppress any part of my personality that might resemble Hermione Granger.
     "Ah, yes. Well, a bigger high school would emphasize great literature..." Okay, he is putting unnecessary amounts of effort into making me sound like a pretentious snob. As he began to enlighten us on the cultural relevance and criticisms of Marxism, I hoped silently that the next book would be new to me. When he inquired about 1984, I may have grimaced before putting my hand in the air once again.
     "What did you think? Was it a happy book?" he asked, giving me uncomfortably extended eye contact.
     "Interesting, but not happy," I responded. He got a chuckle out of that, which annoyed me a little because I was trying my best to be humorless. A discussion with the rest of the class of utopian and dystopian societies followed and I thought I was out of the woods.
     "Now, I would guess that most of you have never even heard of this book. I'm the only Humanities professor that uses it... A Sand County Almanac!" He began to share with us the merits of this book, which Mr.Schuck, my 7th grade science teacher, read to us in its entirety. I gladly remained silent. As he didn't technically ask if we had read it— and I wouldn't technically say that I had— I was spared confirming everyone's suspicions that I am, in fact, THAT kid.

After seven minutes

of untangling christmas lights...

MOM:

This is a recipe for frustration.

ME:

You do look pretty frustrated...

LUKE, HOLDING A PIECE OF GREENERY AND NOT HELPING AT ALL:

So, should we take a break and play scrabble?

I NEED YOU TO HEAR THIS

Because I need to hear it every single day.

   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

"Do you know Jesus?" the woman asked me.

"Yes, I do."

"Do you sin?"

"Yeah. Every day... Probably more than I realize."

"THEN YOU'RE A CHILD OF THE DEVIL AND YOU DON'T KNOW JESUS."

Well.

If you are anything like me—and I know I am—

then there are two things you should know about this woman.

The first thing
                is that she is affiliated with a man who calls himself Brother Jed.

"I don't know how the whorehouses in this town stay open—

all of you sorority girls are giving it away for free!"

His voice echoed through the courtyard in front of Maucker Union, met with mocking laughter and jeers, declaring that feminists, liberals, homosexuals, alcoholics, fornicators, and those who smoke weed and/or listen to rock and roll are destined for Hell.

I'll concede to three points:
        1. His message was a call to repentance.
        2. His words were full of hatred, judgment, bigotry, and condemnation.
        3. His delivery was classless, tactless, graceless, and, most importantly, Christ-less.

The second thing
                         is that she believes her own lie.

On Monday afternoon, this warped view of the gospel manifested itself in condemnations shouted at each passing college student:

"You are all going to hell!"

"You are living sinful, wicked lifestyles!"

"You have to stop sinning in order to be with God!"

And I'm standing there, like:

"That's not necessarily true..."

"That's a pretty bold generalization..."

"That's... wait—

—what?"

LISTEN UP:
        If you are someone who thinks you have to get your shenanigans together before God wants anything to do with you, you need to ask yourself two very important questions:


FIRST:
              WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
                                [that you could ever get your shenanigans together on your own]

SECOND:
              WHO DO YOU THINK GOD IS?
                                [that He couldn't handle your shenanigans at its worst]

I want you to think about something for a moment;

I want you to think about how wonderful it would be if there were not hateful, judgmental, hypocritical words being spoken every day by people who claim to follow Jesus Christ.

And I want you to think about precisely how you would feel if every church worldwide was calling out to you in a loud, resounding voice, saying,

"COME AS YOU ARE."

I mean, COME ON.

We are CHRISTIANS.

Followers of that man called JESUS.

AND THIS IS HOW HE DID CHURCH:

                Jesus was chilling in his house, hanging out with thugs and mafia members and prostitutes. And some really arrogant religious guys were like, "What the what? Why is he eating supper with all those sketchy people?" And Jesus was like, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

[Mark 2:15-17, almost entirely paraphrased. Except for that part where Jesus talks... that part is legit.]

Okay, listen...

Listen.
LISTEN.
LISTEN TO ME:
THIS IS THE GOOD NEWS!

AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE, 
BUT I KNOW YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS.

I KNOW YOU NEED TO HEAR IT BECAUSE ALL OF US NEED TO.

IT DOESN'T MATTER WHO YOU ARE, WHERE YOU'VE BEEN, OR WHAT YOU'VE DONE—
THIS IS FOR YOU.

T H I S   I S   T H E   G O O D   N E W S :

*

For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,

and are justified by his grace as a gift,  through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.

[Romans 3:23-24]

*

For the wages of sin is death,

but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

[Romans 6:23]

*

God shows his love for us in that

while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

[Romans 5:8]

*

For by grace you have been saved through faith.

And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.

[Ephesians 2:8]

*

If it is by grace, it is no longer on the basis of works;

otherwise grace would no longer be grace.

[Romans 11:6]

*

If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord

and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead,

you will be saved.

[Romans 10:9]

*

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus

from the law of sin and death.

[Romans 8:1-2]

*

GIRLS SO STUPID.

I like feeling pretty and cherished; I think this can be said of every girl. There's something about knowing that you are valued by others that gives you self-worth and confidence. Girls thrive off of this— myself included. To a certain extent there's nothing wrong with that. It's when we can't find any sense of self-worth without getting that positive attention, and when we become slaves to the admiration of others, and when our desire to feel 'loved' creates a stumbling block for others, that it becomes a problem.

Every girl knows that getting attention from most guys is as easy as wearing a low-cut shirt or short shorts. It's hard for a guy to ignore a pretty girl who is showing a little too much skin; that's just the way guys are—that's the way their minds work. If you haven't yet come to this realization, you are:

     a) definitely not a boy

            and

     b) inexcusably oblivious

Let's clear something up: I'm not here to bash guys in any way; they get enough grief. Men are called perverted and disgusting, constantly ridiculed for their apparent inability to keep their minds out of the proverbial gutter. Meanwhile, women dress with less and less modesty— making it nearly impossible for any men who actually desire to keep their thoughts away from sex to do so.

I'm not saying the blame should be entirely placed on women; there are certainly men in the world who are perverted pigs who disregard women and treat them as objects to satisfy their sexual desires. This is a reality. But there are two sides to every story, and I'm coming out of the woodworking to tell you the one less favored.

STORY TIME:
Last night I walked down a commonly-used staircase in my dorm that leads to both the laundry room and the mailboxes for every resident in the building. I live in a coed dorm. Before I made it to my box, my attention was arrested by a bulletin board loudly proclaiming, "Love your breasts!" There were random facts that I don't feel the need to repeat— mostly along the lines of body image and unrealistic standards created by the media, etc. And, don't get me wrong, I'm all for women being comfortable with their bodies and loving the way God made them. What appalled me was not the informative text provided, but rather the 10+ pictures of women in lingerie posted all over the board. I stood there for a substantial amount of time with my mouth hanging open, fuming. In a moment of disgust I paused to cross-check my fury against logic and principle, and after a quick glance down the hall I swiftly ripped off every one of the pictures. I threw them in the recycling bin. I left the facts on the board, unscathed.

It's not enough that the sunshine comes out, bringing with it short skirts and unnecessary amounts of skin... But women have actually felt the need, in the midst of pretending to fight unrealistic standards, to completely objectify women. Parading pictures of half-naked women infront of every guy that wants to do laundry or check his mail this month in the name of promoting good self-image? And yet we get angry with men when they stare at us. Not to mention that all this is occurring while women everywhere are crying out about the injustice of double standards.

I'm furious.

—————————

I started this post a week ago and I had to let it cool off before returning to it. There are many things I'd like to say, but instead I'm going to let God's word speak for itself, as it is far more capable than I:

Romans 6:12 "All things are lawful for me," but not all things are helpful. "All things are lawful for me," but I will not be enslaved by anything.

Romans 8:9, 11 Take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak... by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ.

Galatians 5:13-25 For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another. But I say, walk by the spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we love by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.

1 Peter 3:3-4 Do not let your adorning be external— the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious.

1 Corinthians 6:19-20 Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.

Galatians 1:10 For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ. 

—————————

To the Christ-following men who may be reading this: I commend you for the daily battle you have with lust, and I sincerely apologize for my gender's complete lack of sympathy for your struggles. It is truly inexcusable. I pray that you, my brothers in Christ, would rely on God's grace and strength to pursue holiness and live a life pleasing to He who saved us from the punishment we all deserve.

To the Christ-following women who may be reading this: I challenge you to look at the choices of your daily life— your words, your behavior, and the clothes you wear— as opportunities to uplift the body of Christ and glorify God. 

I go to Paris every night.

Ah, isn't it marvelous?
What a lush lifestyle I lead...

But let me clarify; it's not the clean, tourist-friendly, manicured part of Paris that I visit each evening. No, it's something much more robust– the seedy underbelly of a north-western Parisian suburb called Sartrouville. The place I go has some real character to it, and not the kind you see in the movies. This place has a story etched in the cracks of aging drywall and graffitied on stone walls older than the country in which I was born. This story was left out of the history books; it was neither glorified nor white-washed nor ironed out and put into picture books to be read at bedtime, followed by tucking in and exchanging bisous.

———

The place I go is where, upon first introductions, people kiss one another on the cheek; my temperament flourishing in this new, platonic sentiment; the memory of handshakes morphing into something disaffected, unfriendly, cold.

Where everyone smokes cigarettes like the air they breathe; the once-appalling stench becoming strangely familiar— strangely comforting— like the unpleasant, musty spice of your grandpa's basement which carries you swiftly to a place of complete amenity.

Where everything is more petite; the cars, the rooms, the beds, the classes, the people. Where the gaps between meals are unbearably massive, but each time you sit down to dine is an elaborate, prominent event, lasting for hours and hours...

Where the world's best bakery sits happily on each and every city block, the neighborhood stretching out from the scent of fresh baguettes, fearful of establishing itself too far from the captivating smell upon which daily life thrives.

———

With a whiff of cigarette smoke, I'm suddenly descending the filthy, beautiful stairs of the métro, hearing a blind man pour his soul through a tarnished brass saxophone and clutching my purse like my life depended on it.

Each night I catch the scent of my face lotion— the lotion I bought the night before my flight to the country that captivated my heart— and all at once I'm standing in a cramped 4x6 bathroom, emotions soaring, clouded by extreme jet lag, trying to figure out these unusual faucets and worrying that I'm taking too long; 'it's rude to spend too much time occupying the bathroom' I hear Madame Dobernecker saying in the back of my racing mind; I think it's so odd that the toilet is in a different room than the sink; I can't find "I think I have a fever" in my phrase book; wait, what time is it in Ames right now? Oh, what a day it's been; I wonder what we'll have for breakfast...

———

It's a fleeting idiosyncrasy, the ability of a particular smell— more than any other sense— to so rapidly transport you to a different place, a precise moment in time.

Once upon a Sunday morning...

The pastor drives home his point, loudly proclaiming, "JESUS IS OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS!"
And a little boy in the pew behind me, drawing in a coloring book with crayons, echoes in a voice louder than his mother would probably prefer, "Jesus is our righteousness!"
A moment of silence ensues, and there is a smile on my face as I glance backward, hearing the same small voice ask in a quieter tone, "Is that true?"
"Yes!" comes the whispered reply of the mother.
"Oh. Mom? ...What is right us mess?"
"We'll talk about it at home, Caleb."

Dear Mom and Dad (and anyone else who might care),

I'm all settled in my dorm...
There are lots of nice people in my hall.
We just watched a movie with a projector on a giant screen under the stars.
And by we,
I mean hundreds of people that I don't know who also happen to go to UNI.
It wasn't a good movie, so I watched the cosmos instead.
I'm done with my homework.
I get it done early.
My teachers are all normal human beings.
Some of them are even kind.
I couldn't find one of my classes on Tuesday and I didn't tell anyone.
It wasn't my fault or anything; my schedule had the wrong room number on it.
Don't worry, I figured it out. Eventually...
And went and talked to the professor,
to apologize for my freshman-ness,
and see what I missed and how I could be prepared for the next class:
I handled it by myself.
I felt like a grown-up,
and a scared little kid,
all at the same time.
Every morning I wake up a little too early.
So I go to the union and eat a muffin and drink some juice and read my bible...
And I wait for my day to begin.
People smile at me.
I smile back.

It's been a while since I hit my head on my loft.

A while translates into roughly 6 hours.

I clipped my nails today, because I couldn't play my guitar.
Someone tell my nieces that their aunt loves them, okay?

I'm scared to try to use the coin laundry machines.
I stay up later than I mean to every night.
I miss my brothers.
Advice from my first week: if your biggest pet peeve is air blowing on you,
don't live in a place that's SO hot you're forced to have fans on you 24/7.
I've been eating remarkably heathy meals each day.
My love of spinach is accredited to Earl Taylor.
Thanks, bud.
This morning I awoke to discover the astonishing fact that
both my watch AND the clock on our wall had stopped working overnight.
I proceeded to freak out, thinking I had overslept,
only to find my phone, which had fallen on the floor, revealing the time to be
5:38 AM.
Yep.
I've been quoted in two peoples' Facebook statuses this week.
Reading one made me cry...
The other one was:
"We're church shoppin' like it's Black Friday!"
Explanation:
At the end of the week,
I will have gone to precisely 11 church-affiliated events.
Separate churches.
Separate events.
I'm tired.
I miss my house church.
I miss my Mother church.
I miss...
Remind me to buy batteries.
And more tea bags.
And probably some instant oatmeal, if it's on sale.
I went on a run the other day.

My ancient phone has been working well-- I know you were wondering.

The desk lamp I got from Goodwill has a warning about UV radiation.........

Should I be concerned?

Luke: I've had some time to read C.S.,
but I don't know if I'll be done by Labor Day.

My heels hurt when they touch the floor each morning.
Not so sure what that's about...

Today I called my high school French teacher,
and I thanked her for preparing me so well.
Many of the people in my classes can't pronounce basic vocabulary...
I feel like a French wizard--- magically capable of helping them out.
Sometimes I break pens.
Pencils, highlighters, staplers...
Mom... Should I be watering our plant more? How much sunlight does it need?
I miss your morning hugs.
And the other-times-of-day ones, too.
So far I've only made two paper cranes during my entire time here.

I have a terrible feeling that that's symbolic in some horrible way...

I want a best friend.

I want a best friend who lives near me.

I want a best friend who lives near me and loves Jesus.

I want a best friend who lives near me and loves Jesus and shows it.

I've said my name, majors, hometown and grade more times this week
than my junior and senior years combined.
Dad, you know what a feat that is.
... and I have a picture of us
skating when I was 11 years old
framed on my desk.

With Colossians 1:9-12 and "Do good" written by it.

Sometimes I just feel like crying.
You know what I mean?

essence of grandfatherlynessosity

There are tears on my cheeks, and approximately 47% of them are sad tears. The other 53%, I think, are ones of happiness:

I don't want to get into any sticky details at the moment... or ever, really... But this week my hillarious, frugal, spry, Godly, altruistic, 100% Dutch grandpa VerPloeg is going through a messy divorce from a woman who isn't my biological grandmother. My mother, her twin sister and their brother are all major worriers, and so our home for the past five days has been drowning in VerPloegian agitation. It's suffocating me.

But my grandpa walked into the kitchen, where I was hiding, to get away from his fretting children. I patted him on the back and said, "I bet that by now you're really tired of hearing people talk about you..."
"Oh, Gracie, you don't know the half of it."
I gave him a hug.
"Gracie," (he's the only one allowed to call me that besides my nieces, Dallas Bee and Earl Taylor) "I'm not gonna be up and running much longer... But before I go, I think I'd like to see you get married to a nice fella."
"Got anyone in mind? You'll have to find someone for me."
"I'd love to."
"Let me know when he's passed your tests, alright?"
"Sure."
We turn to go our separate ways.
"Oh, and Gracie?"
"Yeah Grandpa?"
"He's gonna have to be Dutch."
"... I think I can live with that."

The classiest wrestler I've ever met.

In light of the state tournament, I suppose it's probably time to share this two-part story.
Part One: A year ago
It was February, and I was at the 2010 CIML wrestling tournament. (I'm a manager) We were waiting for the finals match ahead of us to end; it was really intense, between Dowling and Urbandale, with the score tied up and parents from their respective teams yelling at each other. Chaos. It went into overtime and, after a few somewhat controversial calls from the ref and quuite an impressive battle, the Dowling wrestler won. I was sitting in front of his section; they went wild. After talking to his coaches, the victor came over near the stands (right beside me) to put his sweatpants back on and such-- he was pretty happy and everyone was shouting their congratulations. But my eye was on the guy who had lost; the wrestler from Urbandale was walking towards his opponent. And me. My first thought came purely in the interest of self-preservation: Do I need to get out of the way?
I wasn't trying to be dramatic.. I promise I'm not like the countless cheerleaders who scatter from the edge of the mat when wrestlers get anywhere near them... But I've been kicked by someone who just lost a match. I've had headgear thrown at me, been shoved out of the way, had chairs knocked into me. I'm not trying to receive any sympathy, I'm merely proving that a lot of guys have strong reactions to defeat. Some guys aren't just disappointed in themselves. Some guys make scenes. Some cry. Some have blind, and occasionally violent, rage. And at that moment, a potentially furious 215 pounds of almost entirely muscle was walking in my direction. I'm not gonna lie; I was scurrrred.
But his facial expression wasn't murderous. It wasn't angry or bitter... It wasn't even sad. My poker-face-reading skills failed me: I had no idea what this kid was thinking or planning to do. So, remaining cautious but mildly curious, I stayed where I was. And I sat there, listening timidly, as the wrestler from Urbandale walked up to the guy who had just narrowly beaten him, gave him a hand shake and said something to the effect of, "Hey, man. That was a really great match. You wrestled well-- Nice job."

 ...Bwhhaaatt?

Never. NEVER. In seven years of managing, and a significant portion of my childhood sitting around at wrestling duals and tournaments, never had I witnessed anything even remotely comparable to this interaction. I mean, really. Who does that? I don't even want to look at a team who has beaten us in soccer. And I'm a girl; I don't even care that much. And soccer isn't at all an individualistic sport. I couldn't comprehend what I had just witnessed. It took me a while to find the word for it: classy. I later learned, though, that that wasn't the right word at all... That's where part two comes in.

Part Two: A year later (for those of you who are bad at math.... That's this year.)
Since it happened, I think I had told that story a few times, allowing others to share in my surprise. Which they did. My dad told me I should tell the guy from Urbandale, but I couldn't think of anything that would be more awkward... (By the way, I saw his actual name in the tournament brackets, but let's just refer to him as various forms of 'Urbandale Wrestler' or 'Mr.Classy') 
So there I was, once again, at the CIML. I had been under the impression that Mr.C had graduated, but I saw him wrestling again, which threw me off as I tried awkwardly to avoid him at all costs... While hearing my dad's voice in the back of my mind, saying, "As a Christian, wouldn't that be the type of thing you'd want people to notice about you?"
A little while into the tournament, I was standing by a mat, scoring two separate matches and taping a third, when McClassy walked off another mat after winning a match and stopped right next to me to talk to his coaches. T'was agonizing, only for me of course, because I take my dad's crazy advice into such high consideration that it tends to cause me physical pain. There were two major things I didn't want to accomplish.
1. Unnecessarily fabricating the week's most awkward moment out of thin air, and
2. Sounding creepy, and somehow giving the false impression that I was at all interested in this person....
So awkward. So, so awkward. But the matches I was responsible for drew to a close, as all matches must, and I was forced to the realization that my dear father was right. So, tossing any sort of dignity into the wind and embracing my blindly encouraging self, I turned to Wrestler-From-Urbandale, whose coaches had wandered off, (I can only assume that other wrestlers were in need of coaching of some sort) and I proceeded to tell him the story as I told it in Part One. Perhaps with slightly less eloquence, but I feel I was quite articulate. I acknowledged, with humor, the potential awkwardness and explained my reasons for sharing what I had witnessed: We always pay attention to the wrestler who screams at the reff and runs out of the gym crying, and it's like fueling a toddler's tantrums. In doing that, we make it okay, even expected, for athletes to behave like that. Nobody (supposedly) sees when those that lose are gracious and humble; if it's not a loud, dramatic display of angsty teenage emotions, it seems that no one cares. I wanted to tell him that I noticed, because I think that kind of behavior is what deserves to be recognized. If we pay attention to the people who show humility and respect in defeat, couldn't that become the standard we hold high school athletes to? How much better would the entire institution be if that were the case?
As I pretty much expected, Mr.Wrestler received all this with gratitude and humility. We had a surprisingly comfortable conversation when I was done explaining myself. He remembered which match I was talking about and was surprised, making a comment that a year is a long time to remember something like that, and I responded that it had just kind of made an impression on me. He thanked me numerous times, but when he explained why he did it-- that was the thing that caught me. 'That kid from Dowling,' he said, 'he's my brother.' I gave him sort of a questioning look and he explained, 'Well, no, not actually-- He's my brother in Christ.'
The only thing I was capable of saying at that moment was, 'That's awesome.'
I realized then, that it wasn't my tactful humor or diction that was preventing awkwardness from entering this conversation. It was pure, choreographed edification; straight from our savior, giving me goosebumps. Scripture was flying through my mind. "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another," and "Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen," and "Do all things without grumbling or questioning so that you may be blameless and pure children of God, without fault in a crooked and twisted generation in which you shine like stars in the universe."

So no, not classy. I mean, yes, I maintain that it was very classy behavior. But that doesn't cover the magnitude of it. That, my friends, is shining like a star in the broken and depraved universe that is our generation. Well done, Mr.Urbandale. Your actions reflected Jesus. Thank you.

do you know what day it is?

It was a free day to take broken appliances to the dump.
My dad and I spent most of the morning working on all that shenanigans, and at about 1:30 it was decided that we were hungry. He asked what I was feelin, but it was unnecessary because the answer is always the same: gyros. And it was silently understood that there is, of course, only one place in Ames to get gyros.
So to Pammel Grocery we went.
My dad (who, in case you didn't know, knows EVERYONE in story county) is good friends with the man who owns the store. Who happens to be a Muslim.
We chatted for a little while, ordered our food and sat down. He brought us our salad and went back to the kitchen. As he brought out our gyros, I caught the glint of tears in his eyes. Before heading back to the kitchen, he said, "Mark, you are an honorable man-- you have an amazing heart, to come into my store today..." and then he walked away.
I didn't understand, and from the look on my dad's face, he didn't either, at least not at first. We were silent for a moment and my dad said quietly, "It didn't occur to me how meaningful it would be for him to have a white, christian American come into his store today, for the first time in years, on September 11th, and treat him like the friend I consider him to be." Neither of us had even thought about what day it was; we just had spent a day working hard together and decided it would be nice to eat out.. and gyros sounded pretty tasty.

He came back when we were almost finished with our food, pulling up a chair and sitting down, saying, "I have a story I want to tell you."
Within the first sentences of our three-hour long conversation, I wished I had some means of recording his words. He spoke of the heart of a person, the nature of love, the relationship between God and creation. The story was from the Quran. He went on bunny trails, discussing the symbolic meaning of each turn of events in this story about Moses. He spoke of current events, ancient events, philosophy, personal experiences, scripture from the Quran, the bible, the Torah... But there were such misinterpretations about the trinity, about Christ and his purpose, about covenants. We discussed and listened and shared. It was beautiful, and the whole time my thoughts danced between what amazing faith this man had, how much I wanted him to understand the actual implications of what Jesus Christ did, and how sad I was that his words, while they were being grasped and cherished in that moment, would be lost in time and the vault of my own memory forever. He had an amazingly poetic way of saying things, and despite the fact that his English was not amazing, his mind truly was.

He had read the bible three times in it's entirety. His reason for this was that, "so many people are trying to convert me, and I want to understand...everything."

In the words of my dad, we spent three hours wandering through the forest, beating around the bush. At 4, he resolved that he needed to get back to work, but wanted desperately to continue our conversation. As soon as we got to the car, I wrote down the words that were spoken in the moments before we left:

My dad said, "At the end of all of this, there is something you will have to decide for yourself. Do you need redemption, did Jesus die for you, and could you accept that amount of grace?"
He responded with a metaphor, saying there was no way it could be that simple. "If you were going to die from cancer, Grace, and I promised you that I would find the cure for cancer within a year... Would you believe me? Would you have enough faith in me to depend on me completely, not getting any other treatment for it?"
"No," I said pretty blatantly, "because I don't trust you." And at my dad's laughter, added, "at least not in the same way that I trust God. You're right; it isn't simple... Because that amount of faith can't be simple. We want inherently to earn our way to heaven, to do it on our own, but it's impossible: we need redemption by some other means. And the means... No, there's absolutely no way we can deserve what Christ did for us, but he offers it freely. And to accept that and have raw faith... It's not simple. But we do it every day."

And that's where we left it.

all creation sings your name

Psalm 63:4
I will praise you as long as I live,
and in your name I will lift up my hands.

Lifelight was a huge blessing.
I'm so humbled by all the work put into this thing.
This thing made free to the public,
allowing people to come from all around
for a weekend in South Dakota
to just praise God, together.