Clutter

Today, I cleaned my office.

Please do not misunderstand me; I have a good bit of work to do. I have retreats coming up. I am working on two sermon-series for the Spring (1 John and Luke). I have to make another attempt at contacting a woman who wants to buy one of Hope's fantastic cheesecakes. And I still have not taken the time to flip out over the fact that we are within three months of the birth of our second (yet-to-be named) little boy. I have plenty that I need to do.

It is not that my office is even all that full of stuff. I look around and there is not too much to distract me. In the place of multiple commentaries by theologians, there is a fantasy football trophy from 2006, some paintings that I used on stage at camp in 2005, an old copy of Spider-Man from 1966, a Dirk Nowitzki bobble-head, and a stuffed Undertaker that one of our secretaries threw at me. These are what fill the multitude of bookshelves that the previous occupant left for me. (There were some commentaries on my desk-just books that have been 'borrowed' from my peers).

When I walked in today, there was an overwhelming urge to discard of the trash and reorganize the things of value. I tried to work on the 'to-do' list first. It was impossible. So I threw away countless papers that had just accumulated over my six months in this office. I found some books that I intend to read (yet had forgotten where I had placed them). Books are now, at the very least, on the shelf.

I guess I used the word 'clean' a little more liberally than some. I should probably have said, 'Today, I did things so that I could see some progress.'

Paul writes about the hard working farmer (2 Timothy 2). If we just think about the example, the farmer diligently worked while completely relying on God-plucking weeds day after day in the hope that God will send rain. He does some things in the hopes of seeing progress. His hope in God is certain because of God's faithful-and he works firmly within the knowledge of that truth.

Early on in Scripture, God lays out for us the Shema in Deuteronomy 6. God provides statutes and laws that serve to show the follower of YHWH how to avoid the trappings of a mundane, self-seeking life for the sake of them loving Him above all else. He reminds us to have constant reminders when he refers to frontlets. Frontlets literally means 'Everywhere you look, I Am there.' God's desire is for His followers to see Him and know Him in such a way that we could teach Him. Christ fulfills this message in that, in Him, these things are now possible.

What things are we doing in the hope of seeing God's progressive work in us?

Fanboy

It started innocently enough.

I was out of town. Hope told me that she had purchased Shep some superheroes.

My inner dork did a cartwheel. Ever since Hope's pregnancy, I have pointed out anything loosely connected to powers gained through gamma radiation, alien heritage, or accidental bites from a variety of insects. I would casually point to (albeit gaudy) bibs with a man in a mask jumping where milk spittle rests. When Shep was going through his stuffed animal/teething ring/exersaucer stage, I would take a step three aisles over to let him get a feel of Gotham City and the Baxter Building.

So when Hope called to tell me that Shep was now the proud owner of Spiderman, Carnage, a Hand Ninja, and Samurai Wolverine, I realized that all of my hard work was beginning to pay off. Before we knew it, all three of us would be wearing masks and capes and taking care of injured puppies when we were not fighting pedestrian crime.

Thankfully, this all coincided with potty training. What happened when there were no accidents? We could finally look for an Iron Man. If my boy had a successful week, there was good chance that a member of the Fantastic Four was in his future. If he complemented my driving, off to the toy store. He wanted heroes and it was my job as a parent to encourage his inner X-Man.

His collection was growing. The figures come in two packs and, despite the fact that he was the proud owner of 5 Spidermen, 2 Iron Men, and 2 Wolverine, I was able to sit down and begin to have discussions at an early age about how great power comes with great responsibility. We plotted out battles between the heroes and the villains who had oddly taken over the minds of all of Shep's animals (due mainly to a shortage in evil on the retail shelf). He even knew that the Hulk is the strongest there is and would have no problem smashing a T-Rex or an Elmo the size of my son.

We went to the store the other night. Shep asked if he could get some superheroes and had a few extra dollars. I confidently strolled into Toys-R-Us with the boy and we walked straight to the hero section. This is where it all gets a little iffy.

Shep grabbed a Bat Mobile. What is wrong with that? Nothing-well, almost nothing. He only owns Marvel figures. Bat Man is a DC character. My spider senses started tingling. He cannot have 17 Marvel figures and one Batman driving into the fight in his fancy sports car. DC heroes and Marvel characters never overlap except in publicity stunts by the publishers (and it does not take a mutant to realize that those books are non-canonical).

Shep then started to want Toy Story figurines. Next, he wanted the electronic dinosaur (the one with the remote). I kept steering him around the store, hoping that this was not real, just a training simulation like the one's that take place in the X Mansion.

That is when it hit me.

I was vicariously collecting action figures through my 2 year old son. Shepherd was not really collecting action figures-I was.

We walked over to the cars. He saw a three pack from the movie 'Cars' that he really wanted. So we bought them. Sally, Red, and (yet another) Lightning McQueen were now his. At least for a few days, Cars had regained there spot in my boy's vivid imagination.

Which reminds me-we still don't have a Batmobile...

Saving the Planet One Can at a Time

I was in elementary school the first time that I ever heard the word 'recycle.' At that point, I did not know (nor did I care) about the positive impact that recycling had on the environment. I had no clue that you could virtually recycle everything that had ever been 'cycled'. I never walked around the neighborhood with multiple plastic bags sorting cardboard into one, glass into the next, plastic into its own, and aluminum in the last. There was no desire in my heart to take care of my children's children and their children as well. I recycled for one reason: Greed.

My brother and I found out from our dad that the reason the old guy in the neighborhood used a stick to stab aluminum cans and asked us if we had anymore was because aluminum had a monetary value. Aluminum was big (small) business. I quickly realized that this was, for a 7 year old, the modern day equivalent of the poor-man's Midas touch. Every can I could find would be turned into cash money. With my brother at my side, the two of us scavenged the neighborhood (at least the parts within our parents line of vision), looking far and wide for cans. With each can, we realized we were one step closer to Mike Tyson's Punch Out, Contra, or Double Dribble.

In 1985, 2 million collectors earned over 200 million dollars saving cans. While this sounds like the greatest get-rich-quick scheme since door-to-door vacuum sales, it is important to do simple math. Cans were worth around $0.27 a per pound at the time. It takes roughly forty cans to get a pound of aluminum. In order to fully pay for a Nintendo game ($50), we had to collect over 200 pounds of cans! Even with my current addiction to soft drinks, that takes a really long time. As a 2nd grader, I realized with the quickness a simple truth that much of America still embraces: Recycling is a hassle.

Time passed. I grew up, graduated, got a job, recycling... is still not fun. It is more convenient. It is publicized better. It has a catchy, colorful nickname. Yet it still calls for a person to make a decision that involves an extra effort.

The recycler now come by your house and pick up your goods. You no longer have to sort them. Just throw it all in one bag and they will sort it all later. The only problem is that they do not run regularly. It takes someone competent in either quantum physics, logarithms, or philosophy to decode the pick up times for your neighborhood. The recycle truck on our street used to run the first Tuesday after the full moon (if it wasn't raining), but now runs twice a month. I still do not know when those two times will be.

Last Tuesday, I had my neighbor and best friend Kevin jump off my old truck and Hope and I hauled the remaining cardboard in our garage to the recycle center. (I had gotten lucky and placed most of the recyclables on the street. However, I did not want to push my luck for fear of having to carry it all back inside after the defeat of realizing that it was not the right day...again.) As we were driving, a box flew out of the back of the truck. I wanted to leave it. I felt like that it would decompose on its own since we were going the extra mile for the sake of the planet. Hope disagreed.

I parked about 15 feet down the road on the one flat spot I could find to park. I left the truck running because the truck won't start back up when you do weird things like put it in park. I ran quickly because the truck was on fumes. I went running uphill and grabbed the old diaper box box and took off back for the truck. As I sprinted to the truck, a little lady that we will call Edna stepped out from behind one of the bushes. She asked if I could trim the tops of her hedges.

The truck was still running. Hope was waiting. Edna was handing me the clippers (without an answer). I started to make an excuse. "I don't have time" seemed overused. "My wife is waiting" did not seem correlate with Hope's personality or the old ichthus on the back of my truck. ("Feaux hawks are in on bushes" was probably my best bet in retrospect.)

I took the clippers and trimmed the hedges. Edna told me her story. She told me that her husband had passed away from cancer and that she was taking care of her son now because he, too, has cancer. She told me that the Lord was getting her through this difficult part in her life.

In three minutes, I learned about a lady whose house I pass on the way to Target, to Chili's, to get gas, who I would never have even thought about stopping to help.

I got in the truck and Hope and I drove to the Recycle Center. She was laughing hysterically. We continued to laugh at my inability to properly trim bushes. What seemed like a hassle turned into a moment that made an impact on me and made me realize somet things for which I am grateful:

I am grateful for Kevin's forward thinking in the purchase of his jumper cables.

I am grateful for Hope being in the truck with me to watch this debacle.

I am grateful that I don't have to collect cans anymore for video games.

I am grateful that the recycle driver is so unpredictable.

I am grateful for the box that flew out of the back of my truck.

I am grateful for Edna being 5'3.

I am grateful that her bushes are 6'1.