What Is Good News To You?

Living in the tent has forced me to work through many questions that have arisen concerning God. Thankfully, a lot of the issues have been laid to rest and stored safely out of the way. But just when I think I’m beginning to get a handle on some of the mysteries of God I am confronted square in the face with another issue of which I cannot let go…

…If the gospel is truly the “good news” then it would potentially hold truth for each and every living being on the face of the earth at all times. No one would feel excluded or alienated from the good news at any time during any part of the story as it unfolds anywhere on earth. In other words, the Gospel must be true for everyone, at every moment, in every place, or it cannot be the real Gospel. There is imminent danger in adding elements to the truth of the Gospel that make it suddenly unattainable for certain groups of people.

Around this time of year people like to look back over the past year and recount what has come to pass for them. Quite often you will hear Christians equate the “blessings” of God with the wonderful things he either gave to them or allowed them to do throughout the year. But sadly, if we equate God’s blessing with the acquiring of things, or accomplishments we’ve achieved, then it stands to reason that people who have done neither are, by our definition, less blessed. Unfortunately, the sign of God’s blessing in our western church culture is the presence of comfort and success.

Is having a successful and prolific ministry, for instance, necessarily a sign of God’s blessing? Most would tend to say, yes, it is— but they would be wrong. The truth is, success of this kind may be due only to a person’s ability to execute Christian things really well. It’s a fine line, I know.

I think, ultimately, being blessed is the presence of God’s hand on your life—and the presence of his hand doesn’t always appear as a blessing. In fact, in the Word, it looks like quite the opposite. There are many on earth, blessed by God, living lives in direct opposition to our western church comfort culture. You can find some of these folks in Hebrews 11: 36-40—just in case you don’t believe me.

It has taken me many long nights of arguing with God in the tent to realize that true Christianity is not about a life of acquiring things. God is not a god of preferential treatment. He is not a genie. He is not a pathetic god, known only for his favoritism toward the American middle and upper classes. If he were, then he would be a shallow god.

God does not need us to equate his blessings with our cars, houses, ministries, or anything else that can be attained. The Word says that the blessing of God is evident in:

• His presence
• Consolation and peace
• Cultivating places of fruitfulness
• Righteousness
• Mercy
• Eyes that see him
• Identity and birthright

Now all this is good news to me.

Sorry, All Our Representatives Are Busy With Other Customers?

Some time ago I “girded up my loins” and I set out to cancel my cell phone service contract. Have you ever tried to walk out of a cell phone contract mid-stream? It is nearly impossible to get someone on the other end of the line that knows how, or that admits to being able, to accomplish your request. I tend to think that the system is purposefully designed to discourage you from following through with your plan to cancel.

I want to be very honest and admit to the numerous times when I have felt so frustrated with the Lord regarding this tent life that I entice myself with thoughts of quitting the contract and walking away from him altogether. Sometimes I think he’s a lot like that cell phone representative who knows more than what he’s letting on. God probably knows of a sure-fire way out of my circumstance, but right now he sure isn’t letting me in on it. At times it seems to make much more sense to quit following than it does to keep following ignorant and blind. But then, isn’t that the very definition of faith?

Keep in mind; I have never been a casual “sideline” Christian. You might say I have always been in the thick of it. I have been in a place of leadership for the past 38 years, and I know all the ins-and-outs of the whole shebang—pastoral staff positions included. I know what the Book says about life as a believer and I spent years teaching others about what the Book says. Yet, I still can find myself smack-dab-in-the-middle of fantasizing about an alternate life that does not entail the hardships of walking in faith. Believe me, I’ve thought it through thoroughly.

I lose track of what I want God to be sometimes. Do I want him to continue being in control and in charge, or do I want him to conveniently rescue me from my overwhelming trouble? If I choose the former, then I must be willing to forgo my well-formed perceptions of who he is. No matter what anyone tells you, or what you might see happening on any given Sunday morning at church, God cannot and will not be put into a box. If it were not so, then he would not be God.

Sometimes I find myself staring straight into the face of a dichotomy. This tent life certainly cannot be what was intended to happen—or was it? Maybe my many years of “obedience” to the Lord do not hold the weight that I once thought they did. And so, my circular reasoning has kept me stuck in whirlpool mode for the past six years. I often wonder how Joseph passed the time in Pharaoh’s dungeon. Did he nearly go mad? In the end his years of trying to reason it out came to nothing but an acceptance that God will do whatever he deems best, even if we vehemently disagree with all of it.

But the most often overlooked facet of a rant such as this is: Nothing is as incredible as God’s ability to handle our gripes and our threats to abandon ship. He is not as phased by my tirades as I think he is—but not because of insensitivity or disinterest. You see; he paid a steep price to get a hold of me. He’s certainly not going to forfeit just because I am really good at griping.

I think it is more difficult to forsake our faith than we could ever imagine. God holds on pretty tight to those he gave so much to get.

Ducks Fly South When You Least Expect It

I used to think about the poor in drastically different ways than I do now. It is interesting how one’s viewpoint can change over time when a few details of life are slightly altered. Secretly, I used to think that the poor were less intelligent, less moral, and somehow less human than people who could sustain a level of success in life. And because the poor seemed to me less human, it allowed me to flippantly discard them onto the piles of rejects that lay just outside the doors of privilege—hoping that by morning someone will have swept the piles away.

I used to hear Christians say things like: “All you need to do is get your ducks in a row to become an effective, productive member of Christian society.”

But ducks don’t like to stay still, much less stand in straight line.

I’m now, literally, a card-carrying member of the poor. My eyes, thankfully, have been opened to the struggle that churns inside the hearts and minds of normal, everyday people who, for the time being, just happen to be poor. I have been able to experience the feelings associated with standing in lines, waiting for your number to be called, and deflecting hopelessness while holding on tight to what’s left of fleeting self-dignity. I know what it is like to have to draw a deep breath before each and every step I take throughout my day. I know the turmoil that rages inside of people who have to reconstruct self-respect on a daily basis.

My ducks have flown south a long time ago. But because my ducks are gone I can now look intently into the eyes of the poor without pretense and see that they are more human than I ever imagined. They are more human because humanness is the only thing some of them have left. The poor rely on their humanness to rise out of the whirlpools of discouragement levied at them by lofty duck ideals. And I have discovered a powerful and glorious humanness unmatched by anything that can be bought. It is the gold of the soul.

I challenge anyone to talk with someone who is poor, see the light deep in his or her eyes, and then walk away and not be affected by the experience. Just for a moment, put aside your ducks—ducks are overrated.

Thankfulness

It is probably not news to you that life has no shortage of tribulations. I personally know of many who are currently undergoing severe trials of physical health, broken relationships, and troubled finances. I’ve also searched the Word and discovered it's difficult to find anyone noted for holiness and wisdom that enjoyed a life of privilege, ease, and comfort, as we define them. And yet, a spirit of thankfulness is an attribute the Bible reveals as one of the most pleasing to God. What is the crux of his intention when the Lord says, “in all things give thanks”—1 Thess. 5:18. Why does God require thankfulness from people who suffer? Is God just insensitive and full of himself? Can it be as simple an issue as the old song suggests, Don’t Worry, Be Happy? I tend to think not.

What may be news to you is that God is not so much interested in delivering us from our tribulations as he is producing in us the wisdom and strength to endure them. There is nothing on earth more powerful than having true peace in times of trial and trouble. But admittedly, it is hard to slide over into thankfulness when you are in the midst of suffering. In fact it is a fistfight to achieve—not that I know. I fight the battle on a minute-to-minute basis. I don’t want to give thanks when my heart and mind are not thankful. From scripture, and from personal experience, it seems to me that God is immeasurably concerned about the end product of our lives. How much do I desire wisdom and strength over ease and comfort? I honestly cannot tell sometimes. But the good thing is the ball is not entirely in our court, so to speak.

God is fully aware of the difficulty in rising above our circumstances and sends us the Helper. The Spirit of God searches the earth for the spirit of thankfulness within us and pours his strength over those who feebly attempt to give thanks through their trial. In other words, the Spirit takes over where our effort fails and gives us the push we need to get over the rise in the road. Suddenly, and miraculously, peace and strength appear where there once was only fear and hopelessness. Then, as if peace and strength weren’t enough, our eyes open to the world turning around us and to people who suffer beyond their ability to rise up.

Thanksgiving here in SoCal is about over-eating, dieting, beating traffic, social networking, presentation, football, drama, melodrama, and getting an early jump on Christmas shopping. But somehow, giving thanks to God in our weaknesses enables us to gain the things that cannot be seen with the eyes, touched by the flesh, or purchased with the card.

The Catch Basin

Some time ago, at the end of one of my morning bike rides up to a vantage point in the foothills, I sat down to talk to God. It was one of those “desperate and alone” times when you feel completely lost and willing to do just about anything to change the way things are going. From my vantage point, on a clear day, I can look across the stretches of Los Angeles County and daydream about deliverance from the tent.

On one particular morning, as I sat and rested, I glanced just to my left and I observed, like many times before, the huge hole dug out by city engineers directly behind the 25-foot high dam—commonly called a “catch basin”.

“I feel like I’m stuck in that stupid mud filled, smelly hole!” I complained to the Lord.

Because of its elevation against the foothills, above the city, anything unfortunate enough to be found stuck in a catch basin was out of the line of sight of people in the city below. Concealed behind a great wall, no one below would be the wiser of your dilemma. In effect, anything trapped in that hole would only be visible from above it.

“That is exactly where you’re supposed to be”. I heard the Lord reply.

I knew, from growing up in that area, that the purpose of building the catch basins was to prevent the inevitable flooding and destruction of the town below when the rains came. A catch basin “catches” the run-off from the mountains and holds it safe behind the dam. The water is then allowed to flow through the dam’s gate at a rate that is safe for the people below.

I hated feeling desperate, alone, and unseen in that hole, but I knew at that moment God was revealing his thoughts to me. He allowed to see that my time stuck in loneliness and discomfort was to prepare me for the storms that were surely coming. In other words, this difficult tent life was creating me into a catch basin.

“So what do I do now?" I asked the Lord.

This is what the Lord said to me: “I have created many catch basins in this city. I have placed them all around the city. They too have felt alone and utterly incapable of going on by themselves. Find the other catch basins—live with them, learn from them, and love them. The rain is coming.”

Workout Your Faith

When I was a teenager I used to lift weights. I guess you could say I was REALLY into it. I spent the better part of six straight years working out 4-5 times a week. Needless to say I got pretty strong—lifting well over 200% of my body weight. It took some effort to achieve that level and a lot of dedication and discipline to overcome the obstacles. In the end I was able to easily handle weight that initially would have crushed me.

Acquiring strong faith is very different from acquiring physical strength. If it were not true, then there would be chances to prepare for various tribulations through some kind of endurance/faith training. In that scenario I could go into the “faith gym” and work my “faith muscles” long before I had to use them in real life. The problem is living in strong faith can only be accomplished through one way: by living in faith in real life. You cannot exercise faith without the presence of hardships—and by then, it’s too late to backpedal. That’s the gist of it.

Yesterday I became aware of some bad news just moments before the news was announced. In my heart I just knew the bad news was coming and in that instant I began to argue with God—complaining that he was not fulfilling his end of the bargain. I made my case that I was too weary to deal with what was about to happen. Suddenly, God confronted me with a simple, “What will you choose to do with this news, Glen?” Fortunately, at that moment, I chose to exercise faith and maintain hope. Sure enough, the bad news came and, even though it was hard to swallow, I learned something about faith: faith CAN become easier with time and exercise. Don’t get me wrong; this is not to say that life can become a total cakewalk, but only to say that there is the potential to overcome certain setbacks that once held the power to destroy me.

Following the Lord is the most difficult course a human can attempt to embark on. First, you must leave all presuppositions at the starting gate—God can, and will, change your expectations of him on the journey. Along the way you’ll find no secret formulas, undisclosed passwords, or hidden doorways, which circumnavigate the extreme difficulty in learning to live by faith. It is a moment-by-moment undertaking and you must implement faith in the moment. But don’t forget; the prizes along the journey are peace of mind and, eventually, contentedness of heart. What could be better than that?

Was It the Response You Were Looking For?

There is a story about a guy who lived around the time of Jesus. From a very early age this guy knew he was destined to give his life to ministry of some sort. He wasn’t particularly gifted at anything nor was he uniquely charismatic. He didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about his lawn, eating well-balanced meals, or what was cool to wear. His name was John and he was kind of considered a geek in his day.

I think John was able to foretell the future because he was always talking about things that were yet to happen. He would tell people to get ready for a deliverer, who would help them get through their pain in life, make the difficult things of living make more sense, and one day reunite us all in eternity. He was convinced the deliverer was standing at the doorstep of history.

John spent most of his life wandering around from place to place talking to anyone who would listen. Many times he would even talk to people who couldn’t care less about him or his message. But that was his life and he knew very well that his ministry would someday be the reason that important people, who didn’t like him very much, would throw him in prison and take his life from him.

Toward the end he decided to send a couple of his guys to find Jesus and ask him one of the most important questions anyone can ever ask—Are you the Messiah or should we expect someone else? In other words, is living my life this way going to be worth it in the end? I guess he wanted to make sure, if he were going to be executed, it would not be for anything half-baked.

If I were wrongly imprisoned, first and foremost, I would want to know that the deliverer could come and get me out of prison! I would want him to blast open the cell doors, haul me out of there, and then prosper me by getting me a book deal. To me, that would be ample proof that he was, in fact, the deliverer. That’s what a deliverer does, right? Sadly, to us, the mark of a good savior is his ability to save us from our troubles.

The most amazing part of this story, though, stems out of Jesus’ response to John’s question. Jesus says to John's guys, “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor.”

Jesus’ response seemed more than enough for John. The response set John's heart at peace and emboldened him to bow his head and allow his captors take his life with a sword.

Is Jesus’ response enough for me, or do I require more from him?

I think, from now on, I might be asking him if I can see more of the good stuff he was talking to John's guys about.

Things I Didn't Know About Life with Polio

I didn’t know that, though Polio’s aftermath would rule me for most of my life, I would come to the understanding that it produced in me worthwhile things that I would not trade for anything—even for two strong legs.

I didn’t know that the outward weaknesses I struggled with throughout childhood could turn around to become profound inward strengths in adulthood.

I didn’t know that the adversities I fought so fiercely to avoid could, in the end, provide the missing pieces that would make me complete and whole.

I didn’t know that when he proclaimed, “I have no place to lay my head”, Jesus wasn’t making a self-pitied plea for help, but making a statement about priorities and giving me an open invitation.

I didn’t know that certain disappointments and perceived dead ends of life have actually been orchestrated as diversionary protection from my stubborn presumptuousness.

I didn’t know that the wisdom of heaven would purposefully trounce my earthly apathy and through me accomplish things of great value despite my wishes to forfeit.

I didn’t know that when he says, “Follow me”, that Jesus really means follow him, no matter where he may lead.

I didn’t know that the hardship of Polio was really not the end of all things for me, just merely the beginning of a lifetime of discovery.

I didn’t know these things then, but I know them now.

A Letter to Somebody

Dear Somebody,

I wanted to let you know that I used to be a “somebody”. Not that being a “somebody” was the number one goal in my life. In the beginning, I never really considered being a “somebody” as a career path. I used to experienced real fulfillment and purpose by serving God’s people and my eagerness to help out eventually opened a few doors for me.

Over time, I became a “somebody”. It seemed to have had something to do with my ability to lead worship, even though I’ve always led worship more out of the love of doing it than the potential of becoming a "somebody" through it. Early on I would have led worship for the joy alone. But a true “somebody” surely would pursue the more important “ministry” of worship. And a real “somebody” certainly would answer the call to bless admirers with his God-given worship talents—that’s what a real “somebody” would do.

A little while back, I officially became a “nobody”. Don’t misunderstand me; I did not intend to become a “nobody”. It sort of chased me down and I was eventually overcome by “nobody-ness” against my will. Strangely enough, I don’t mind it at all now. It feels kind of cool to be free. I'm getting back to feeling the way I used to feel before I became a “somebody”. Mind you, it was nice to be a “somebody” for a while, but it sure took a lot of ridiculous pretense and politics to try to remain a “somebody”. You know what I mean? It just didn't seem right to me, near the end. Anyway, I found out down the line that being a “somebody” did not necessarily guarantee me any more happiness or any more peace of mind. 

So, I think I’m a lot better off just being a “nobody”, and letting God continually create me into whatever, and whoever, he wants me to be. I think I’ll be a lot happier this way. And nobody knows it more than me.

Sincerely,
Nobody

Rich and Famous

Others were tortured and refused to be released, so that they might gain a better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, while still others were chained and put in prison. They were stoned; they were sawed in two; they were put to death by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground.

These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect. (Hebrews 11:36-40)

This passage, from Hebrews 11, contains the most incredible statement one could make about another person—the world was not worthy of them! What an amazing epitaph! I cannot imagine any other commemoration being greater or more inspiring. But what made these pathetically marginalized people worthy of such a great mark of respect? None of them were pastors of mega-churches, or authors of best-selling books, or voted among the sexiest worship leaders.

They were all applauded, in the heavens, for their enduring faith in the shadow of insurmountable odds. Their profound acts of faith positioned them head and shoulders above the rest of us. They must have known about something otherworldly that propelled them beyond concern over their very lives. What sort of crazy ambition would it take for me to even consider their path? And would I contemplate such a path, if offered an alternate route? It’s sobering to think about what I would or would not do.

Then again, maybe its not so much about willfully choosing such a path, as it is about the willingness and resolve to carry through when the path chooses me. If so, I stand a whisper of a chance.

Don't Call-Off the Jam

Today I was talking to a friend about how we loved to watch Roller Derby when we were little kids. We reminisced about sitting in front of the television, with family, cheering on our team the Los Angeles Thunderbirds.

For those who were not fans of the “sport”, the rules were simply to roller-skate around an oval track as you try to overcome, beat on, and surpass the opposing team to accrue points. All points could only be attained during the “jam”, the term used for the active attempt to score. At times, skaters would actually “call-off” the jam when the threat of elbows and fists to the head seemed too severe. The fun part of Roller Derby was that most of the action seemed to take place off the field of play, as benched players would resort to treachery to disable the opponent and thus win the match. The “good-guys”, of course, never had to resort to cheating to win.

Believe it or not, Roller Derby made for some exciting Tuesday nights.

If I were completely honest, I would admit that at times I am tempted to call-off the jam. Some days, like today, I feel as if I’m getting beat on. Some days, like today, life seems to be going in circles. All I see in front of me is the intimidating presence of my foe, and trying to get past the opposition only means more vicious blows to come.

The Roller Derby illustration will never be accused of being too poetically profound. But at times, neither will life.

Don’t give up, don’t call-off the jam.

The Blue-Collar Journey

hack  | hak | 

noun

an amateur proficient enough to fake it most of the time.

I am a total hack. My life’s M.O. is very simple: slug it out, listen intently, then slug it out some more until I begin to sense it coming together—whatever "it" may be at the moment. I am not uniquely gifted nor am I extraordinarily intelligent. Characteristically, it takes me a lot of time and effort to acquire average ability at anything.

I've given plenty of energy to gleaning the rudiments of the guitar so that I can feign journeyman-ship in certain circles. I've had enough history being "out-of-time" and "out-of-tune" to know when to make the adjustments. And, I have arrived at a place where I can actually pull-off a good performance due to years of failing at it—the way a good hack does.

In the same way, when I sit down to write, I am dependent on my hack sensibilities to help me formulate and convey the spirit of things with clarity and creativity. But it takes struggle and perseverance for me to catch those currents and ride on them rightly. For me the timing, ebb, and flow of writing is a continual road of hacking through trial and error.

Sometimes I grow weary of being such a hack.  I’d love it if a few things in life came easy.

But I’m not so sure that life is set up to be a cakewalk—at least that’s been my experience. I’ve spent years attempting to hear the subtle groaning of the Spirit regarding certain issues of life and I still don’t fully get it. So, I am a total hack when it comes to living a spirit-filled life as well.

I believe God is cheering for the hacks, though. I think he knows that hacks have to commit to trying harder than the gifted, the talented, or the privileged and has the grace to reside in the effort. God’s residence in my effort means I can enjoy the presence of the Spirit while I struggle with the flesh.

Why does God cheer for the hacks? I think it’s because he does not intend for us to remain hacks forever. That was his intention all along. There is a time and a purpose that remains hidden for the moment. But one day, time will reveal the purpose—the moment of transformation from the hack into a person full of faith, wisdom, and discernment.  It will be a time through which we won’t have to try to fake our way.

Still, for now, it’s all about the blue-collar journey.

Are You A Surfer?

Some time ago I found myself sitting in a church service. I am not a “regular” attendee of this church, only an infrequent visitor. During the worship portion of the service they engage in what is called the meet-and-greet. The meet-and-greet is the part where you are obligated to turn and shake hands with strangers seated around you in an attempt to remedy the discomfort of unfamiliarity. Moments like these have always seemed a bit strange to me but this Sunday morning was especially interesting. As I turned around to find someone to “meet”, I caught the eyes of a young woman. I decided to forge past the awkwardness of the moment and to try to actually “greet” her. As I extended my hand, and before I had the chance to say anything, the young woman blurted out, “Are you a surfer?”

My first thought was, Huh?

My second thought was, maybe this was all a part of the meet-and-greet game—kind of like 20 questions, only with way fewer questions.

My third thought was, maybe I appear to her like someone who enjoys certain water sports.

My fourth thought was, “name’s Glen, how you doin’ today?”

My last thought was, I don't really know what people see when they look at me, but I sure would like to appear more like Jesus. And that's the gnarly truth, dude.

Another Year Older

Today is my birthday. I don’t feel like I’m 53 years old—whatever that means. I’ve never been 53 before, so I can’t say I’m an expert on what it should or shouldn’t feel like. When I was a kid, though, I thought being 50 was pretty close to the end of life. I mean, not even my dad was that old! All I knew about being 50 was that it was twice as old as 25 and halfway to 100.

People who were over fifty years old were a big mystery to me. I thought they existed in a faraway-unknown-region of the world—a place where little kids were never heard from again if they mistakenly wandered into it. I was under the impression that folks from there spoke a different language than “normal” people because I always had a hard time understanding anything they said.

Now that I’m aged well into the faraway-unknown-region I realize that the perceptions I had as a child were right!

There really is a lot of the strange and the unknown for people who live in this stage of life. For the first time, more of life seems to be behind us rather than ahead of us, which can make us ill at ease. We’re confronted with our bodies going through even more drastic changes while our minds take more and more time off. We have learned to use a different vocabulary including words like deficiency, colonoscopy, and prostate.

But there are certainly many wonderful things about being “older” that I never thought I would embrace so readily:

I don’t have to keep trying to be cool anymore.

I don’t have to prove that I can lift big and heavy things—which allows me to get a free pass on being obligated to help people move.

I don’t have to pretend to be relevant or influential anymore.

I can smile at a complete stranger (of the opposite sex) and not have it be misconstrued.

Seriously, the most wonderful thing about getting older is that I now have a long, long history of experiencing God saving my rear end. There is no better way of securing peace for the future, that faraway-unknown-region, than to look back and recount the unfailing, undeniable love of God.

A Glass of Persimmon-Ade, Anyone?

There is an old adage that says... If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Now, I get the gist, "make do with what you've been given" (even if it's only a useless pile of lemons). Lemons are getting a bad rap here. What's so bad about lemons anyway? I sure would love to have some lemons right about now. Having lemons means having the options of making a refreshing summertime drink or of livening up a cup of tea. Having lemons around means there's always potential for a fresh smelling kitchen floor. All in all, lemons ain't so bad, if you get my meaning.

Now, as I sit under the persimmon tree next to our tent, I can't help but ask the question: What if life gives you persimmons? Anyone interested in a cold refreshing glass of persimmon-ade? Or how about tangy wedges of persimmon to zest up your seafood? To me, persimmons are good for only two things: for punching holes in my tent roof as they plummet toward the earth and for getting lodged in the soles of my shoes as they rot underfoot.

Having persimmons is synonymous with lack of options. It means I try, in every conceivable way, shape, and form to get the right people to try my persimmon pie only to get rejection in the end. I don't think I'm the only one who fights frustration while wishing they had just a few lemons with which to create some lemonade. People who have been given persimmons seem to have far less options for creating a way out!

But hang on, there is a point to this... and it has little to do with proverbs about lemons, or persimmons, or clean floors and shoe soles. The point is to rethink the purpose for the altered status of your life.

What if there is a slight chance that God doesn't want me to create anything with what I've supposedly been given by life? What if I am the creation that is ultimately intended to be prepared? By not relying blindly on keen "entrepreneurial savvy", I am stepping out of the way long enough to allow God to create what he wants to create. Ingenuity is wonderful, but so is seeing God's angle on your life. And in the end, wouldn't his creativity not produce far better tasting lemonade? Maybe I can become the cool refreshing drink that God prepares to replenish other thirsty people after all is said and done.

Under the "Persimmons R Us" tree

The Greatest Gift of All Time, And Then Some

When I first became a tent dweller I was most profoundly struck by the fear of how the losses would affect my family. They did not choose the road on which we found ourselves and so did not deserve the repercussions of my faint heart. We decided to spare our children the many disheartening details of how our tent-life came to be in an attempt to keep their hearts from becoming downcast.

It turns out; our four children grew uniquely suited for this strange and unexpected life that has come upon us. They have uncommon love for each other, steady and unfaltering peace of mind, extraordinary awareness of life's greater issues, unending creativity, and an overflowing sense of humor. In fact, all the fears I held at the beginning of this journey have been eased over time. Our kids have what they need for emotional wholeness and physical strength. God takes care of them when I am incapable of doing so myself.

The greatest gifts given to me have surely been my children, but the greatest gift of all time is to experience the single-mindedness of willingly laying down your life for another person. I had never known these feelings until my children arrived. The intensity of the emotions connected to such readiness is beyond words. It is a divine gift that begins to demystify the enormity of eternity and unpack the thoughts of God.

I would gladly give up my life in an instant for any one of my children. This alacrity immediately transports me into the realm of holy perspective. When I lose sight of things I meditate on unconditional sacrifice. The whole thing is so unearthly, so beyond the material, that it carries me to places indescribable.

And yet, so simple are the rudiments of real love.

And One More Thing...

Self-disclosure has never been one of my fortes. This has been true about me as far back as I can remember. Sheer trepidation as a youngster drove me to clam up early. I grew up thinking I was much too weird to risk drawing attention to myself by saying stupid things.

As I entered into my teens I decided to maintain my low profile. Not entirely out of fear, but simply because I did not wish to add to the clamor already being made around me. At that stage, there can be a lot of talking going on with very little actually being said. All of this early experience resulted in my comfort zone of withholding thoughts and ideas and filing them under "good-listening".

I remember years ago, a pastor accused me of sharing too little of myself. I had never been cited for that one before. Though it was a little odd at the start, I began to explore the ins and outs of sharing more of myself with others. As with all potentially good things, learning moderation takes practice, trial, and error. Tipping the scales back-and-forth to find a new self-disclosure comfort zone takes a little bit of wrist action.

So why bother at all, you ask? Well, for one reason only. I know now that a certain amount of self-disclosure is important for wholeness. By that I mean, my wholeness. I've found, for me, that little else has the enabling feature that self-revelation possesses. There's something intangible about putting myself at emotional risk that strengthens my spirit in the end.

I've gotten better at "healthy" self-disclosure since I've been able to see the benefits of it. Sharing who I am (the good and the not-so-good) smashes fear and empowers me to accomplish feats never considered attainable before. Sort of like finding unexpected "bonus" applications included in software packages. Ok, that's not a good metaphor. Maybe more like swallowing the bitter pill to attain a wonderful healing.... Hmm, yeah, that works.

Rain Is Good, Entropy Sucks

The rains have returned to L.A. They came in early this morning while everyone slept. Generally, I like the rain—when it's not overdone. I like the sound of falling rain. I like the smell of it on the ground. The rain wonderfully nourishes the earth and the awesome wonders of our planet exist because of it.

Entropy sucks. Entropy is a law of physics that states all things gradually decline into disorder. In other words, all things on earth (natural or manufactured) degrade, degenerate, and decompose over time. Though some things have outlasted others by thousands of years, nothing on earth can escape the law of entropy. Look at all the automobile junkyards scattered across the land. Given long enough, all things return to dust and I suspect the whole universe is not unaffected by it.

So what do the rain, entropy, and I have to do with each other? Well, a lot. When rain and entropy converge over the roof of my tent, I lose... a lot. Camping tents do not last for very long if used year round, especially the roof. Suddenly, like in a classic novel, I'm battling the elements just to keep family and myself dry.

It usually takes me a couple of weeks during the fall to get the hang of inclement weather. Fortunately time and experience have taught me how to face another winter staying relatively warm and dry. After all this time I've been able to adapt with fewer outbursts of anger or falling into a funky depression. But the human knack for adapting to environment does not make entropy suck less.

There is only one thing on earth that I can think of that is NOT subject to entropy... our spirit. In fact, our spirit can be renewed and strengthened through the passage of time. What else can say that? So doesn't it make sense to battle entropy with the spirit? I mean... duct tape can only do so much.

Another valiant roll of duct tape expired.

To Be Or Not To Be, A Yardbird

On occasion I’ll find myself standing within a group of people unfamiliar to me, engaged in casual conversation. Typically a conversation can cover a number of surface topics from the weather, to where people live, to what people enjoy doing. Inevitably, if I linger within the group long enough, the conversation will begin to move toward the topic of careers and personal achievement. Suddenly I feel myself start to tense as the dreaded “who-is-the-most-successful-among-us” conversation begins to take shape. People begin eyeing each other in a whole new way, as if sizing up the competition. I panic at the thought of what I will say when the discussion comes around to me. At once my pulse-rate speeds up and I begin to perspire. At those moments I find myself slowly backing away toward the outskirts of the group. Stealthily, and with crafted timing, I edge my way toward the exit for a quick getaway.

It’s sad but true. I steal away because I fear being caught in the awkward moment when someone asks me, “So, what do you do, Glen?” It’s a fair enough question and one that requires exploration for infant relationships to gain momentum and grow.

           

In those situations, if I were totally forthright and fearless I would reply, “Nothing. Currently, I am unemployed and I do nothing.” I would not be the least bit concerned about what others might think of my “career status”. But unfortunately, I am nowhere near having the ability to be so dauntless. I still desperately want to appear successful. I want to be inside the circle of comfort and confidence. For now, I'm not, so I run and hide.

           

Years ago, long before tent-life, I was sitting at my neighbor’s house with another man of whom I previously had only heard about. The few details I knew of this man was that he had been trying to find work for years after being laid-off. He was a family man who once held down a well-paying position that afforded both a good income and self-fulfillment. But now he was known only as the-guy-who-lost-his-job-so-long-ago. His struggle with the months of trying to get back on his feet was very evident in his demeanor. He appeared as a man squirming in discomfort, as if he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. No doubt he had previously been very outgoing and warm toward strangers like myself. But now, the weight of his loss had made him into an introverted, fearful, remnant of his former self. My heart ached for this man with the lost identity, but I knew that I could not bring my thoughts into our conversation without making him more uncomfortable. What he needed was to be treated as a significant person, with worthy input and opinions, regardless of his jobless stance in life.

The image of success that we're told to uphold can crush us into dust and steal away the crucial attributes of passion and fire. The unforgiving gauge of success can cripple human vibrancy and drive us into dull seclusion and apathy.

             

I sometimes wonder about Jesus' thought process when he was asked the question:

            “So... what do you do all day, Jesus?”

            “Well, I have no place to lay my head.” Jesus would reply.

            “You mean you are homeless?”

            “Yes, I am.” He would say.

            

What acumen allowed Jesus to be so comfortable in his discomfort? How was he so wonderfully immune to the wiles of status? What mystery did he know that empowered him and catapulted him out of the potential prison of self-aggrandizement? I'm not completely sure, but I think it has something to do with knowing from where true fulfillment really comes.

(Yardbird: a prisoner sentenced to menial tasks.)

The Jesus I Never Knew

I've recently finished a great book by Philip Yancey, The Jesus I Never Knew. In it Yancy tells of his re-discovery of the man Jesus. He reveals how his early conceptions of the religious figure have been redefined to a more down-to-earth version of the divine incarnate he grew up believing in.

Jesus was a human in the best sense of the word. And because of that, he was an example to us not just in a divine way but also in a uniquely human way. In other words, he shows us how to live as members of the human race. Jesus purposefully spent his life doing un-recommended things with people who were not recommended. And in the process, the deeds as well as the people changed the world. What a concept!

If nothing else, this tent-life has taught me that God is very different from what I believed he was before. I thirst for continued knowledge of this God.

I Am Who I Am, Even When I'm Not

I have lead worship in some form or another for a long, long time—having started in youth group around 1973. For all these years I have defined myself through my participation of leading the body in our expression of worship. Some things in life your gut says you're supposed to do no matter what happens or what anyone may say. In my case, the one thing that became evident was that I was a worship leader. I somehow knew in my heart I possessed the peculiar gifts and talents to function effectively at this endeavor. From early on, I always felt that I would lead worship for the rest of my life, fulfilling the "call" doing the thing I loved to do most.

Today, more than 35 years later, I do not lead worship anymore. It's difficult to explain how and why this has happened. It's certainly not because I made the conscious decision to quit—I have tried very hard not to stop. Through the most recent years in my tent, I have attempted in every way I could imagine to find the open door that would lead me back to my joy. Nothing has panned out to this date and, needless to say, there were many days I've felt thoroughly confused about the stoppage.

On occasion, doors that held potential for a new "position" swung ajar but they closed and bolted without so much as a nod in my direction. Other doors, though they appeared perfectly suited for me at first, left me fearing that a bigger mistake could not be made than to walk through them. One of life's toughest scenarios is to consciously decide to stay put when you feel as if you cannot hang on one more day where you are.

In time, the question arose whether God was actually taking worship leading away from me! Would God really take something away that was so important and life giving? The short answer...Yeah, he would. But he would not remove it merely to test my commitment to it, for he knows that already. He may remove it to gauge my devotion to him, though I don't think so in this case. I believe the most crucial of all intents is to show me how much more than a worship leader I am.

This whole tent-life seems to be adding to me things I could not have attained through any other means. This is the only way to get there! And whatever future God has set aside, enduring this part of the journey is critical to getting it done.

One thing is sure; I don't want to resume worship leading until I am certain that God has initiated it. I hope that one day the opportunity will come again. But there's a chance that I may never do it again. If that is the case, then I think I may be okay with it. I think I've come to the conclusion that it's not doing something that validates you as a person, it's simply being what God intended all along.

Over The Handlebars

For fitness and stress release, I enjoy riding my mountain bike up the many fire-roads found in this area of the L.A. foothills. I love the whole experience of burning lungs and quads for the reward of a spectacular view at the pinnacle of the ascent. One particular four-mile climb has an ornery hairpin turn that is especially feisty on the descent. Though I have taken this rutted trail hundreds of times over the years I am perplexed by the number of near wrecks I've had at this very spot. Like an old friend, this turn awaits me to test my agility and experience. Fortunately, I have never gone over the handlebars or lost any layers of skin or blood to my old friend. Maybe it's because experience tells me there is only one way to tackle this particular turn—with much patience.

Ahh, you are not going to get away without me telling you of another hairpin nemesis in my life. The one called: Waiting-on-God-through-his-absolute-silence. It's a long name, but what the heck. Like nothing else, waiting on God seems to have the potential of sending me over the handlebars. I have never been good at waiting. I find it utterly nerve wracking to have to endure extended times of delay, especially here within this tent-life. I want to yell out, "Come on! What's the hold up?" Suddenly I realize it is exactly at that point when I find myself engaged in a free-fall over the front end.

The truth is I think I'm getting better at navigating through certain turns and avoiding a crash in life. Still, sometimes I wish there were a "patience pill" I could take along this particular stretch of the rut-filled trail.

As The World Turns

Sometimes I wonder if I think far too much. It's not unusual for me to chew on an issue for weeks or months, especially when the matter in question leads directly to another equally important bone of contention.

I'm not the only person who believes that things happen for a purpose. And I'm also not the only one who realizes that this philosophical viewpoint can be tough to hold when terrible things befall us, or the people we love. We battle with the meaning of life when unexpected things like disasters, or illnesses, or savagery come knocking at the front door. At those times it's much easier for me to consider life a collection of random disconnected events rather than to hand them over to faith and purpose. Yes, I choose to believe in destiny, but it's good to take a vacation from it once in a while.

I was born on the other side of the world, in Indonesia, and we were hustled aboard a ship bound for The Netherlands not two months after that. Four years later we immigrated to America where I grew up in Los Angeles. Those of us who originate in far-off places can at times feel the goading of the questions of fate: "What if we had never left? How would my life be different?" I may have been spared Polio but I surely would not have met my wife and therefore not have the children that we do now.

I am grateful and blessed that life has led me down these roads. And I would not change even a small part of the details. Except for the times I feel lost in my tent, I love the road of life my feet are traveling. I choose not to live in the "What if?" I think more and more I try to live in the "What now?" What great unseen blessing can we find down this unfamiliar road? I know, easier said than done.

Young Glen, left of center, with family. Photo taken just prior to immigration to America.

Soothing the Savage Beast

When I was 11 years old my mom bought me my first guitar—a black and red beauty, wrapped in a plastic bag, and hanging by the checkout counter at Thrifty's. At 14 years old I was given the chance to lead worship for youth group and I haven't put the instrument down since. Over the past 40 years of playing, there has truly been something about the guitar that has gone beyond wood, and steel, and finger pain. It has become a communication device. And by that I mean God explains himself to me through it. I haven't decided whether this is a wonderful fringe benefit of music or the intended purpose for it all along.

Playing the guitar slackens the tension in my heart. I do not know all the dynamics of it, but it somehow has the power to break human complexity down to divine simplicity. This is a serious life-saving attribute for a person like me. When I reach the end of myself and I have no answers for any of the questions that call for timely resolutions, I look for my guitar. Some might label it a crutch. Well then, let's label oxygen a crutch as well.

Playing the guitar, for me, slows the heartbeat of life, dials down the heat, and turns down the volume. Excuse me now; I think I'll go pick up my guitar....

Some Things In Life We Recycle, Others We Must Throw Away

Earlier I let you know that I am a tent dweller. But I have yet to tell you where my tent is parked. Since we know each other a little better now, I feel safe enough to let you know that my tent is pitched in my mother-in-law's backyard. There! I said it.

It has taken me many, many months to feel comfortable enough to speak about my failures. I fell into this abyss because I was hopelessly ruled by the standards of success set down by our culture. Driven by appearances, and kept in line by false perceptions, I laid down under the weight of what I thought I should be. And then, skirting the periphery of life, staying in the shadows, I stole down the backstreets of cynicism.

Over time I found out that keeping to myself was very unhealthy. As difficult as it was, I had to find ways of opening up to others about the toughest thing I've ever had to experience. I began by writing my thoughts and feelings down which eventually became a book called Wisdom's Gait. Writing was very therapeutic and brought me to a place of greater wholeness once again. As I became engulfed in writing the book, I also found that I could more easily express my feelings and emotions to real persons—as if writing was practice for actual heartfelt relationship. And that, above anything else, proved to be the greatest healing factor. We need other people to make it in this life.

I'm well enough now to let you know that it nearly destroyed me to have to move into the tent in my mother-in-law's yard. I had never felt as betrayed by God as I did the first several months in the tent. It seemed as if God turned away from me and left me to fend for myself. I was lost and no one was organizing a search party.

We sure learn a lot about ourselves, and life around us, when we come to an impasse. All of life suddenly seems to become a huge pile of unanswered questions. Can we make the decision to believe while we feel absolutely abandoned by the object of our faith? Can we get up in the morning when a good reason to is hard to find? Can we determine what is important enough to work through and what should be thrown away?

Finding the answers to questions like these determines the outcome of tomorrow. But let's just get through today first.

Where God Lives

There are many, many, marginalized and disenfranchised people on earth. This has always been true, though it seems especially so in these times. More often than not, the people I look to for inspiration are among the broken and disparaged of society.

• I look to people who strive to make peace with their allotment long enough to stretch out their hands to help others overcome their losses.

• I look to people who have risen above their discontent, dislodging, discomfort, and disassociation to hold out a guiding candle of hope for others. 

• I look to people who have little left to lose for they are the ones no longer afraid of losing. 

• I look to people more concerned with cooperation than competition.

• I look to people who speak less yet speak volumes at the same time.

What is it that makes these people so inspiring to me? It might be that hardship can pare us down toward the beauty of honesty and simplicity of heart. But more than that, I think it's because I see the glory of the Lord in their lives. The Lord inhabits their words and their deeds at once—a combination that can change the world.

Looking For Signs

Have you ever asked God to give you a sign and what you got was...

?

The Old Thing-A-Ma-Switch

When I was in my early teens a good friend sat me down and asked what I most wanted from God. After a few moments of deep thought I responded, "I want God to give me wisdom"—imagining that I would wake up the next morning with new found insight. Of course, it didn't happen that way. 

Still, when I think back to my friend's query I sometimes half-wish I could have my response retracted. I believe my reply somehow set in motion a journey toward knowing more of the Lord's heart—a journey that would take the rest of my life. I realize now that to have a measure of wisdom concerning life means having to pay the price to get it! I now know I have to experience and endure the process which nurtures the faith seeds that will eventually sprout up to become glorious discernment. The problem with all of this is that it can take excruciatingly long years to accomplish. Alas, knowing the timely nurturing effects of manure on our plantings doesn't necessarily improve on the stink of it. It's conceivable that we may have to live with the smell of our failures in order to gain wisdom concerning them.

This morning I was imagining how neat it would be to have a wisdom "thing-a-ma-switch". A thing-a-ma-switch that I could throw whenever I needed to find enlightenment. When an issue arose that needed quick smarts I would simply flick open my options, choose the appropriate solution, and be on my way. The downside of my thing-a-ma-switch, I realize, is that I would most assuredly choose the easiest solution every time. The option, which causes me the least amount of disruption, discomfort, expense, heartbreak, embarrassment, or delay, would undoubtedly be the one I would choose.

I'm grateful that there is no real thing-a-ma-switch, for it would truly be to my demise. As much as I hate enduring the unknown, I know now there is no better way to gain access into the infinite wisdom of God than finding it down the less desirable, unmapped roads of life.

Why Wisdom's Gait?

The S.S. Zuiderkruis (Southerncross), circa late 1950s

I walk in a gimpy manner—like Chester, from Gunsmoke. My pronounced gait is the result of having contracted Polio onboard a ship during the process of relocation from our home in Indonesia to The Netherlands in 1957. The ship's name was the S.S. Zuiderkruis and it will be forever etched in my mind.

Above and beyond any other influence, Polio has been the overriding constant that has defined my past. And if I were honest I would say that it still roams the backstreets of my mind looking for an unguarded doorway into my soul. I like to think that Polio’s influence over who I am has diminished through the years. And truthfully, many of the emotional shackles of the disease have been loosed and placed safely out of the way. Still, I’m wearied at times by the hardwearing power of certain thought processes that continue to be leveled at me when my defenses are down and rainwater is coming into my tent. Decades of self-inspection and adjustments, years of failing and compensating, have all resulted in discovering some intricate and complex details of the human heart and mind.

Through it all I found that the best way to find a measure of peace about some of the unchangeable things in life is to find God's wisdom on the subject. If I cannot conquer a thing by myself then I better do my best to let God's insight and clarity bring the deliverance, restoration, and healing I desperately need. Pursuing God's wisdom, though, can take you down some dimly lit roads. And the pathway to peace may take you straight through the town of turmoil before journey's end. That's the way it seems to be set up in God's mind. Wisdom's gait is just as awkward as my own gait. They may, I suspect, be one and the same.

Fear and Faith: BFFs

I don’t offer up information about myself very easily—I never have. In fact, speaking so freely about the details of my tent life is something I never imagined I could ever do. It does not fit into my “personality profile”. When I was young I remember consciously making the decision to avoid self-disclosure. (More on that later)

When I first became a tent-dweller I hid myself away from everyone. The shame I felt over not having the ability to be “successful” in life, drove me into seclusion. I made calculated efforts to avoid all contact with family, friends, and neighbors. Fear of others confirming my own thoughts of personal failure became enough to keep myself hidden away and out of sight for months. Every moment became a challenge to overcome. Each breath became an ordeal to get through. Every thought felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. The simple breaking of a shoestring became another hardship attempting to claim the better of me—another moment of deliberating my choices of succumbing to anger or of maintaining hopefulness. My life became a telling of minutes and hours rather than weeks, months, or years. I was ruled by Fear and I have come to know him on a deep level.

Fear tallies and rations out life. Fear collects the remnants of a shattered life together and measures them against the days that lie ahead. Fear rations what is left of money, hope, time, strength, and optimism—absolutely everything gets tallied. A simple optimistic thought had become an exorbitant luxury and therefore I refrained from showing too much optimism, fearing future lack. Like a farmer standing in a field counting the ears of corn the meager season would produce, calculating his crop against the days of the long winter ahead, I came to surveying the days to come with my close associate Fear and his scrawny cousin Futility.

Faith is the opposite of Fear. But they certainly are not unacquainted. In fact, they seem to hang around each other a lot these days—almost as if they are roommates. I cannot have a conversation with Faith without Fear jumping in trying to make a point. I like to hang around Faith much more than Fear. Faith seems calmer and less troubled by every little thing. Faith is not afraid of the future and has little concern over the “unknown”. Faith rests in the sure promises of God and in the extravagance of hopefulness. But faith can be agonizingly elusive. He'll take off without saying where he's going or where he can be reached—and that bugs me.

Is this the end, or just the beginning?

The sudden clamor of little dogs yapping startles me into awareness in the predawn. What’s all the fuss about now? I groan. All I want is just a little more sleep. I try turning over in an attempt to shut out the little irritants. But then, as if part of a finely orchestrated production, a low rumble begins on cue. It’s the unmistakable sound of a large, heavy trash container as it slowly starts rolling that shakes the last bit of drowsiness loose from my mind. Oh, it’s Friday. I realize. And that means the intrusive low rumble will soon crescendo to a bump-scrape-roll-and-boom. It’s trash pick-up day on our street and my neighbor to the right, realizing that he has forgotten to curb his trash receptacles the night before, is now attempting to accomplish the chore with minimal disruption to those still locked in blissful sleep. The trouble is that the little yapping dogs, standing guard to the left, will not allow his task to be completed without their input. As hard as he tries, my neighbor cannot go unnoticed by the little sentries and the confrontation escalates with each successive can. Inevitably, as he abandons all hope of remaining undetected, he begins to hurry his task to keep the duration of the unfolding drama as short as possible. Now, as the yapping gets more furious, the thunder of rolling trashcans gets even more desperate and rushed. I begin to feel my neighbor’s pain as I lie there in amazement. His first trip down the long asphalt driveway is followed by another, and then another—all accompanied by the incessant yapping of delusional little dogs. It’s time to get up, I decide, crawling out from under my warm blanket.  

Well, looks like I’m still here. I think to myself as I carefully peer outside. Each night as I go to sleep I pray that I would wake to find things changed. I ask God to provide a miracle that would transport me, while I slept, to a place far away from where I am. It’s cold. Five steps from here to the back door.... Can I make it without getting too wet? Just don’t trip and fall, like last time, I caution myself. After taking in a deep breath to help gather some determination, out I go. 

I am a tent-dweller. I belong to the constituency of canvas. I did not choose this tent life. It pursued me and overcame me. I used to be a house-dweller. I used to live within real walls, with real glass for windows, and a solid roof overhead. I used to have a real doorknob, rather than the plastic, dysfunctional zipper that I have now. I used to have a light-switch, a floor, and the luxury of standing up straight in the morning. I would wake up to the distant, sounds of predawn, or even better, to no sounds at all. But these days the rumble of the rolling Friday morning trash containers, little yapping dogs, and the construct of poles and canvas that I call my room, is my unwanted reality. On some days, as I brace for the chill, I struggle with the emotional pain of morning. For some reason, today I’m okay—but it’s still early.... 

The preceding excerpt is actually taken from a true story. My story. I begin this blog with this post because I don't know where else to start. Capturing my thoughts is sometimes like trying to count patrons at the bus station when they are all simultaneously scurrying in every direction. It's tricky getting my brain to slow down to a writing pace—especially my hunt-and-peck writing pace. I just needed to start and let my thoughts start flowing onto the page.

Like many stories, mine is filled with unexpected turns. Yet enduring the plot twists of life have, over time, made me into the person I am. Fifty-two years of the unanticipated have taught me a little bit about living. Not the least of which is to steer clear of second-guessing and fortunetellers. I can no longer live with such fantasies for they conflict with my newfound conviction that my life, with all of its failures, is worth something in its broken state.

Being a broken man does not make me a weak man. The cracks in my soul are now filled with much stronger stuff than what was there before. Failure brings opportunity to show strength, but not the strength of which you might be thinking.

Today I believe that this tent life is more of a beginning of things than the end of them. I will try to explain some of these thoughts through the days, weeks, and possibly months that lie ahead. I hope they help a little.

My tent, in the shadow of the ominous Station Fire of 2009.