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Please don't make me cry tonight!

I cried when the Cubs lost. That was five years ago. I cried (at least) twice that year. The other time was when Rampage lost (brutally) to Silva in Pride. They fought in a rematch in 2004. Silva (brutally) knocked my boy out again. I cried again.

I became a fan of Rampage partly because, due to Silva's dominance in Pride, he was the underdog. The American captivating his Japanese fans with his ferocious slams and feral fighting style. His willingness to rematch Silva despite the lopsided loss he suffered in their first match. Facing Wandy for a third time, some have wondered, What's the point?

Now, both fighters are competing for the UFC. Rampage thinks the rules, refs, and cage will help him in his quest for redemption. I hope so. Much has been written in speculation regarding Jackson's mental state after losing the light heavyweight title to Griffin, being arrested for reckless driving in California, and firing his manager/trainer. Is he prepared to face his nemesis again? Is his mind right? He looked physically fit at yesterday's weigh-in, but the schoolyard pushing and shoving and posturing that ensued between he and Silva does not answer any of these questions.

Unlike my Cubs, Rampage has won a title recently. Can he win the belt again? I think it's a safe bet that he will be a champion before the Cubs are. I really do not want to cry tonight. I skipped the baseball season this year; so, I was not too disappointed when the Cubs lost in the playoffs. I will be watching tonight's UFC pay-per-view live in the comfort of my own home. That way, no one has to see me cry in public.

Look! I'm streaking!

I love writing poetry; however, I don't practice it enough. I tend to experience spurts with poems. When I do go on a creative streak, though, it's usually a good one. I can pump out a few of them--especially when duly inspired.

For some reason, the following poem, which I wrote two years ago or so, came to my mind recently.

Scar Tissue

I have a lot of scars.
Some big, some small--
Each tells a bit of my story;
None tells it all.
The short ones may mean
More than the long;
A narrow gash a riddle--
Maybe a wide gouge a song.
The pain endured leaves a trail on the skin:
One sings of victory;
Another whispers a sin.


I keep seeing people and wondering what all is really underneath. What pain? What baggage? What dreams? What story? There may be a lot holding it back, but there it is---just beneath the surface. Scar tissue, of sorts.

Maybe it's easier not to talk about "it," whatever it is. We are the great pretenders, aren't we? Going along to get along. Making nice so that we can get through the holidays. Smile and nod, smile and nod.

However, I think this not-so-hidden junk shows up in ways we never intend. It affects our conversations, our friendships, our health.

I don't know where I am going with this, but I do hope that we all review our scars from time to time: reminding us where we've been, what we've been through, what's it made us, and who we still want to be. And, that, most of all, we allow trusted others access to our scars. To educate, to warn, to understand, to be understood.

Motivation? Having some freedom at this stage of my life has caused me to reflect on motivation--the different forms, the ups and downs that accompany self-motivation (perhaps the only kind there really is), and people's reaction to varying types of motivation.

I need to be inspired. I think many people are suffering from lack of inspiration. In my previous post, I wrote about the 'drift' that has set in regarding church services. My wife noted that what I was really missing was inspiration. Inspire me for Christ's sake!

I have to periodically expose myself to inspirational quotations, movies, pictures, and books. I realize that it's my responsibility to keep up with this (even though I love to blame other people!). I have to feed my mind the fuel to keep going.

Read this from General Patton. “Now if you are going to win any battle you have to do one thing. You have to make the mind run the body. Never let the body tell the mind what to do. The body will always give up. It is always tired morning, noon, and night. But the body is never tired if the mind is not tired. You’ve always got to make the mind take over and keep going.”

Rob Bell and the Art of Sneaking Out the Back Door

Who knows how many church services I have endured. As a preacher's kid for most of my childhood, I am sure the number is staggering. Wednesday nights, Sunday school, Sunday nights, Sunday mornings (which always cut into the Bears game), Easter "Sunrise Services" (coupled with fake eggs and stiff pancakes), New Years Eve "Watch Nights" (I have no clue what we were watching), quarterly Potluck meals in the basement with weird food made by weirder people and their leftovers, and week-long summer Bible camps with multiple meetings every day---in other words, a butt-load of time spent in strange gatherings with strange language and strangers.

When you're the pastor's son, you cannot really declare your disinterest and leave in the middle of the sermon. I am 33 now, though, and I have developed quite the knack for early departures in my old age. Lately, it's been after what people call "Worship." I have a serious case of sick-of-three-songs-a-sermon-and-an-offering-itis. A nasty syndrome. Contagious? I hope so.

My disease started a year ago or more, which is remarkable considering I took a ten year hiatus from church attendance through most of my twenties. Where did I catch it? I am tempted to say, "The Bible," but who knows?

I know I am not the only one tired of the formulaic posturing we go through on Sundays. What is the point of it? The show must go on.

Rob Bell's latest, Jesus Wants to Save Christians (A Manifesto for the Church in Exile), gets to the root of this, I think. He writes, "When the goal of a church is to get people into church services and then teach them how to invite people to come to church services, so that they in turn will bring others to more church services - that's attendance at church services" (p. 160). It's like "Feed me, Seymour!" We have cultivated a giant plant which requires food--but does nothing other than sit there with its mouth open. It devours more and more resources while distracting us from the real world. Horror, indeed.

So, I've been leaving early or not going at all. I do hang with the teenagers because you can at least be real with them. I have no idea what to do. "Church hopping" will most likely be futile and lead to greater levels of frustration. The people (some of whom are church staff) I confess my sickness to offer little hope. I know others around my same age who share at least most of my outlook. We commiserate: "Where is the connection? Where is the outward focus? What are we doing here? What's the 'big picture?'"

Bell goes on, "If our church was taken away - from our city, our neighborhood, our region - who would protest?" (p. 166). Would I? My belief in God is still bigger than my discontent, thankfully; although I am not sure that is as comforting as it should be.

My options?
1. Suck it up
2. Quit going
3. Complain to pastor
4. Start my own "thing" (scary)
5. Go Catholic (way more scary)

Maybe I have logged enough hours in a pew/church chair to last me the rest of my life. (Knew I should have kept those receipts. Dang.)

There is one last quotation from the book I am banking on. "Jesus wants to save our church from the exile of irrelevance" (p. 174). I want that. I'd be willing to be part of that effort. Where do I sign up? I loathe people that bitch and moan without being willing to pitch in. Put me in, coach. You'll find me at the back of the church---one foot out the door but really wanting to get drawn in again.

Opposed to Failure

Some encouraging stuff:

"Failure is the opportunity to begin again more intelligently." - Henry Ford

"I am never down; I am either up or getting up." - Anon.

"Failure isn't failure unless you don't learn from it." - Ronald Niednagel

Questions to ask after a failure:
What lessons have I learned?
Am I grateful for the experience?
How can I turn this into success?
Where do I go from here?
Who else has failed like this before and what can I learn from them?
How can my experience help others avoid my mistakes in the future?
Did I actually fail, or did I simply fall short of an unrealistically high standard?
Where did I succeed as well as fail?
"In the best possible environment, growth is not only allowed, but leaders model it an expect it from everyone." - John Maxwell

FEAR > INACTION > LACK OF EXPERIENCE > IGNORANCE > MORE FEAR

OR

FEAR > ACTION > EXPERIENCE > WISDOM > DECREASED FEAR & INCREASED SUCCESS!

"Success is not measured by what a man accomplishes, but by the opposition he has encountered and the courage with which he has maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds." - Lindbergh

"If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected." - Thoreau

They let you read standing up at the laundry mat, right?

These NyQuil hangovers are a real bugger. Attempting to sweat it out at Durango Martial Arts this morning was a wash. No heat yet. After a scalding shower, I plopped down at the 8th Avenue laundry with HST's Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72. This book makes perfect sense to me--especially in light of our recent national popularity contest and, most importantly, without too much staring into the tumbling dryer. For any of this political mess to make some sort of sense, perhaps you have to do what I did recently: swear off TV news and stay out of the national papers as much as possible.
It's been more or less five years since my last bender. I miss beer a little, but mornings like these remind me of the hassle: trying to function without 2nd through 5th gear. Just first and reverse. Coffee helps. But, there's the sloshing through two inches of fresh snow to accomplish that. (It's not even Thanksgiving yet!)
However, there's still a little bit of a high you feel when still drunk on a Monday morning. A dirty little secret you're not trying that hard to keep. Cough medicine doesn't announce its presence as much as say, Coors or Jack even--but the giggles are never far away, are they?
Why is the print so small in this book, Hunter? Surely you didn't approve that? Ugh.
Why isn't this required reading for every registered voter every four years? And why aren't you still around, Dr.? I need you now more than ever. I know you would often write back--even to the hacks that called themselves "fans." I need the real dope--the goods--the lowdown on how to make it as a journalist. The New New New New Journalism. The Narrative. The Gonzo 2.0--come back!
Does my sobriety instantly disqualify me from ever arriving? I am left to sweat out the next four years without you. Sloshing through the muck here in Durango--woefully out of place. A sober square in hippy-land. Rejected query letters and months of angst. Yes, we can!?!?!! Obama=Bobby? Would I have even made it on the plane had I shucked out to D.C. for the scene? (I don't even own a dog--much less the requisite Doberman)
We may never be Iraq-free but at least I have NyQuil.