Come, Let Us Do Lots of Things for God

"Come, let us worship and bow down,
Let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.
For He is our God,
And we are the people of His pasture and the sheep of His hand."

As I read this passage in Psalm 95, the Maranatha tune filters through my ears. It's easy to sing this song as a call to our fellow man (fellow 'people,' I mean. Sorry, non-men) to come fall prostrate before the throne of our Lord and Creator. Naturally, that should be our response to holiness. Being struck speechless and powerless is a regular theme throughout the Bible whenever some mere mortal encounters the divine.

But more than it frees me, this psalm convicts me. It doesn't read at all like I'd like it to--at least judging by the way I live my life with respect to God. If I was going to rewrite it based on what I thought was important, it would go something like:

"Alright folks--let's go. God has done a lot for us. He's created us and given us a world to dominate, and we're not getting any younger here. Here's our charge for the day:

'Come, let us work and work hard,
Let us be super-productive for the Lord our Taskmaster.
For He is our Supervisor,
And we are the stewards of His creation and the workers of His fields.'

After all, we worship God best when we are giving everything to Him in service. Get your butts in gear and let's go!"

Somewhere amidst the logic of that thought process (and there are some legitimate slivers of truth in that way of thinking), I forget a pretty important part: if I'm giving everything to God, I don't have a lot of say in how He chooses to use it. When I say, "God, I'm giving everything in service to you," what I really think I'm saying is, "God, here is a portion of my time that you can use for these designated purposes." It's like giving Him a gift card instead of cash.

It's humbling to ponder the metaphors the psalmist uses here, and even more so when considering the verbs. We are sheep--silly, stupid animals whose only goal is not to die. As long as they don't stray from the master and they do what He tells them, they're serving their purpose. That's it--no glory here.* The verbs accost our sense of purpose as well, creating images of helplessness, submission, not-doing. Worship. Bow down. Kneel. How senseless is that? We're not doing anything.

And here's where dismay can turn into rejoicing. Isn't it awesome to realize that God actually really doesn't need us? That His plans for the world are not dependent on our tireless activity and exhausted efforts? Even if they were, He has 99 other sheep who can do it just as well. Viewing ourselves in light of God's omnipotent supremacy makes us pretty small creatures indeed.

My prayer for myself and you is that realization is not encumbered by pride and a need for critical acclaim--that I won't resent my lack of impact but can instead delight in my Father's power. Doing so elicits the recommended response of worshiping, bowing, and kneeling. If that's what God really wants from me, then who am I do declare that I can better serve Him by serving Him. Such reckless disregard for His wisdom really does make me a silly sheep.

*There's a reason you don't see cartoons made about superhero sheep

Jesus Meets The Godfather

I suffer from the same issues as every other 23 yr-old man in North America. No, not male-pattern baldness, and no, certainly not the other thing you're thinking about. My problem is that I am utterly and completely unable to follow my own advice.

A story is told in the Apocrypha about Jesus encountering the most difficult test of his ministry. While traveling toward Jerusalem from Galilee, he encountered a man selling gyros on the side of the road. The man was hobbled and bent, and he squawked out of the shadows to the Lord. "Jesus of Nazareth! Have mercy on me and buy a gyro!" Jesus turned, with love in his eyes to address the man, but before he could speak, another voice rang out from the other side of the road. "Jesus, son of David! I beg you--try my falafel!" Jesus turned and saw a woman, equally haggard and distraught, plying her grainy confections as her only source of survival.

Jesus was stuck. While he loved loved LOVED gyros, he'd also always wanted to try falafel because it sounded so cool. Its very name rolled gently off his tongue. fu-LAH-full.*

Jesus kicked himself inwardly. "Dang it! I wish to myself that I hadn't talked so much about leaving everything to follow me. If I just had a few more denari--then I could buy both!"**

After his internal shouting match was over, the Lord stopped and prayed. "Father, let your will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give me wisdom to know which local fare to purchase with my limited cash."

Instantly, the clouds parted and a beam of light pierced the eastern sky. Both vendors were blinded by the light of God's glory and shuddered when His voice boomed majestically from the heavens. "My Son--in you, I am well pleased. Look upon your wrist and thou wilt find thine answer." As the heavens rolled back into place, Jesus pulled back the right sleeve of his robe to uncover his wrist. "Of course!" he exclaimed to the Heavens. "WWJD! What Would Jesus Do?"

After pondering the reflective question emblazoned on his fashionable rainbow-colored bracelet, Jesus knew just what to do. Turning to face both people at the same time, Jesus raised his hands in blessing, saying, "My children--your sins are forgiven you." He then turned the stones into croissants and peaced out for J-town.

This story was written by Enoch to illustrate a timeless principle--we humans, especially guys if I can be gender-stereotypical, are awful at following our own good advice. If you came and asked me about what to do in your dating relationship, you'd get the most wise and laid-back insight ever. I am a stud when it comes to giving advice.*** However, if you watched my life because you thought, "Hey, Josh is a wise guy who gives really good advice--let's watch him actually do a relationship," then you would be greatly disappointed (just as I usually am).

Because of this apparent fault in my person, it has become necessary for me to develop coping mechanisms. After years of angrily beating my head into a wall after doing something stupid that I knew in advance was wrong, I decided a couple weeks ago to follow the Jesus parable for myself.

Anytime I'm in a quandary now, I simply ask my advice-giving alter-ego for wisdom. He's super cool and really chill, kind of like the Godfather. I call him The Godfather. He's the guy that everyone waits in line for years to talk to, like the Dalai Lama. He just sits there, calm and collected, couchant on his plush sofa doling out advice while sipping a strawberry lemonade from the dimly-lit recesses of a billiards room filled with quietly humming air-hockey tables and long-since inoperable vintage pinball machines from the early 70s. I come to him with my concerns, and he answers them easily, even flippantly.

"Godfather...should I call my girlfriend right now? I know I just talked to her last night, but I miss her a bunch. Is it a good idea, or am I being too clingy? I've been feeling a little bit like she wants some space, but I don't think it's unreasonable for me to call her. What do you think? You are so wise, dear Godfather. Should I call her?"

He interrupts sucking on his lemon slice to acknowledge my question with a glance. "No," he says, finally.

"Oh, thank you, Godfather! You are so wise! I knew, deep down, that's what I ought to do, but I just needed someone to say it to me. If I can ever do anything--"

He then shoes me away with a hand gesture and two big oily guys drag me away as I grovel at his feet. Yes, it's a little embarrassing but it's effective, and as long as I can do that on the inside, I don't have to look like an idiot to everyone else.

If you'd like to speak to The Godfather about your own relational problems, then be my guest. He gives wonderful advice, but just know that when he asks you to "go to the mattresses" for him, he's not asking you to pick up a Sealy Posturepedic for his ailing mother.

*What the Lord didn't know is that falafel is, in fact, disgusting.
**It's apparent at this point why this story is found in the Apocrypha and not the real Bible.
***I say this jokingly but humbly believing I actually do give really good advice.

The Wonders of Technology

I am very thankful for modern technology. Every day, people all over the world--Americans and non-Americans alike--take for granted millions upon millions of practical household inventions. People go about their daily routines mindlessly, completely ungrateful for technological breakthroughs like coffee pots, computers, the atomic bomb, oxygen, and other household appliances. It's as if they're saying, "I'm a human being--I deserve to stick to the Earth!" Where would they be if Einstein hadn't of invented gravity? Floating around space--that's where they'd be, the ingrates.

I, for one, am completely aware of the electronic world (or e-Earth, if you will) that we live in. Ever since I popped out of my mom, I have thrived upon the hum of machines and the buzz of radio waves reverberating my fillings.* My recurring nightmare finds me crying helplessly in the woods as I try and sleep in the fresh air under a starlit sky, alone and bereft of peace without an iPod, microwave oven, or my Lost DVD collection.*** In contrast, when I sit in long meetings and daydream, the Nirvana I imagine always somehow involves the Internet, a construction site, and being hooked up to critical life support. I love technology so much that I once begged the doctor to let me live in an iron lung. The loser completely ignored me.^

This brings me to my favorite piece of technology: the cellular phone (or as the kids are calling them these days, "cell phones"). I remember when these things were called "car phones" and they came in nifty black leather bags that resembled man-purses with scrunchy cords dangling from the zipper. I love cell phones because I can always be connected to anyone I've ever known or thought about knowing within just a few seconds. Never do I have to worry about being alone--someone could call me at any second! No more will I have to worry about battling the dark stillness of the night--I'll leave my phone on, and maybe I'll hear it ring at 3 in the morning. What joy!

The real reason I think I like mobiles so much stems from a traumatic incident early in my life--something quite personal that I've never shared with anyone else:^^

I once knew this girl...well, she was a woman, really. I was infatuated with her, quite honestly. For months, I didn't want to be with anyone but her. We ate all our meals together, went everywhere together, and even slept together (something I'm not very proud of). In short, we did everything together. You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not--we were connected, physically and emotionally. Friends would try and talk to me about her, but most of the time, I just wouldn't listen. It got to the point where people--some of whom I didn't even know--would shout at me unceasingly, ready for me to leave this woman and get a life. I just wanted to be with her, though; I knew nothing else. I would try and push them away, but again and again they returned, each time louder as if invigorated and enthralled by my feeble resistance.

But as time went on, things started getting tense between us. I started sensing that she really wanted me to leave, yet ironically, I was, at the same time, feeling incredibly smothered by our relationship. When we'd first gotten together, we were both growing so much! But what both of us realized was, while I was still growing, she had virtually stopped months ago. Our relationship, while still enjoyable at times, weighed on her heavily, and she was ready for me to go. She'd say as much to me--never harshly--but sometimes with frustration. I didn't take her seriously until the day she kicked me out.
To be clear, she had help. On her own, I still to this day doubt that she could of gotten rid of me, so intricate was our connection. But she had friends and family--as well as professional council--advising her to push me out of her life. I didn't know what hit me.
I found out later that her "friendly" doctor actually medicated her, inhibiting her ability to think clearly and enabling her to do what she did. Things had been basically fine for several weeks, but then, within a matter of hours, she decided it was over.

I felt incredible pressure to leave. Wanting desperately to salvage the great thing we had for so long, I clung--too long, I now realize--to the past, unwilling to move on. But with nowhere to go but out, I reluctantly escaped with nothing but my life to show for it. Tears were shed by myself and her as well as by our friends. Their tears were of happiness; ours, tears of deep pain.

Yet all this difficulty is nothing compared to final blow felled to me that day. After hours of attempting to forever change our relationship, the same doctor who drugged her severed our connection forever.

Ever since that day, I have subconsciously--sometimes, even vengefully--sought to regain that type of connection with her. My life has seen me bounce around from woman to woman, trying in vain to feel as closely joined to someone as I did for those few short months. But now that cell phones are accessible to all of the world, I never have to worry again! Instead of trying to reconnect that physical umbilical cord, I have an electronic one! And that is what makes all the difference.*Yes, I did have fillings as an infant. It was an arduous delivery; please don't ask. If you want, I have a photo album on Facebook with excessively detailed pictures.**
**Not really.
***I still can't find those confounded discs! They really are good at what they do.
^Ok, he did not completely ignore me. What he actually said was, "Nurse, please give the boy another shot of Novocaine."
^^Which makes the story perfect for the anonymity of the Internet.

New England: Land of the Free, Home of the Crazy Driver

As you may already know, I've recently moved to New England, or as I like to call it, "Boston." Bostonians are a very proud species. They like to call themselves names. Names like "Red Sox Nation," "The Capital of New England," and "The Cradle of Civilization*" are common monikers that float about the pedestrian-laden streets like bedbugs in a college dorm room.**

Boston isn't the only place that thinks it's pretty cool. New Hampshire's license plate says, "Live Free or Die!" Given the choice and time to ponder it, I think I'd choose the freely-living option.

If Boston decided to adopt a similar catchy slogan, it would be something like, "Drive Very Assertively or You Will Certainly Perish." Contrary to popular belief, this is not because New Englanders are angry people^; it's simply because their roads are awful.

Allow me to elaborate. In Texas (the Lone Star State), we have what most Texans refer to as "on-ramps" for all major highways. I'm not sure what they're called in Massachusetts, but I colloquially call them "the times when you try to accelerate to 55 miles an hour from a complete stop while risking the lives of about 4 people." (See diagram below.) No wonder so many casinos are based in New Jersey. People around here love to gamble!


These frequent near-death encounters have added a new level of excitement to my life. No longer is a trip to Target for a package of boxer briefs^^ just a casual jaunt in my 4Runner; it's now something along the lines of Indiana Jones running from a perfectly spherical boulder through a pack of poison-dart-shooting Incas while an Indian voodoo-man squeezes the life out of his beating heart. "Short Round" would pee his pants at the very thought of such a life-threatening quest. Sean Connery would shave his beard and pick up a Texas accent before embarking on such a trial.

The upside of regular doses of danger has been that I am now much more carefree. After coming so close to death on a daily basis and somehow surviving, I haven't a care in the world. Yesterday, I blow-dried (blew-dry?) my hair in the shower. This morning, I bit off the head of a rattlesnake and spit it in Chuck Norris's face.^^^ Tomorrow, I'm not even going to set an alarm.

If you, too, would like to be released from all the cares in the world, then come to Boston. I have a spare bedroom, and yes, it is decorated in the "University of Texas" theme, just as you'd expect. You can stay with me as long as you want.`

*This could easily be confused with "The Cradle of Liberty," a name for Faneuil Hall in downtown Boston.
**Bedbugs actually don't float much, but they will ravage your RA given the opportunity.***
***Bedbugs are also apparently invincible.
^Their angry ways actually have nothing to do with it at all.
^^ I still have yet to experience these legendary undergarments.
^^^Anyone who knows me or Chuck Norris would instantly see that such tomfoolery has no place in our loving-but-macho Facebook friendship. I admit I was exaggerating.
`Not in excess of one (1) night.

Thoughts that Keep One Awake Whilst Driving Across the Country

At this time, I'd like to take a break from my regularly-scheduled series on weddings and share some my travel experience with you through a collection of thoughts:

A statement of fact: Watermelon is not a good pre-road trip breakfast.

A warning: Beware of gas station bathrooms, especially ones where, before entering, the owner stops you and says, "I have to warn you--it's pretty bad in there."

A proverb: Burritos are like cousins visiting from out of town. They're awesome at first, but then they either leave in an awful hurry or hang around long after you'd like them to.

A theory: Native Americans love to gamble. Why else would so many of them choose to live in Oklahoma where there's nothing but casinos and sub-par college football?

A proposition: Change the term "rest room" to "relief room." It's rare I find a gas station lavatory in which I feel like resting. To be most accurate, we should probably call them "watch where you stand and please don't touch anything" rooms.

An exclamation of praise: I am not a woman; thus, even while I lament about the poor state of public restrooms, I do not experience them in the same way they do. We men should pray for them.

A final bathroom reference: Urinals and flip flops do not make good bedfellows.

A suggestion for Illinois: One word, two syllables: topography. Check it out--lots of states are doing it.

A realization: This country has a lot of corn. There's got to be something we can do with it besides eat it. Engineers, please get on that.

A desire: Instead of correcting me when I deviate from my suggested course, I wish my GPS would say things like, "My, I should of thought of that" or "Wow, sir, you're quite the adventurer." Also, I'd like it to giggle occasionally while I'm pressing its buttons.

A fact: Trucks full of turkeys are disgusting.

A guess: I bet teenagers in Illinois love telling people that they live in Effingham.

Sabotaging Weddings

Besides being able to legally purchase lottery tickets, the best thing about aging is getting to see all your friends get married. When I was a kid, I had so many weekends in which I had absolutely nothing to do. Now that I’m older, I have anywhere from one to 35 weddings per weekend to choose from. Another added benefit is that I am perpetually aware of the fact that I am unmarried. What joy! Fortunately, all these weddings have not been a waste of time. Through careful study, I have begun to develop a science of weddings—the substance of which I will gladly share with you. And because of the wonders of the Internet, I am able to dispense that information to you at no charge.

Premise #1: There are three types of weddings: absolutely extravagant perfect weddings, normal weddings, and weddings where something goes wrong. People always remember extravagant weddings. We know this because women talk about them all the time. People also remember weddings where something goes wrong, like when the pastor forgets to tell everyone to be seated and the entire audience stands for the duration of the ceremony (true story: my dad did it). Avoiding mistakes is almost impossible (or at least very expensive); thus, the key is to control mistakes, not attempt in vain to prevent them. Since no one wants just an average wedding, yet few people have the resources for a perfect ceremony, your best bet is to plan for something to go wrong.

This brings me to today’s special offer. Since most brides are too consumed with wedding details to plan for things to go wrong at the appropriate times, I will lend my skills as ceremonial saboteur for a small fee. These packages are pro-rated based on the level of service you require:

$100: This is the Basic Saboteur fee. I will attend your wedding as a silent guest and work behind the scenes to accomplish one (1) of the following tasks:

Candles don’t light or go out prematurely ($25 extra for Unity Candle malfunctions)

Flower girl

1. Does not drop flower petals
2. Flashes the audience throughout the ceremony
3. Wets herself

Bridesmaid/groomsman passes out

Getaway car gets completely trashed and is undriveable

Ring gets lost ($25 extra)

Someone objects loudly ($50 extra)

Grandparent dies ($150 extra)

Screwing with the cake (strictly forbidden)

As an invisible attendant, I am completely deniable. You are then free to laugh, enjoy yourself, and rest assured that nothing will go wrong…except what you planned.

$500: For a few hundred dollars more, you can greatly enliven your party by purchasing the services of the Charming Guest. In addition to sabotaging the wedding in up to two (2) different ways, I will:

Dance with your grandmother and/or bridesmaids

Tell humorous stories about you that make you seem warm, genuine, and lovable

Schmooze five (5) persons of your choosing, guaranteeing that they do not complain angrily to other guests about deficiencies in the ceremony and/or your character

$1,000: How many stories do you know about a no-show groomsman? If you can think of one, that’s one too many. This is exactly the type of mistake you don’t want to experience (for more details, see “Hell on Earth”). For only one grand, I will fill in as a Groomsman, complete with fake ID and stories about our exceedingly long-lasting relationship. Five wedding party pictures are included in the fee. For an extra $250, I will make a short (3-5 minute) speech that is both funny and touching. For $500 more, I will be your Best Man. This package comes complete with a custom assortment of ceremonial faux pas.

$10,000: If none of the above offers are enough to save your wedding, then your final option is the premium package. For $10,000, I will marry the bride. If her family is so upset with your lack of intelligence, character, charm, or wit, I will take one for the team and marry her on your behalf, convincing them that everything they’ve heard about the groom is utterly untrue. Your 10k covers the cost of a professional makeup job to make me look like the Groom as well as the price of an official annulment that will allow you to legally be wed by a justice of the peace at a later date. No wedding-night services are included.

Superman Christianity

In Superman 4, Kal-El (i.e. Superman) is battles his new arch-nemesis Nuclear Man for a long time (approximately 90 minutes [93 if you live in Finland], which is generally the amount of time it takes to defeat a bad guy, solve a crime, or learn a life lesson).

Nuclear Man is a clone of Superman who possesses all the same powers as the man in tights (with the addition of unsightly fingernails), yet has one deficiency: he needs the power of the yellow sun. Superman does too, but this David Bowie impersonator simply can’t fight without it. Superman finally defeats him by fighting him on the dark side of the moon, then buries him in a nuclear reactor (who didn’t see that one coming?).

I generally use this story to illustrate my genetic need to live in the South. Seasonal Affectedness Disorder (SAD) afflicts 1.5% of Americans, with the most typical symptom being depression during long winter months. In short, Seasonal Affectedness Disorder and the state of Oregon teach us one thing: people need sunshine to live healthy lives. Great cheese comes from happy cows. Happy cows live in California. Although I do not technically have SAD, I often experience a noticeable loss of energy during several consecutive days of grayness and empathize with the SAD people.

But beyond the need for sunshine, I think the best use of this story fits with us and the Holy Spirit. As Christians, the vitality that the indwelling of the Lord God provides is simply irreplaceable. The Spirit literally provides life (Rom. 8:10), yet so many Christians survive without it. Why, and how, is that?

The why is pretty simple: living in the Spirit takes work. Like all relationships, your connection with God takes daily effort and intentionality. I’ve not yet seen a relationship in which both people said one day, “Hey, let’s get married,” got married, then were a part of a thriving union despite never talking to each other thereafter. Any kind of intimacy is the product of a continual choice to prioritize and dedicate oneself to expending the time and energy necessary to get to know each other. Like a living organism, death begins once growth stops. In physics terms, relationships exist in a dampened system. We know this—it’s common sense. Yet for some reason, 90% of Christians (that statistic is completely made up) reject the normal rules of relationships and think they can get by with little-to-no attention given to their internal reality.

The how is slightly more complicated: if we really need the Holy Spirit that badly, then how is it that people survive without it? Francis Chan, in his book The Forgotten God (3 stars), offers the beginnings of an explanation:

“For some reason, we don’t think we need the Holy Spirit. We don’t expect the Holy Spirit to act. Or if we do, our expectations are often misguided or self-serving. Given our talent set, experience, and education, many of us are fairly capable of living rather successfully (by the world’s standards) without any strength from the Holy Spirit” (p. 31).

Although he would agree that even those who openly reject God need the Holy Spirit for every single breath, it’s obvious that people who choose to ignore God can still be “successful.” If you just want to live a normal, decent life, then you can do so without relying on the daily sustenance of God’s presence. Nuclear Man didn’t need the Sun to survive, just for his superpowers to work. Although the Spirit offers much more than simple abilities, you can’t live a supernatural life without it.

Chan thinks (rightly so) that we should be unsatisfied with this “fairly adequate” life:

“I don’t want my life to be explainable without the Holy Spirit. I want people to look at my life and know that I couldn’t be doing this by my own power. I want to live in such a way that I am desperate for Him to come through. That is He doesn’t come though, I am screwed” (p. 142).

Without the supernatural indwelling of the Holy Spirit, we’re Power Wheels without batteries, superheroes without powers. Who wants to be Batman when you could be Superman? (If you are one of those people who thinks Batman is cooler than Superman, then you are hopeless and possibly not a Christian. Let me know so I can pray for you.) I, for one, am not okay with living a mediocre life. That’s not what we’re created for or called to. That’s why I continually seek to dwell in the life-giving power of the Son.

(Audible groan as I end with typically cheesy Christian pun.)

Books, Humility, & God’s Holiness

One of the greatest inventions of the last century has been the book. Before books, men read scrolls, and women didn’t read anything. Although this may sound ideal to some of you, it actually wasn’t. People were uneducated and couldn’t spel, which is one of the few abilities that separate us from animals (“Curses!” suspired the poor platypus, angrily).

But then along came this guy named Gutenberg—an ingenious fellow with enough time on his hands to both invent the printing press and star in the summer blockbuster “It Takes Two” with superstars Mary Kate & Ashley Olson.

Steve (which is apparently short for Johannes) single-handedly made knowledge available to everyone—much like Amazon will do for the print-illiterate generation with its Kindle (formerly known as the iPod or nano-iPad).

This was a big deal for lots of reasons, but the implication that I’m writing about (ironically so) is the small collection of books I’ve been reading recently. As a part of a new venture to actually learn things in school instead of just passing tests, in the last couple years I’ve begun reading (for definition, see “intensive skimming”) texts assigned in class. One such exposition was a treatise on humility called, appropriately enough, Humility. This subject has been of increased interest to me as of late, so I dove in heartily and actually (in quintessential nerd fashion) finished it before the beginning of the semester. (Note: Such a venture should be embarked upon cautiously, as references in class to previously-completed readings will certainly draw the scorn of friends, classmates, and most professors.)

The book, which was exceptional in its practicality, suggested as an application that those truly seeking humility begin a study of God, especially His holiness, as a means to become more humble. The logic goes like this: If you come to know God and His holiness, you will consequently understand your sin in greater clarity and thus become more humble. Pursuing humility is thus something akin to the pursuit of happiness: we find it best when it comes as a by-product of greater things. If you want to be happy, dedicate yourself to joy independent of circumstances, and seek to love others. If you want to be humble, learn who God is and who you are in light of His majesty.

Brennan Manning offers a similar thought in Ragamuffin Gospel:

“There is an essential connection between experiencing God, loving God, and trusting God. You will trust God only as much as you know Him. And you will love Him to the extent you have touched Him, rather that He has touched you.”

We have to experience God if we are to become more like Him, and we need to understand His holiness if we will be humble.

All the preceding developments led me to where I am right now: reading The Holiness of God by R.C. Sproul. Robert Charles, like his buddy Gutengberg, was apparently a multi-tasker as well (if you don’t believe me, you haven’t experienced his tasty Coke alternative) but was also a great book writer. This is my first interaction with Sproul (pronounced SPROLL, like a portmanteau of Spree and Rolo, which, if combined, could be the world’s greatest candy ever), and I’ve found him to be thoughtful while still communicating clearly and simply. (Think Os Guinness or Henri Nouwen.) His unfolding of the Biblical theme of God’s holiness is refreshing as well as convicting, and I recommend it. It drives me back to prayer and Scripture, which is what any good (Christian) book does. But none of this personal growth would be possible were it not for the advent of books.

I know I’ve rambled a bit, so in case you lost me, here’s the point of the whole post: Although they’ve slimmed down a lot and their popularity has seemed to deteriorate much in recent years because of the development of newer, more attractive alternatives, no one can dispute the timeless value of the Olson twins, especially with regard to their family-friendly comedy “It Takes Two.” Watch it with a friend. But just in case you get bored during the movie, bring a book.

Hola, El Internet

Hello, blog world.

Actually, I guess this introduction should technically be, “Hi, blog world—it’s good to see you again. You might not remember me, but we’ve met at least a couple times. Once, when my freshman English teacher in college made me start a blog, then again once I tried unsuccessfully to reach worldwide acclaim by posting funny thoughts on the internet. Both of those were kind of short-lived, so here’s hoping our relationship lasts longer than that one time I dated a girl for a day after summer camp. Sincerely yours, Josh”

Actually, that last comparison’s not bad. Just like that ill-fated dating arrangement in which I dated a girl when I really liked her best friend, creating a blog may just be me fulfilling my appetence to be published for real. If we stick with that metaphor, then I guess I should apply what I learned from that experience: be honest up front. Well, here goes:

I’m a Christian. I like to write. I amuse myself, and it seems other people occasionally fall prey to that reaction as well. I’m from Texas, but I live in Indiana and am moving to the Boston area. I like big words. I have lots of random hobbies of which writing is one. This is an exercise to make myself more disciplined at writing for fun with regularity. Occasionally, I might share something serious, but in general, these postings will contain some bit of humor. If you continue reading, you might even experience some genre variation. Some will be funny, some might be thought provoking, and a lot of it will probably be boring and disinteresting. I guess that’s up to you, though.

Now, this is the part of the relationship where I get applauded for honesty. “Josh, that’s sweet. I really appreciate you trying to do the right thing. Now I really want to date you.” To which I reply, “I don’t know if you heard what I said…” You assure me that you did, which I don’t believe, but we get together anyway. Then after a short while (3-5 hours) you find out that I wasn’t just being humble when I told you how lame I was and you decide you don’t want to date a loser. That’s fine. Disappointing, but kind of what I anticipated.

So here’s where I call an audible. Instead of us entering into an exclusive relationship, we’re going to try a digital media version of a friends-with-benefits relationship. I’ll do my random and sporadic writing thing, and you’ll read occasionally. But we won’t be exclusive. In fact, I encourage you to read people who have been doing this way longer than me and who are certainly funnier. Steve Conn & Dr. Awesome are two such people that I follow.

Inevitably, we’ll have to have another DTR (Define the Relationship) in the future, but I think this suffices for now. Until then…(end with a thoughtful witticism).