Storytelling

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John Hancock

 

“Sell your soul for an autograph.” -“Big Bang Baby” by Stone Temple Pilots

There is no way for me to count all the concerts I’ve been to throughout my lifetime. But there have been a lot. Most of them were during my high school years and almost exclusively involved Christian alternative rock bands that most people weren’t familiar with like Plank Eye and The Supertones. But to me, they were famous rock stars. And I got their autographs. And that made me cool.

It’s a funny thing as a 15 year-old kid to ask a band member for their autograph. Because unless I had a question to ask about the meaning of a particular song or unless I generically told them what a huge fan I was like everyone else in the merchandise line, there wasn’t much else to say.

This year on Valentine’s Day I was at Fresh Market buying some flowers for my wife.  I noticed that most of the customers were graviting towards the back of the store.  The rumor was that Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman were sharing lunch at the store’s deli.

I laughed at all the crazy people caring so much about the celebrities there.  Just to make sure it wasn’t a hoax, I journeyed to the back.  It was really them.  Enjoying their private lunch as if no one was around.  As if no one was gawking, whispering, and calling their friends.  And before I knew it, I had snapped a blurry picture of Keith and Nicole with my camera phone.  And they both happened to look up and see me do it.

I realized I was adding to the noise, at that moment.

We put celebrities on a higher plane than ourselves. Yet in the act of admiration (often infatuation and sometimes even obsession) we ironically tend to treat them as being on a lower plane than ourselves. Like a magical charm. Not exactly a human being.

While it’s our respect for their talent we admire, we equate their value to a tangible imprint. An autograph or a camera phone picture is sometimes all we really want from them when we are actually given the opportunity to speak with them as fellow human beings.

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Dreaming about a Russian Mafia in a Warehouse and Pepperoni Pizza

Most nights, I have a few different dreams. But usually there’s only one I can remember the next day, if any. It would be a shame to let these dreams remain entertainment for only one person.  Follow-up questions included.

 

I ended up with some distant ties with the Russian mafia, somehow. Location: New Orleans. Two men were tied up in a warehouse. The building had been doused in gasoline. My mission: To simply walk by the front of the building, shielding my face from the security camera, and throw a lit match on the doorstep of the warehouse. Which would inevitably remove the existence of the two unfortunate men inside who found themselves at odds with the Russians.

I walked up to the building and attempted to strike the match, but my nervous fingers failed me. But if I didn’t complete the mission, I could easily end up in that warehouse with the other guys who were tied up to chairs with handkerchiefs in their mouths.

 

Then I got distracted because my wife called me to let me know we had been invited over to dinner at another married couple’s house. I ended up not striking another match but going to the dinner instead. But then, a terrible thing happened. The other couple had graciously made a delicious pepperoni pizza for us, not knowing that neither of us ate pork. Awkward.

End of dream.

 

Follow-up Questions:

1) What was the Russian mob doing in New Orleans anyway?
2) Was I actually willing to finish off the Russian mob’s victims?
3) How did the other married couple not already know we don’t eat pork? It’s our responsibility to let them know beforehand.

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The Irony of Praying Before a Meal of Junk Food

Bless this greasy burger and these Twinkies to the nourishment of our bodies and our bodies to your service…

Saying the “blessing” before a meal is a complicated and trying process when there is a group of three of more people. I was made most aware of the awkwardness/intenseness involving the procedure during my Junior High and High School years with my church youth group. It always amused me that we were constantly eating fast food and asking God to bless it to the nourishment of our bodies.

The intensity of it is this: I was a hungry kid with a high metabolism. There was food in front of me, but I couldn’t eat it because I had to wait for everyone to be ready for the prayer. That’s cruel for a kid of any age. (Even at 28.)

The awkwardness of it is this: No one knew who was going to be asked to pray. There’s a bit of a short waiting game as the Designated Pray Person is elected. (And by now, I’ve learned to elect myself.)

 

But for those who suffer, there is mercy. I’m referring to the It’s Okay to Eat Fries, Peanuts, and Chips & Salsa Before the Prayer rule. For some reason, God isn’t concerned with us not asking his blessing for unofficial appetizers. However, if there is an actual appetizer, like a Blooming Onion for example, a prayer of tha

 

nksgiving and blessing is required.

And one must always be aware of the Salad Bar Clause. When dining at a restaurant with a salad bar or optional buffet of any kind, it’s important to make sure that someone prays before the first person leaves to go to the buffet. Otherwise, everyone will be obligated to wait for the buffet-goers to get back to their seats before the prayer can be said and everyone can begin eating.

Such anxiety! It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world.

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Animalspeak Volume 3

Twenty-two years ago (November 1987) in our first grade class, my teacher Ms. Sparks gave us all a blank sheet of paper and told us to draw a picture of something we were thankful for.  I was excited.  Thirty minutes later, our teacher walked by everyone’s desk to see the art we had accomplished.  As she came closer to me, I heard her reading off what each of my fellow students said they were thankful for.

“My family.”  “My friends.”  “My parents.”  “My sister.”  “My brother.”

Those were the things I was hearing.  As I looked up from my drawing, I started to realize that maybe mine was a little bit different that everyone else’s.  Ms. Sparks looked down at my picture.  “Animals.”  I was six year-old at the time, but I somehow was keen enough to notice that she that my drawing was weird.

“Yes, animals.  We can be thankful for the animals.”  She went on to the next student, trying to hide the confused look on her face.

I had drawn a picture of a picnic table.  On top of the table were several live animals: a fox, a raccoon, a cat, a bird, a dog, a possum, a squirrel, and I want to say… a horse.  (I really liked the Nick at Nite reruns of Mr. Ed back then.)  At the top of the page, I appropriately titled my masterpiece with an orange crayon:  ANIMALS.

 

Not necessarily animals that I ate.  Just animals.  I had a pet goldfish that I had won a few weeks before at the fair that I named Nippy.  (It was cold outside when I tossed the ping-pong ball in the goldfish bowl.)  But that was really the only exposure I had to animals.  No other pets than Nippy the Goldfish.

I’m still trying to figure out why all these random animals would show up on a picnic table and why I was thankful for them.  Kids are weird.

 

Animalspeak Table of Contents

Volume 1 http://wp.me/pxqBU-f2
Volume 2 http://wp.me/pxqBU-f8
Volume 3 http://wp.me/pxqBU-gu

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Heads or Tails?

Sometimes there’s no middle ground.

To entertain ourselves in the cafeteria after we finished our corndog and tater tot lunches, my friends and I would have contests to see who could make a quarter spin the longest on the table before it ultimately landed on either heads or tails. Fine amusement for 5th grade boys. But never once did a quarter remain on its side. It always fell on one side or the other. Heads or tails.

Today I spent my lunch break at Border’s. Browsing through the photograph books, I couldn’t help but notice the cover of a book entitled Traffik. It was a simple black-and-white picture of a Southeast Asian woman looking at the camera. She only had one eye.

It saddened me so much I pulled out the book from the shelf and sat down on a stool to read it. The book was a large collection of photographs featuring women trapped in human trafficking (forced prostitution) in Cambodia. They are often lured from the mountains and the countryside by men promising them good work.

Of course this sort of hellishly-inspired activity isn’t only currently happening in Asia. While attending Liberty University, I listened carefully to the reports of guest speaker Kay Warren, the wife of Rick Warren (author of The Purpose Driven Life). She has spent time ministering to AIDS victims in Africa.

She explained (regarding the AIDS epidemic in that continent,) that many men with AIDS commonly believe (as they are instructed by witch doctors) they can be cured if they have sex with someone who is “pure”. That’s one of the reasons many children in Africa have AIDS or HIV.

It is estimated that today there are around 29 million slaves in the world; particularly in Africa, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia. I only learned that a few months ago- I was under the impression that slavery ended 150 years ago.

 

So many men keep slavery alive today by capturing and selling other people. And so many other men keep slavery alive by buying or renting slaves from these decrepit “businessmen”. And that leaves innocent women and children to suffer.

When some people are given this information, their reaction is, “How could God exist if he lets things like that happen in the world?”

Others react with, “How could God not exist when things like that are happening in the world?” Because they have hope in justice. And hope in a being who is actually qualified to judge the injustice in the history of the world. Not just sit on a cloud.

Yes, we easily agree that human trafficking needs to be stopped and that’s is a horrible thing.  And fortunately, more awareness of the issue is causing groups to form across to help rescue the victims, if nothing else.

Faith can’t be real if it’s not tested and questioned.  And when it comes to God and a tragedy this horrific, even when we’re not directly affected, it still causes us to either draw closer or further away from God at the simple thought of it.

Heads or tails?