Men Love Bacon

This commercial made me laugh:




Mostly because, well, I called it. (see For Girls, #8)

It's all about me!

And that's what you're here to read, right?

Here's a story by one of my longest-time friends from Florida. I laughed quite a bit at this ages-old memory. I doubt anyone can enjoy it as much as I did.

But I'm biased.

The Book Outlet

It's a rather odd place for a book.

But there it was. I discovered it while helping some friends move out of a familiar building.

What struck me about this particular find wasn't the book itself. Rather, it was the conversation I shared with my roommate about it.

Me: "That's weird."

Jon: "I know, right? That book's, what, maybe 200 pages, and it's supposed to be a Tolkien Reader?"

Me: "Huh?"

Jon: "Well, with an author that's written so much, including a single trilogy that weighs in at almost 2,000 pages in its entirety, it's hard to believe that a book so small could even touch his works."

Me: "... yeah, I guess so."

Jon: "Yeah."

Me: "...I just thought it was weird there was a book on a power outlet."

Walking (on) Water

Somehow I made my way to the lake.

It was that kind of dark that makes you wonder who's creepin' on ya; it isn't foggy, but it feels foggy. My feet carried me this way, then that, and ended at the place where I stood weeks ago, peering over the water. Only now, the place where I stood stands under a few feet of water. It's amazing what a month of rain can do.

I cast my eyes skyward to meet the greys and purples herding themselves along. Maybe they'd catch the storm that preceded them hours before. My head sank again to the lake. The ripples synced with the clouds, but halted at my feet, the edge of the concrete path-turned-shore the new beach.

I set my foot out, on top of the water. It sank an inch to the bottom.

I tried again; it sank again.

I stepped out with both feet, one at a time. This time, my socks dampened, and my eyes dampened as I lamented the lack of faith or grace that kept me from walking on the water.

But stepping out in faith isn't really faith. Inches are not a risk.

I needed to jump.

I laughed at the idea. I said I was crazy. I reasoned, though, that craziness would be not believing what happened to Peter could possibly happen today, and could not happen to me. Surely, rationale says that if a thing is possible once, it is possible again.

With all the reason I could muster, I backed up the flat black path, let out a boyish chuckle, turned, ran and jumped.

I couldn't help but think of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego who, before being thrown into the furnace, affirmed that their God could do the impossible, saving each one.

"But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3:18)

For them, God not providing a miracle or doing the impossible is not a sign that God is not present. God does what God wills. Man is made to serve God, not the other way around. And I resolved that I would rather put my faith in God and sink than put my faith in myself and stand.

I turned. I ran. I jumped.

And I landed firmly on the same flat black path, six inches deep.

I let the water soak my shoes as I smiled up to the sky, laughing aloud, by myself, in the dark.

Sloshing back to my apartment, I felt faithful; this same God who lets me sink is the same God who makes me to stand.

Why I Never Play Sports - A Memoir

Nothing's changed.

[text conversation]

Me: Where/when u guys ballin today?

Doug: Gordon Park in Lagrange... why whats up

[end transmission]

I've never been pegged as a sports guy. Despite my four years of soccer, two of basketball, one of bowling, and winning the middle-ball semi-finals for our team in 6th grade, no one will ever put me and sports together.

That's why Doug had no clue I was asking to come and play basketball with him and some other guys yesterday. The only relationship most people see between me and sports is observer.

Thinking back, middle school really messed up my self-perception in the sports arena. Even when I tried my P.E. teachers (jerks, all of them) would yell, "Come on, Lugo. You're not even trying!"

But I was trying. I was doing the best I could. I was naturally a slow runner, I couldn't do a single pull-up, and the presidential fitness test was designed to let the president know I was a fitness failure. In fact, I even failed personal fitness my freshman year of high school. It's the only class I've ever failed.

I'd like to say these things don't haunt me, but they do. It's hard to just let it go. I was hesitant to play yesterday, really. If I went, I knew I would wait for messages countering the ones I heard when I was young. I would need some encouragement. I would need assurance that my coaches of years past were wrong; and even if they were right back then, they are wrong today. If I didn't hear anything to the contrary, I don't know when I would've put on my new running shoes again.

Thankfully, the game went well. I brought two 32 oz. Gatorades and a big bottle of water. I was ready. Half-way through game one, I had to sub out. I was too tired. But game two? Played it all. Game three? All the way. And even into the start of game four - two hours of hard ball. I made it through.

I bet everyone has a similar story. Someone said you can't sing, or cook, or read, or make jokes. Someone with a big mouth, little concern and less discernment. Years later, we remember those faces, those words, and we never get over them. We plow through them. It takes a lot of counter-formation to make it.

I don't think I could have made it through yesterday without the encouragement of my teammates. "Good look!" "Way to be big!" "Nice hustle!" "Did you really just call a time-out from the ground? Good work." So, to those guys, thanks.

I know it doesn't make sense how big of a deal that game was, but it was a big deal.

Summer Fruit

Welcome to the first day of summer, the longest day of the year.

It's a welcome sight, really. Spring is through, which makes me think we'll have consistently hot weather. Last year, Summer seemed to miss Chicago. Honestly, I didn't mind. Who really wants 90+ degree weather all the time, anyway? Not me.

I spent the first waking hour of summer in my new favorite place: the patio of our apartment. From there I see the sun rise and fall, water glisten, storms roll in and through. My favorite sight lives nestled in the corner, a mother bird sitting atop her eggs. She keeps them warm, keeps them safe. Rarely do I notice her absent; it's never long.

My reading this morning made me consider this bringing forth of new life with my mind, and also my heart.

The good things of life take time to mature. Eggs, fruit, babies, all of these take a time of preparation. For the leaves, spring prepares and summer blossoms. For eggs, the same. Babies come whenever they want. There's generally no baby season. (Though I hear it's around September. Apparently most seeds are planted on Wednesday. Conditions are perfect.)

For anything worth sowing, worth reaping, the ground is worth tilling. Whatever is supposed to grow needs to be tended to. Eggs, fruit and babies, all.

What about things of the human spirit?

Many seeds are planted
Deep within men's souls
Some are weeds of character
No one wants to pull
Some are seeds of anger
Watered by jealous rain

When they are uprooted
Love grows in their place

The human heart is a garden. It has everything needed to bring life. However, when unattended, the soil becomes hard, cracked, unable to spring forth life.

Maybe the Holy Spirit is a gardener. The more often we allow the gardener through our gates, and the longer he remains, the more cabable we will be of producing good fruit.

Love, joy, peace, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.

Like an apple tree, these don't come overnight. They take years of cultivation, attention and love, pruning and binding. I've tried my hand at growing these, but I find I lack the experience. I need to be brought along, taught the art from someone who knows.

I think I'll trust the gardener.

Heart Cry of Many: Will You Mentor Me?

Do you find that true in your life?

I'd be hard pressed to find one time in my life where I didn't want some type of mentor. Someone to help me get from here to there in music, knowledge, faith, skill, worship leading, exercise, or something else. I've been blessed to have some of those relationships in the past, and look forward to more in the future.

But the reality for many people is they never have a mentor, even though it's one of the most needed roles in their lives. The space remains, and no one is there to fill it. And, if there is someone there to fill it, neither mentor or mentoree are really sure how to fill it, so the relationship yields less than expected.

It can be more frustrating than helpful.

Thankfully, there are resources out there. I've come across one thanks to a class at Northern that I plan on referring to for a long, long time - Connecting: The Mentoring Relationships You Need to Succeed in Life, by J. Robert Clinton and Paul D. Stanley.

The first thing I found helpful is Clinton and Stanley go through eight different types of mentoring in three groups: Intensive (Discipler, Spiritual Guide, Coach), Occasional (Counselor, Teacher, Sponsor), and Passive (Contemporary Model, Historical Model). If you ever didn't know how to mentor, I guarantee it helps to narrow down what you expect mentoring to look like.

Second, it's super practical. This is one of those books you can pick up, flip to a page, and use what you learn. It's not written as theory, though it is grounded in a solid theoretical understanding of mentorship.

Third, it comes from a Christian standpoint. This is especially important for me because my mentoring is more along these lines than, say, a business model of mentoring, or a sports model. However, these principles are transferrable into other types of mentoring as well.

Clinton and Stanley's book will be very helpful for anyone seeking to have or be a mentor.

But you don't have to take my word for it!

Discipling Magic

Acts 8 tells the story of Simon the Sorcerer.

I admit, every time I hear of this bible character my mind goes to Tim the Enchanter from Monty Python's Holy Grail. And then I start yelling, "Bring me a shrubbery!"

But no one ever does.

I read Simon's story through the lens of discipleship. That subject has been on my heart lately, which is why I'm reading Acts. I figure the book that talks about the start of the church should have some useful insights into discipleship.

Simon is apparently a really impressive sorcerer, as the people thought him to be a divine power. But when he sees the disciples healing people and driving out demons in the name of Jesus, he believes and is baptized. When he sees Peter and John lay hands so that other believers may receive the Holy Spirit, Simon offers them money so he might have that power. After the apostles rebuke him for thinking he could buy God's gift, he asks them to pray on his behalf.

[End scene.]

Apparently Simon actually had some sort of conversion experience. He saw the power of God, and acknowledged that he wasn't a divine power by believing in Jesus as Lord. He was baptized in Christ and followed Philip around, like any good disciple would do. And he was amazed at what he saw Philip doing. (If the people were amazed at Simon, what kind of things was Philip doing that Simon would be amazed at?)

Then he sees Peter and John lay hands on people and give them the Holy Spirit. Right here I think we see a slip back into old Simon. "If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation," (2 Cor 5:17) but sometimes the old habits stick around. So, he thinks he can buy this power. Maybe no one ever told him he couldn't. Maybe it was an impulse comment. Whatever the case, he said something that didn't line up with the faith he had been brought into. And he's treated pretty harshly for it.

I think this is a good passage to illustrate continuing discipleship. Just because someone has a conversion experience or believes in Jesus, is baptized, does a profession of faith or whatever, doesn't mean they've fully arrived. As Pastor James said at church this weekend, that's only { } this much of the Christian faith. Discipleship brings the person into maturity in Christ.

I love the idea of discipleship and mentoring, but I've never been very good at it. The good news is, I'm getting better. It takes work, though. And it's well worth it. Of course, there is a difference between mentoring and discipling. Mentoring brings a person along in life. Discipling brings a person along as a disciple of Jesus, and then requires that they do the same.

Have you been discipled in the faith?
Have you discipled others?

I'm beginning to disciple a couple guys at church, and I love it. If you're interested in what discipling looks like, let's chat. And if you think you can teach me a few things, please do!

The Kingdom of God is far too important for us not to pass on the faith which leads to salvation, justice and life abundant.

Moving Day: The End of an Era.

I was surprised how much I felt it.

As I returned the vacuum to the hall, walked back and closed the curtains for the last time, my heart sank a little deeper into my chest. This had been my home for three years. And it was ending.

My life didn't flash before my eyes, but my life in the seminary apartments did. I lived in three different apartments in three different years, with plenty of different roommates and neighbors.

I thought of my first year, where everything was new, living with Andy, hanging with all the Kerns and becoming an honorary member. (Honorary means you're invited to the parties, but you don't get a scholarship.) I thought of Rachael and how we became such good friends that year.

Year two followed. I roomed with Steve and Grant. Honestly, I can't even remember how my room was set up. I see glimpses in my memory, but it's as if it's all been forgotten already. How many other parts of life have I forgotten so quickly? I developed friendships with Carrie and Amber, Mike and Adam and others. We played Ultimate Frisbee in the rain. We ate community dinners.

This past year I finally moved to the other side, facing away from the monstrous Westin, where I was shielded from the afternoon sun, trading it for a gentle waking as the light shone its rays each day one by one by one. Steve moved out, Jon moved in. We had our own community dinners with Lauren and Courtney and Kimberly.

I closed the curtain, and stood by the door. Then I sat down and stared into the empty room, remembering the empty rooms I had moved in and out of. And, in a moment of grief for loss of a friend, I thanked God for the time I did have in that building. I rejoiced that I had those memories. I became thankful not only for the gift, but for the Giver.

I'm never quite sure where I'll end up next. But, as I look at God's track record in my life, it's been perfect every time. I can't say I enjoy moving in and out. But I don't mind motion.

Especially when it's moving on.

Hitherto thy love hath blessed me
Thou hast brought me to this place
And I know thy hand will bring me
Safely home by thy good grace

New Design

Summer!

I've had the same design since the start of the year, and it was nice and dark for winter. But now that summer's hit, I figure I should match the outdoors with this new template design, provided by Blogger.

Great job, y'all.