Wow, it's hard to believe this is my final week of class this semester. Though I'm still staring at a 20-page paper due in a week and a half and a couple of take-home finals, I'm feeling quite peaceful. I got a little work done this weekend towards knocking those out; could've done a bit more, but it was nice to sit back and watch the Spurs and Braves a few times. For the most part, class assignments are due, so if I'm even somewhat disciplined this week, I shouldn't have too much to worry about.

I got to be in another skit yesterday at church. This one was much shorter and lighter; I didn't have to yell and spit. I was supposed to be a foreign bakery clerk; I tried imitating some of the speech of my Korean students (without any ill-intent) -- not sure if I pulled that off or not. I know I definitely don't look Asian. But it was fun and contributed nicely to the sermon about bearing the image of Christ everywhere we go. I'm going to miss being at Capstone this summer; not sure what I'll find at Disney, but I bet there are some good options.

I'm getting really excited about my summer. It's going to be nice spending time at home. I'm also going to be in San Antonio for a couple of weeks in June, which is going to be awesome. A wedding in L.A. in July and then I'm off to Disney. Full and busy, just like every summer I've had the past six years. I don't guess it's out of my blood yet.

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I've been reading through Daniel the past week and have really been struck by a couple of things. First, his faith is just incredible. Though several of his stories are so familiar, reading through the text in The Message was refreshing and enlightening. His prayers have really caught my attention as well; I'd never really noticed them before, I don't think. And having read through chapter 9 this morning, I appreciate so much the way he wrestled with the visions he was receiving from God. He woke up scared and confused; he was physically bothered by them, even though they came from God. It seems he was dragged down by them, in a way that left him plodding along -- but still faithful, still trusting, just confused. And his reaction to this confusion and mystery? He fasts. He studies. He sequesters himself in God. (I'm jumping ahead a bit into ch. 10, but it's not only cool that an angel shows up saying, "Sorry I'm late, got held up in a fight," but that Daniel was that focused and intent in those three weeks.)

That reading has been paired with the end of Matthew and beginning of Mark. A few days ago, I read again the story of the paraplegic being dropped through the ceiling to be healed by Jesus and was again struck by the faith displayed. What a crazy thing to do! It's almost sheer madness. I don't know the physics or structures of the homes of that day, but my mental image has always tried to figure out how they cut a hole in the ceiling and lowered him down. Maybe Jesus was in an open-aired section and they lowered him over a balcony of sorts -- I don't know. However it was done, it was desperate and gutsy and amazing. Amazing faith. Good, good stuff to think about.

Poetry Week, Entry 5

She smiles; I melt.
She looks my way and I hold her glance.
She speaks; I soak in the words as if they were oxygen for a dying man.
I watch her face, noting the subtle patterns of her lips forming words --
A small dimple near her left eye forms with each upward turn of her mouth
Bringing to my attention the extravagant and encompassing reality of her beauty, found in every aspect of her being.
Her eyes dance with excitement as she regales me with storied memories.
I dare speak and she listens with a gripping, attentive affection --
Nodding, smiling, laughing, emanating joyous light --
I’m lost in the hope that this evening is the beginning of a conversation lasting the rest of our lives.
My fragile heart weakly musters up its remaining courage to dream of being whole.

Poetry Week, Entry 4

I'm learning to surrender
I'm learning to let go
I'm expecting transformation
As I release control
My hands, though, never gripped
This control I tried to hold
For it's not within my grasp
To dictate my river's flow
So with all my inmost being
I attempt to step away
From being the director
And find peace within his sway

Poetry Week, Entry 3

Songs form within my heart but no words escape my lips
The notes create a melody of despair laced with confusion
It is harmonized by darkness from the lack of light I see
Its rhythm labors coarsely, dragging disappointedly

Though words form not upon my impatient waiting tongue
My mind floods with the solid emptiness of the absence of her love
Amidst this darkness brooding, there exist sunbeams of hope
Which impossibly continue fighting against the reality of her

When in her presence, I cannot peer
Or deeply gaze in blue eyes clear
Or speak of dreams beyond this breath
Or dream of ways to stop this death
For when she’s near a hope springs new
A hope of us, a hope untrue
But to this hope my heart does cling
And songs emerge which I can’t sing

Poetry Week, Entry 2

I want to write a love song
But don’t know where to start
I want to draft a piece of art
That woos a woman’s heart

I’ll commence this work with lyrics
That describe alluring eyes
Which leave me still and breathless
Entranced and hypnotized
Eyes that radiate much brighter
Than a star could hope to shine
Eyes that captivate attention
And paralyze my mind

She overwhelms my thoughts
With the slightest passing glance
Those eyes provide a dose of hope
That one day I’ll get the chance
To sweep her off her feet
To embrace her as my own
To be the knight she dreams of
And no longer need to roam

Poetry Week, Entry 1

I'm not going to date these or mention the poem's inspiration; the only thing I'll say is that the poems posted this week were written sometime in the past five years. Hope you enjoy...here's the first of five for this week:

Like gold I’m being burned
Extracted of my dross
Refinement calls for measures
That keep me feeling lost
Slowly, surely purified
My glow begins to shine
As this filth that lived within me
Is removed, no longer mine
Though this fire aches the marrow
Deep within my brittle bones
Its cleansing power to heal me
Brings a strength I’ve never known
No impurities now linger
All that’s left is me made whole
I’m being changed into his image
And I’m ready for my role

Crazy Day

Football fever is gripping Tuscaloosa -- yes, even in April. It may not even be fair to bring it up right now because this town seems to have that fever year-round. I can't say from experience yet since I've only been here a few months, but yesterday and today really tell quite a tale. The A-Day Game is today, the culmination of spring practice, a scrimmage against each other, a "game" free and open to the public that may be attended by 60,000. A typical A-Day Game has an attendance of 20,000-30,000, I think. With a new coach (Nick Saban) coming in with incredibly high expectations, people are ready for the Crimson Tide to return to its glory days. We'll see; that's an awfully tall order and should require a nice helping of patience, something not often found among college football fans.

It's a gorgeous day, sunny and 57 degrees right now. Not a cloud in the sky. I went for a run this morning, enjoying the cool breeze and rising sun. Now on the streets in front of the coffee shop I write from, I watch runner after runner competing in a triathalon that began at 7:00. There's a pregnant lady at a table with a couple of others passing out water and Gatorade as they run by; she looks as if she'll be delivering later today, but what a cool thing to be doing. It's quite a sight: this coffee shop is both near the stadium and my apartment, so people are driving in for the game, some are in chairs alongside the street cheering the runners, everybody in crimson and white. Mom and Dad should be arriving in a few hours and we'll go over to Bryant-Denny for the first time, taking in this craziness.

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One thing I love about sports is the way they bring people together, especially on the heels of tragedy. I love watching Sportscenter and seeing the Washington Nationals wearing Virgina Tech hats instead of their own; it's exciting to hear that at Penn State today for their spring game, their fans may leave their navy and white at home and come dressed in orange and maroon; Alabama and Auburn played a baseball game yesterday in which Alabama wore maroon and Auburn wore orange -- though those are some of their own school colors, the gesture had nothing to do with the Tide or Tigers; and watching the Braves highlights last night, I saw several players and coaches with "VT" in black marker on their hats.

So even though Virginia Tech lost its baseball game yesterday, traces of hope appeared. There was a small rally in the bottom of the 8th in which they quickly scored three runs; I'm guessing those moments were quite exciting as the five-run lead Miami held faded a bit. It's these types of things that reflect so well the nature of mourning: small gains, incrimental bursts of joy even though despair still seems to blanket each person. This grief is not something to rush through or a hurdle that needs to be quickly jumped. While it's not a desired place to be, from the Psalms, among so many scriptures, it seems that God's presence is rarely more intimate, whether it's felt or not. The shaping and molding, as well as the strength, that emerges from this rubble is almost always inspirational. One of the things I appreciate so much about Mike Cope and his writing is the way he writes about his daughter, who died several years ago. It's a pain that still haunts, but something that's brought healing, joy, recovery, inspiration, and a wealth of other blessings to God's kingdom. I don't think God caused it, but I adamantly believe he worked from and through it to build his kingdom -- and it's a work that continues today.

Coming Soon: Poetry Week

I've recently been thinking and playing with the idea of posting some non-prose things I've written from the past several years. And I think I'm going to make next week Poetry Week at Musings. Consider yourself warned.

Since I've not mentioned it in quite a while, I'd like to say thanks for stopping by and reading. I really don't have a clue who reads this, outside of those who leave comments. And I love comments -- thanks! I also love people who drop in to check for an update, read, then leave. I do that too and have no ill feelings towards anyone who does the same. So whether you're reading for fun, boredom, or possible insight, thanks. Have a beautiful weekend.

Memphis and Disney

Such a sad and awful scene in Blacksburg. May God's grace rain down.

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I had a great time with Anna and Craig last night in Memphis:

Ribs at a restaurant (Blues City Cafe, I think) on Beale Street. A Spurs/Grizzlies game in the beautiful FedEx Forum. Coffee, cheesecake, and a raspy-voiced singer on piano accompanied by a stand-up bass at The Cheesecake Corner. Anna and Craig treated me well.

As far as my plans for the summer go, I accepted a position with The Language Company, which is responsible for English Days at Walt Disney World. I will be the Academic Coordinator for the program; I'll be the director's right-hand person. English Days brings in international students (ages 9-18) from around the world for an incredibly unique English language program. Not only are the students immersed in English, they study in a fascinating setting: one day in class will be focused on the vocabulary and concepts of physics, and the following day will be spent riding roller coasters. I'll do a lot of work with the teachers and guides, as well as have some administrative responsibilities, such as assigning students to classes, but I'll also get to teach and guide. I don't think I'll get to be a cast member. Anyway, if you're considering venturing to Orlando this summer, I'll be at Disney July-August.

Walking in Memphis

I had a really good trip to Memphis last night. The drive was quite nice along Hwy. 78 even if it was through Mississippi, whose roads are not the best. But I did get reception on my phone, so I enjoyed a few conversations with San Antonio friends. I actually beat Anna and Craig to their house; they had a meeting in Nashville last night for their Australia mission trip this summer, so I lounged around a bit before they arrived.

We're going to get ribs this evening for dinner before going to the Spurs game. The Spurs took a tough loss yesterday in Dallas; not sure why or how Duncan got thrown out. And even though we may only get to see the reserves play tonight, it will be fun to see my team.

I've got some exciting news about my summer plans, but I'm going to wait a couple of days to post about it because it deserves its own space and I really need to get some work done right now. Hint: I'm going to be in Florida.

I forgot to take my camera to Atlanta last night; it worked out ok because there wasn't too much of the game I'd like to remember, at least from the Braves standpoint. Dad and I showed up as the game was starting and were met with the longest line for tickets I've ever seen. We were both caught off guard by it. When we got into Turner, the Marlins were up 5-0 and we panicked that Josh had hit a grand slam or something and that we'd missed it. Well, he struck out that first at bat and before we got to our seats, we saw him hit a solid single up the middle.

We sat in the lower level, finding an aisle to walk down in which someone wasn't there checking tickets. We moved in the 9th inning to where Ginger (Josh's wife) and his parents were sitting and visited with them for the end of the game and through the fireworks at the end. Rhett, Ginger and Josh's baby boy, is quite cute; when we got there, a TBS cameraman was filming him and they got on TV. Dad and I also got to see Cody, my cousin; he was in town for his girlfriend's formal. It was a nice surprise to get to see him for a bit too.

I've now seen Dontrelle Willis pitch twice and he's 2-0. Hopefully the Braves will rebound tonight (if they play) and tomorrow and get the lead back in the East.

But more than anything, it was a blast spending all that time with Dad. I dropped him off in Birmingham at law school for his class and he's headed back to Florence afterwards. Of all the benefits, joys, and positives from making the move from San Antonio to Tuscaloosa, being closer to my family is definitely far and away at the top of that list.

I'm meeting my Dad later today in Birmingham and we're driving over to Atlanta for the Braves/Marlins game tonight. We'd originally planned to go tomorrow, but the weather looks to be rainy and thought this would work out better. He doesn't have class tonight, but does have one tomorrow morning, so it will be an easy drive from Tuscaloosa to the law school. (By the way, he graduates May 20, which is incredible to think about. I'll have to write more at a later time in an attempt to recap the dedication, determination, sacrifice, and a whole host of other superlatives to send his way for working and going to law school the past three years.) Anyway, I'm really excited about seeing the Braves play at Turner Field; it's also exciting because Josh Willingham, a friend from high school, plays for the Marlins.

Along with the Braves game, this (extended) weekend holds another exciting trip and sports event: I'm going to Memphis sometime Sunday to see Anna and Craig and we're going to the Spurs/Grizzlies on Monday night. Fortunately, some friends are covering my shift at the writing center and it won't be too big of a deal to miss my first class, so I get a somewhat extended weekend out of it -- but more than that, great family time. I'm excited to see Anna and Craig's place and spend some time with them in Memphis. And get to watch the Spurs.

With the Braves and Spurs games on tap for the next few days, it got me thinking about some of my favorite sports weekends from the past that I was able to be a part of in person. Two immediately jumped out, which I've recapped here before, but necessitate another telling. Chronologically:

October 19-21, 2001: Braves/Astros NLDS, Auburn/Florida
I met Dad and Luke on Friday in Atlanta and saw the Braves beat Houston in the Division Series. This was the last time the Braves made it past the first round of the playoffs. It was also the first year of relief work for John Smoltz; the stadium was electric when he came in to wrap up the game in the ninth. Coming off the attacks of 9/11, these playoffs were pretty special; the Yankees/Diamondbacks World Series was terribly exciting, especially since the Yankees didn't win. But I was glad for them to win those two games in New York on last at bat homers. But enough about them, the Braves game was awesome.

I left the game and drove to Auburn that evening to visit some friends from high school. It was my friend Amber's birthday and Florida was coming to town. Ranked #1. Auburn had been playing ok, but not up to their potential. Florida was running over and passing around everyone. Another friend, who took pictures for the Auburn paper, gave me her ID so I could go to the game. It was the first game I'd been to at Auburn since I was in 7th grade and what an awesome experience. Auburn won on a final second field goal, upending the #1 Gators and kicking them out of the national championship picture. We went by Toomer's Corner and watched it get decorated with toilet paper to finish the evening.

October 15-19, 2004: Red Sox/Yankees ALCS
Whew, I still get giddy just thinking about how this played out. When the Red Sox swept the Angels in the ALDS and the Yankees beat the Twins, I bought two tickets to Game 6 of the Championship Series, hoping there would be the type of drama from the 2003 match-up, when Aaron Boone hit a home run in the 11th inning of Game 7. On Friday, October 15, the Red Sox were down 2-0 in the series and headed to Fenway for three games. I, on the other hand, was headed to HEB camp for Northside's Family Retreat, a place where my cell phone didn't work and my time didn't allow to sneak away to my truck and listen to the games. It turned out, Game 3 got rained out and moved to Saturday. I didn't know this until Sunday as I was driving back to San Antonio.

And when I found out what had happened in the rescheduled Game 3 (the Yankees killed the Sox 19-8), I began wondering what I was going to do with the ticket to the game and the plane ticket to New York. I got back to my house and crashed out. Game 4 came on that evening and I watched practically every pitch, all the way through the 12th inning when David Ortiz hit a 2-run homer to keep the series alive. Monday was quite a day: talking on the phone to Dad, trying to figure out what we were going to do if there wasn't a game, but planning what to do and where to meet in New York if there somehow was a Game 6; reading the recaps of the previous night's miracle win; anticipating being in New York the very next day; I can't imagine that I got any work done. I got home and planted myself on the couch again, ready to watch the series get extended. And extended was a great word for it: this game went two innings longer, finishing up in the 14th with another hit from Ortiz to send the series back to New York. I forget what the time was when it actually ended, but I had an early morning flight, so I tried to sleep, fighting off quite a bit of adrenaline.

I flew out the next morning and arrived in New York City around 1:00 or 2:00 Eastern time. I met Dad at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and we wandered through that for a few hours, trying to take as much of it in as possible. We left and found a pizzaria, had dinner, and got on a packed subway headed for the Bronx. We got there in plenty of time, which allowed us to tour Monument Park behind centerfield, watch the teams warm up (due to the exhausting games, they didn't take batting practice) and take in the shrine that is Yankee Stadium. The game turned out to be a classic, especially because of Curt Schilling's performance. When I got back to San Antonio and read about what I couldn't see at the game, it hit me how incredible it was to have been present for it. Schilling has his ankle sutured, but at some point in the game they came lose, causing him to bleed through his sock. Affectionately, the game's now referred to as "The Bloody Sock Game." And Dad and I were there. The Red Sox (no pun intended) won 4-2 and sent the game to a do-or-die 7th for the second year in a row. This time, they clobbered the Yanks and went on to win their first World Series since 1918.

I'm not anticipating anything like that for this weekend, but it will be a lot of fun in its own way. Maybe it won't have historic significance or even a playoff atmosphere. But it will be more important than those variable can contribute. It will be time with family and that can't be topped.

"Then they'll realize that I am God!"

I've been reading a chapter from an Old Testament book and a New Testament book each morning for most of this year. I've been through Jeremiah, Isaiah, Lamentations, Luke, and Acts so far; currently, I'm near the end of Ezekiel and the middle of Matthew. One of the Bible classes I took at Lipscomb focused on Ezekiel, so I have a general idea of what was going on, or did at some point anyway, so I'm not completely lost, which sometimes happens in reading through the OT. I've been doing these readings from The Message, which has been very insightful and fresh; for anyone worried about me, my Bible is a parallel NIV/Message.

There have been a few notable things I've taken so far in reading through Ezekiel again. One happened this past weekend. By sheer happenstance, chapter 36 fell on Saturday and 37 on Sunday, meaning I was reading through the breath of God giving life to dry bones and hearts of stone being replaced by God-willed hearts on Easter weekend. What cool timing! I think I realized it Wednesday or Thursday of that week, so the excitement and anticipation got to build a bit leading up to those great chapters.

Something I keep coming back to is the quote at the top of this entry, "Then they'll realize that I am God!" So many chapters finish with this; so many sections within chapters finish with this statement from God. In all he's doing, from the destruction of nations to the discipline of Israel, he's pointing and leading everyone to this great conclusion and realization: He's God. It matters not what idols exist, it matters not who or what others claim to be the almighty -- God is it. And we will see it. We will know it. There will be no doubt; there will be no question.

So we watch. And listen. Look and peer. We patiently anticipate the revelation that in all that is happening around and within us points us and others to the reality of the glory of God, of his majesty and holiness. For some things, our wait is but moments and days. For others, years and possibly lifetimes. Regardless, the same reality exists, the same thing becomes known. We realize that the one we serve is God, who brings life to that which has none, who replaces lifelessness with his spirit.

My new favorite song

"Mighty to Save"

Everyone needs compassion
A love that's never failing
Let mercy fall on me
Everyone needs forgiveness
A kindness of a Savior
The hope of nations

Savior
He can move the mountains
My God is Mighty to save
He is Mighty to save
Forever
Author of salvation
He rose and conquered the grave
Jesus conquered the grave

So take me as You find me
All my fears and failures
Fill my life again
I give my life to follow
Everything i believe in
Now I surrender

Shine your light and let the whole world see
We're singing for the glory of the risen King...Jesus

Savior
He can move the mountains
My God is Mighty to save
He is Mighty to save
Forever
Author of salvation
He rose and conquered the grave
Jesus conquered the grave

Online meetings

For the past few years, I've participated in a few online meetings to plan summer camps. It's usually seven to ten youth ministers in a chat room, throwing around ideas intermixed with one-liners(because we think we're pretty funny). It's been a great way to be together while being so far apart. And, usually, a lot gets accomplished through this forum: brainstorming, delegation, processing, information-sharing, and prayer. Fortunately, I'm still able to share in that honor.

This morning, I joined with several of the guys who help run Zenith to pray for the camp. I sat in Gorgas Library in Tuscaloosa, miles away from San Antonio, Ft. Worth, Denver, and other parts of Texas and Oklahoma, surrounded by all kinds of things going on: papers being written, conversations, studying, casual internet browsing. It's incredible to consider how easy it can be to be a part of something so much larger than yourself. Though technology provided the ability to connect at once so many people scattered across the country, it was the Spirit of God that truly united and drew us together. What happens in prayer manifested on our screens: hearts unfolding before God as requests and praises mounted. Miles away but tied as one.

It was good to be reminded of the joy found in the scattered-yet-unified body of Christ.

I got my computer back this afternoon. The logic board had to be replaced and they also fixed the latch that keeps it closed when it sleeps, so all in all, I'm very pleased with what got done. Especially because my AppleCare Protection Plan covered the expenses -- even though I hadn't properly registered. That caused a bit of a delay in the fixing, but I didn't do too badly without it. I think I've been a little more efficient with my time, so I'm looking forward to finding out how I can keep that up with this distraction back in the game. Oh, they were also able to recover all my files, so I didn't lose anything. And it's now all backed up.

The play on Easter Sunday went very well. We began with the drama, which led into worship and it was a great celebration. I can't say enough about the intesity of worship I feel at Capstone; it rivals Refugio da Graca in Natal, as far as my experiences go. I received several comments (which were delivered as compliments) about how good a job I did as a bad guy. I was invited over to lunch by a family from church and the wife told me she mentioned to one of the other guests that I'd be attending and she said, "You mean the evil guy who kept yelling at us this morning?" I think I may have spit on some of the people in the front row in one of my tirades on stage. Whoops...

Oh, and I finally realized I should change my profile at the top right of the page. I'm in Tuscaloosa, not San Antonio. I'll leave you with a couple of pictures from a spring morning a few Saturdays ago.

the unforced rhythms of grace

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.

Matthew 11:28-30, The Message

The unforced rhythms of his grace often dance right past the music of my life and story. I get caught up in finding my own voice, in discovering my identity, outside of the presence of the one who made me. It seems, as I'm going about this, that I'm trying to happen upon this by seeking God -- but most of the time the experience is forced, yielding frustration instead of transformation.

And I think it's due to my desire to know now and move at my speed without regard to the tune God is quietly humming all around me. When my strength fails, when my energy wanes, when I'm left without the knowledge or enlightenment or certainty or faithfulness I believe I'm striving for, I find the words of Jesus in the passage above staring at me deeply.

Yes, I'm worn out and tired. I feel like I'm getting burned out on religion. I thought I was recovering, but my attempts weren't paired with you. I was trying to fix me. I was trying to do it on my own. I wanted to make myself presentable to you. I. I. I.

Yet the invitation still played on, floating through the air with the enchantment of new love coupled with the depth of truth. This song was not a one-hit wonder; it didn't fade as enfatuation tends to do; it promised a definition and longevity no piece of music could ever hope to attain. Only in quiet perseverance and humble honesty can it be heard. Only in accepting the hand of the Master can it be found.

The rhythm of this grace does not impose; it releases us to live as we were created to be. It frees us from the captive fear of uncertainty and the unknown. It pairs us with Christ so that our dance is about beauty, joy, and surrender; the focus is on appreciating God's creation as it was meant to be. Yes, we're taught discipline, patience, holiness, and sacrifice; we're given wisdom, faith, hope, gifts, and dreams; we're empowered with boldness and strength. But to set our minds solely on these pieces may keep us from hearing the song of life; we often jump ahead of his steps, believing we know better than he what we need. Learning to listen for this rhythm, learning to wait for his leading, learning to trust his ear for the next movement in this song -- there's our surrender, there's our release.

For then we fall into step with his grace. Then we become what he makes and shapes and molds. And it's in this time of year, celebrating death, burial, and resurrection so explicitly, that I find such hope to continue turning over my selfishness to him, anticipating its transformation to less and less of me and more and more of him.

...it is by grace we have been saved, through faith—and this not from ourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that none of us can boast. For we are God's masterpiece...

I missed American Idol last night -- yes, I've been following it this season. The past few years I would only watch the auditions, sickly enjoying the intentional/unintentional awful try-outs. This year, I've been able to follow the real contestants, even though there is one who keeps sticking around who really doesn't have any business still being there. Regardless, part of me thinks it would be hilarious if Sanjaya won; I wouldn't vote for him and wouldn't like the fact of his winning, but Fox's response and whatever credibility the show has (if it does have some) would be left waffling. The reaction of the judges would be intriguing, too. And, of course, waiting for David Hasselhoff to cry...

Let the baseball season begin...and with it, my hope for the Braves to return to the postseason and bring home the World Series trophy that's eluded them since the fall of 1995. Opening Day is a time of excited expectations and (at times) delusional hopes -- for instance, the hope that the Braves could go undefeated because of winning their first game doesn't really make too much sense in a 162-game season. But...stranger things have happened.

I spent Opening Day last year in Houston watching the Astros and the Marlins. Today, I was on my couch watching TBS, taking in the Braves against the Phillies. Even though I had to go to class as the game stretched into extra innings, it was worth not reading one of the chapters I was assigned, especially since we won't even talk about that chapter until next week. Seriously. Which made the game all the more enjoyable.

If Francouer can take a couple of pitches each at bat, if Kelly Johnson can feel confident at second, if Thorman and Langerhans can hit around .280, if Chucky James and Mark Redman can throw 6-7 innings consistently, if Chipper and Andruw have seasons like three years ago, if McCann keeps hitting like he did today, and if the bullpen can replicate their effort from this afternoon, the Braves will have a good year and return to their domination of the NL East. Hopefully the World Series will follow. But, whether good or bad, I'll have the chance to watch them a little more consistently than I did when I was in Texas since their games are televised more frequently around here. So, in regards to hoping, here goes nothing...

More thoughts on surrender

When asking and seeking God for things only from him, it's a good idea to trust that what he gives is exactly what we need. This seems to be another idea or concept I recognize in my head but fail to carry-out in my life. Knowing that God is the giver of all good things, I usually figure that what he's going to give me is something is from that bag of treats, whether comfort, joy, strength, confidence, a date, friendships, among other things. And sometimes, even patience. So I jump ahead of him and do a mental inventory of my current needs, hypothesizing what's coming my way. What I find is the desperate, true need to surrender this jump and eliminate the guessing because whatever I consider ends up holding me captive.

Captive -- and bound away from the freedom Christ is mercifully offering and extending. The idea of surrender keeps clawing at me, pointing me to the freedom I crave but don't know how to accept. In shedding our pasts, our sins, our defeats, and whatever victories we would dare mention as our own, we, like Paul, reach for knowing Jesus, and the power of his suffering, and to become like him in his death. For there, in the grave of self, lies the hope of freedom. When we are no more and he is all that's left...freedom appears and thrives.

What I'm trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving.

-- from Matthew 6:30-33, The Message

That's what I'm going for, to be prepared to respond to God's giving. I think that speaks to what Lent is about. I think that's helping find a way to flesh out surrender in my life.

Relax in my circumstances. Trust in his presence. Rest in his provision. Respond in faith and obedience. May our surrender bring glory to his kingdom.