out of the mold

My Addicition

2010-01-25T11:27:00.001-06:00

I don't smoke. I don't do "drugs." I drink an adult beverage only on rare occaisions. I don't even drink coffee or tea. I'm not looking for a medal or anything. I just thought I was out of the woods, so to speak. I wasn't addicted to any substances, except that I drank Dr. Pepper for breakfast. And lunch, and dinner, and between meals in 32 oz. cups. I stopped at every convenience store and drive-thru window. I couldn't go a couple of hours without Dr. Pepper, and I had no idea how much it affected me.

I know, or at least I suppose, that kicking a Dr. Pepper habit is not comparable to drug rehab or quitting smoking, and I hope those who have gone through those experiences aren't offended when I call my habit an addiction. I'm sure I have it much easier, and I'm thankful for that. But I do know that it had a grip on me, and I never knew how much until I attempted to stop. The rationalizations of an addict crept into my mind: "I can't stop today, I have too much to do, and I won't have any energy if I don't get some Dr. Pepper." "I'm really tired this morning. I'll stop next week when things settle down." "Today was a really bad day, and this DP will make me feel better." I guess it sounds kind of pathetic, but I thought them more than once.

I'm now about 3 weeks without Dr. Pepper or any other caffeinated drink. There are a lot of experts out there who say a bit of daily caffeine can actually be good for you, and I'm not arguing with that, but considering where I was, I needed to know what it felt like to go through a day without chemical stimulation. I am amazed. In the morning, I just wake up. Before, I think I was waking up in the middle of a crash, feeling generally bad and convinced that my entire day would feel the same way if I didn't get a Dr. Pepper in me pretty soon. My physical and emotional state is also much more consistent through the day. I don't get jittery and irritable like I did on a sugar-and-caffeine rush, and I don't tank afterward. My mood and energy swings weren't even from good to bad; they were from up-bad to down-bad. Now, if I have a loss of self-control, I don't have anything to blame it on.

I lost 6 lbs. in a week just from ditching the DP and drinking water instead. I don't expect that trend to continue, but there is no doubt I was steadily gaining weight from drinking sodas. Getting rid of the DP seems to be making it easier to make other changes in my diet also, like eating less fast food and junk food. Fruit doesn't taste bad when your tongue hasn't already OD'd on corn syrup. Trust me, I'm a Doctor.

The Inciting Incident

2010-01-10T19:00:00.003-06:00

A general rule in creating stories is that characters don't want to change. They must be forced to change. Nobody wakes up and starts chasing a bad guy or dismantling a bomb unless someone forces them to do so. The bad guys just robbed your house and are running off with your last roll of toilet paper, or the bomb is strapped to your favorite cat. It's that sort of thing that gets a character moving.

-Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

I got Donald Miller's new book for Christmas and, since it's been unusually cold for Texas, I've been indoors more with time to read. In A Million Miles, Miller looks at his life as a story and asks a poignant question: would anyone be interested in reading it, or watching it on a screen? For him, the answer was "no," so he set out to live a more interesting story. Almost immediately he discovered that a better story required effort he was unwilling to render. He needed an "inciting incident," one of those events in all the great stories that forces the protagonist into action. As it turns out, our heroes don't necessarily have greater willpower than we do; their stories lead them into circumstances that force them out of the comfort and security we usually crave.

Last Sunday was January 3. Having just returned from the food orgy we call the holidays, I walked into the men's locker room at the Y (no, I wasn't there to exercise--our church meets at the local YMCA) and, in a moment of pure insanity, stepped on the scales. 210. The most I've ever weighed in my life. 25 lbs. heavier than I was in my 20s and most of my 30s. I have a gut. My waist has expanded a couple of inches. I used to revel in the fact that I could eat as I pleased and not gain weight. I used to be able to flip a quarter over with my stomach muscles. Now I could probably lose a quarter on my stomach. I outlasted many of my peers, but my metabolism has finally caught up with me.

Not having had to worry about such things earlier in my life, I find the idea of dieting and exercise to lose weight repulsive. I love physical activity for fun and experience, but not weight loss. And I have a multi-year habit of drinking gallons of Dr. Pepper and eating whatever strikes my fancy. I walked into the Y last Sunday with no intention of going on a diet. I even had a conversation with my wife on Saturday about how cliche it was to go on a diet in January.

Enter the Inciting Incident.

Not ten minutes had passed since my episode on the scales, when I overheard one of the guys at church say something about a triathlon. Then another guy, and another guy. Before long, I discovered the source: my friends and neighbors, Stan and Scott, had concocted a scheme to recruit all of us men to register for a mini-triathlon in April and train together between now and then. They used all the right buzzwords about building community and getting sponsors who would donate to charity if we completed the race; and they promised it would be a "no man left behind" event, where we would all stay together and encourage each other to finish. They even played the "we need to be an example to our kids" card. Stan's whole face lit up when he talked about it. Apparently people actually look forward to this kind of torture.

Only minutes earlier, participating in a triathlon ranked in my mind somewhere below a colonoscopy, getting shot and lunch at a tea room followed by purse shopping. Now I couldn't say no. I would be a wuss and a bad leader. I wouldn't be championing the values of community I talk about so often. And it was for charity. !%&*#@!!. Of all the gin joints in all the world, Stan had to walk into mine. I hate inciting incidents.

I started this week with changes in diet only. Monday I bought a case of waters, a case of Gatorade G2s and a crate of sugar-free gum. I am now 6 days without Dr. Pepper or fast food. Next week: exercise. Stay tuned for the progress report.

Gateway To the Bay sprint triathlon, Saturday, April 10, 2010. 500-meter swim in the bay, 14-mile bike ride and 3.1 mile run. All encouragement is welcome, and I will post info soon on donating to our charitable cause.

God of Second Chances

2009-12-30T18:21:00.000-06:00

Sometimes things just work out. Most of the time they don't "just work out," so you really take notice when they do. You notice God is up to something. This is one of those times.

Our community pastor, Brad, is teaching Sunday on the topic of "the power of a second chance." In his preparation he came across a guy named Carlos Whittaker, who happens to have recently written a song called "God of Second Chances." The song isn't even out yet. We only knew it existed because Carlos sang part of the song on this amazing YouTube video. He was shooting video in a park in Atlanta for his upcoming CD release, and a homeless guy named Danny showed up and started singing with him. Worshiping with him. I don't guess angels generally look like homeless Rastafarians, but you be the judge.

You can read Carlos' take on the whole episode here.

As it turns out, Carlos is preparing to move to Chicago to plant a church with a guy Brad and I both know (not personally, but are aware of and have met) named Jarrett Stevens. The church is called Soul City Church, it looks like an awesome God thing, and at this point I'm starting to feel a bond with this guy I've never met named Carlos. And I like his song, and Brad and I really want to sing it with the Springs on Sunday. So I take a shot. I email Carlos and say, "we would really like to sing your song at our church on Sunday, but your CD isn't out yet, and you only sing part of it on the video. Any chance you could send me the whole song so we could worship with it on Sunday?" By the next morning I have it in my inbox. I love this guy.

I think this is how people act when they understand grace. People of the Second Chance. Springs, when we sing it on Sunday, I hope we give it a little extra. The song speaks for itself, but there's something behind the song that gives it even more meaning.

Oh, BTW I promised Carlos that we would all buy his CD when it comes out.

Charlie Brown Christmas in the Bathroom

2009-12-15T19:53:00.002-06:00

A few years ago I was working on music for a Christmas Eve service, and I chose a personal favorite for a kids' group to sing: "Christmas Time Is Here," from the soundtrack for "A Charlie Brown Christmas." Instead of openly objecting to the song (which I now know everyone hated except me), my colleagues allowed it, then made fun of it (and me) throughout the holidays. The kidding culminated in a gift I have cherished ever since: a plastic display of all the Peanuts characters from the Christmas special. Since it doesn't meet my wife's standards of impeccable taste in Christmas decorating, it is relegated to the upstairs bathroom this year, next to my home office. The bathroom is now my favorite room of the house this Christmas (notwithstanding the gingerbread man soap dispenser who crashed the party).

Forty-four years after its TV debut, I still think Charlie Brown and his gang effectively remind us of the best reason to celebrate at Christmas, and expose our worst efforts to ruin it. I love to laugh at Lucy as she complains that what she really wants for Christmas is not toys, but real estate; or Snoopy, obsessed with winning the local Christmas lighting contest with his doghouse. And I relate personally to Charlie, striving to find some significance in what has become not just a commercial event, but an economic necessity for the American retail industry.

But there is more than meets the eye in this little cartoon. The scrawny tree that becomes the object of Charlie's affection happens to be the only living tree on the lot--a far cry from the pink aluminum tree Lucy was hoping for. It's special to Charlie, but he doesn't know why until Linus makes his famous speech.

Luke 2:8-14, King James version. Underneath all the mountains of wrapping paper, lights, musical extravaganzas, cookies, parties, and shopping malls, there is still only one place in Christmas where there is life. And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown. I hope you find Jesus, humble and unassuming and unadorned, God and Savior and Prince of Peace, this and every Christmas, and every day of the year.

All That I Want for Christmas

2009-12-10T21:33:00.001-06:00

My first recording on the iPhone / FourTrack app

All_That_I_Want_for_Christmas.mp3

My First iPhone Recording

2009-12-10T20:41:00.006-06:00

I remember when I didn't have an iPhone, and I would watch those "there's an app for that" commercials with relative disinterest. It's a phone, after all. A phone's a phone. You make calls, you text, maybe you surf the internet. Like most people who don't have iPhones, I didn't have a clue.

I don't even consider my iPhone a phone. Making calls might be the least important of its amazing abilities. It helps me through Houston traffic. It tells me the weather. I read books on it with the Amazon Kindle app, and carry the Bible in my pocket in my favorite translation. I actually read Psalm 136 from my iPhone at my family's Thanksgiving gathering, which I'm pretty sure freaked my dad out. I buy stuff on ebay with it. I plan church services on it that are uploaded to the internet and keep all our volunteers informed. The list goes on an on: games, YouTube, songs, camera, etc. I even find myself using it as a flashlight to find my way to bed at night. But without a doubt, my favorite apps are the music apps. My iPhone is a guitar tuner, a metronome, a chord finder, a drum machine, and even a pretty decent 4-track recorder. I have more technology in my pocket to record music than the Beatles used to record the White album. On one hand that's incredibly cool; on the other, I feel very exposed and without any excuses as to why I haven't recorded more and better music. But you have to start somewhere, and I recently recorded my first song on the iPhone: take a listen to my version of a little Christmas song I came across recently.

Like most categories of apps, there is now a large list of available apps to record music, and you have to figure out which ones are the best. In the recording category, FourTrack by Sonoma Wire Works is my hands-down favorite, and the one I used to record "All That I Want." It's straightforward and easy to use, but still has all the most important features of a multitrack recorder: volume and pan on each track; listening to recorded tracks with earphones while recording a new track with the iPhone's mic. You can even combine recorded tracks together, freeing up available space to record additional tracks if 4 isn't enough.

My recording is completely raw -- I just recorded the tracks and saved the resulting song as a .wav file. But you can save tracks individually, transfer them to more sophisticated software on your computer, and produce something more professional. A band called The 88 went all the way with this and produced a commercially-viable song recorded completely on an iPhone. Check out this amazing video where they show how they did it!

The Gate

2009-11-25T11:22:00.000-06:00

I was extremely stressed out, so I built a gate. My family left for Thanksgiving without me (I'll catch up) and I stayed home and built a gate. Sometimes in similar situations I'll clean up the house, or do some other project. I don't even like cleaning up, or building gates--that's not the point. I think sometimes I just need to do something that has a clear beginning and end, and that looks and feels like success at the end of the day.

My previous project was neither clear nor successful: a brake job on Jacob's racing atv. We virtually replaced the entire brake system and the brakes were still soft. We bled the brake lines I think 3 times. It was horrible, and my OCD/perfectionism/anger issues were in full bloom. The atv and I have issues right now. Gates are simple. Less mechanical parts, no fluids. And since our labrador Bear had figured out how to get through the temporary fence I had up in the backyard, I knew it was time for the gate to be built.

As you can see from the photos, I have access to my backyard from the street, so I wanted a gate wide enough to drive through. The metal frames from American Fence enabled me to build a 12' double gate that (hopefully) will not sag. I recycled the old fence pickets to save money, which worked fine but gave me that interesting army bars pattern. A good power wash should fix that.

I know it sounds neurotic, and maybe it is, but I slept better last night. God worked for six days of creation, finished it, called it good, and rested. That pattern never seems to play out in my life, probably not in yours either. As soon as something is scratched off the top of the list, two more things are added to the bottom. There is no duty cycle, no down time to offset the up time. Recreation is not rest. Sometimes it's harder than work. I worked for six hours, finished, called it ok, and was done. And there was evening, and morning of the first good day I've had in a while.

Fried Chicken and Communion

2009-11-16T10:31:00.001-06:00

Sunday we concluded a series at the Springs called, "A Place at the Table." It may be my favorite teaching series ever. At each gathering, we took a look at an episode in Jesus' ministry that occurred at dinner. It's amazing how many there are, and highlights the importance of the common meal in the first century, and why we believe it should still be the centerpiece of social, spiritual and family life today. Sunday's episode was the Last Supper, arguably the most important dinner of all. We tried to view the event as it happened, with Jesus participating in the Passover meal with his disciples, which to this day is celebrated not at a church building, but at home.

Last night we celebrated communion around the table with friends, similar to the way the first Christians did. We all sat on the Harrises' back porch. We shared the bread at the beginning our meal, then enjoyed dinner together--fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and rolls. Toward the end of the meal we shared the cup--grape juice in plastic cups. We ended the evening in rich conversation as some of the boys played football in the yard. It was a Texas spin on an ancient tradition, and recaptured the "community" of communion in a way I had not experienced in a long time.

So fill your cup, raise it up. Here's to Fried Chicken and Communion, remembering the great love of Jesus and celebrating the Christ-life among friends.

Back In Black

2009-11-12T06:00:00.008-06:00

I have a handful of students who take guitar lessons from me at the studio (FYI I have a second job as manager of MiracleSound Productions -- check it out at http://www.miracle-sound.com/). One of my beginner students is around 12 years old--we'll call him Angus--and is a fan of AC/DC and several other hard rock bands whose members are old enough to be his father. Last week at his lesson, his actual father announced that they were on their way to the AC/DC concert for some father-son bonding. So for this week's lesson, I broke out the song "Back In Black," which just happens to incorporate several of the things I had been teaching little Angus in his lessons. I fired up the virtual drummer on my iPhone, cranked up the overdrive on the guitar amps, and away we went.

I know, I know. This is all horribly wrong. I am a pastor, for crying out loud. Am I even allowed to play AC/DC songs, let alone encourage a very impressionable youth to play them? All I know is this: circa 1982, my garage band mates and I were playing "Back In Black" at the First Methodist Church's 5th quarter party on Friday night after the high school football game. For an encore, we wanted to play my favorite song at the time: an awesome instrumental piece on Boston's new album called, "Foreplay." My mother said no. I couldn't figure out what was inappropriate about the song, it didn't even have words!

At some point I'll have to save my now-tarnished reputation and introduce young Angus to something more wholesome. How about "Knockin' On Heaven's Door" by Guns N Roses?

Thank You Veterans

2009-11-11T08:50:00.001-06:00

I was encouraged this morning by all the American flags I saw in the neighborhood as I drove my son to school. But more importantly, I hope our veterans are encouraged by it. I hope every veteran who sees the flags and the parades, and who is personally thanked today, will feel our immense gratitude for his or her service to our country, as will the families of fallen soldiers. We can never repay them for their loss.

Read that again: we can never repay them. If every Veterans Day celebration, expression of gratitude, and medal for heroism is weighed on the scales against the actual losses and sacrifices of soldiers and their families, they come up woefully lacking. I don't see how a soldier could be fairly compensated in this life. And unless a soldier believes in the righteousness of his cause and a reward beyond this life, I don't see why he would serve. Selflessness makes no sense without eternity.

God bless the men and women who deny themselves every day for our protection and our freedom.

Simmons Racing

2009-11-10T09:43:00.000-06:00

I've created a monster.

Last Christmas I bought a couple of old 4-wheelers (circa 1988), fixed them up and gave them to the boys. They both claim it was the best Christmas ever. It was something I had wanted to do for several years, thinking it would be fun for them to ride at their grandmother's place out in the country. I was right...and wrong.

I did not see the racer hiding inside my oldest son's body, waiting to come out. It started with a request to ride at the motocross track. By his birthday in March, he wanted racing tires on his atv. By summer, he needed a new atv and was willing to spend all his money to get it, even if it meant delaying getting his driver's license and a car. Then he wanted to go ride with the racers during warm-up rounds. Today, he's surfing the internet for any quad race in the state of Texas and checking my calendar for openings.

I am now, apparently, the very shade-tree mechanic for Simmons Racing.

Jacob comes at all of this very naturally. My dad was a drag racer when I was a kid. I can still remember waking up before sunrise on race days and trying to get my parents out of bed so we could drive to the track. One of my favorite records was called "sounds of the drags." I actually sat there and listened to the sounds of cars drag racing...and liked it. But I never raced. Like so many other racers, I suspect, my dad became a spectator as the demands of a family took away all the discretionary money and time. But the love of racing, and cool cars, and working on cars, it all stayed with me. And I'm afraid I've passed the bug on to my kids. I wish I'd picked up more of my dad's mechanic skills. The atvs are much simpler than cars, so they fit my mechanic's abilities, and both Jacob and I are learning as we go.

We're David among Goliaths at the track. We arrive with our old beaters on a borrowed lowboy trailer, to be greeted by custom toy haulers carrying race shop-built quads. We couldn't even afford the clothing, but got lucky one day and found motocross pants and jerseys on closeout. We buy used spare parts off of craigslist and ebay. We have a few hundred dollars invested in a rich man's game, where tens of thousands can be spent without flinching. To me, that's the beauty of it: figuring out how to compete with someone else's checkbook, not just his quad. Jacob is learning about budgets as well as racing. He's figuring out how to improvise and strategize, not just spend and ride.

Last night I spent a couple of hours with him in the garage, pulling the clutch plates out of a '92 Suzuki LT250r that will become his race quad in a couple of weeks. He loved it. Truth be told, so did I. I watched him figure out how the clutch works, that the drivetrain engages as the friction between the plates causes them to stick together. We found that several of the plates were permanently stuck together, which was why the quad lurched into gear instead of steadily engaging. And we spent two hours together, just the two of us.

Welcome to my blog

2009-11-04T06:01:00.000-06:00

If "Seinfeld" was a show about nothing, "Out of the Mold" is a blog about everything. There's no telling what I'm going to write about. One day I may be inspired by a great novel, and the next day by a clean carburetor. I love travel in Europe and bowhunting for wild hogs in Texas; jazz and country music; blue collars and white collars (anything but clergy collars); fine dining and BBQ joints, the city and the burbs and the small towns and the country. Most of all, I love my family, friends and neighbors, the little community we call church @ the springs and the adventure of following Jesus in post-Christian America. A great life isn't injection-molded, it's grown from deep roots. Hopefully God is doing that in me, and in you. If so, there will be plenty to write about.

The Candy Mountain

2009-11-04T06:00:00.002-06:00

I love Halloween. Not the scary stuff, not the celebration of the dark side. If you do it right, Halloween is a terrific neighborhood night. I like it when parents bring their little ones to the door. I love it that all my neighbors set up in their driveways to hand out candy; that the kids gang up and trick-or-treat together, then have a big candy exchange to trade for their favorites. And let's face it, I like candy.

This was my two sons' haul from Saturday night. They're trick-or-treat veterans and they know how to work it. Use pillow cases--they hold way more than those pumpkin buckets. Hit the right neighborhoods between 7 and 9 PM. Be charming at the door. It's all about volume.

Because I'm just that retentive, I sorted all the chocolate out of this pile and weighed it. The Snickers, Three Musketeers, Kit Kat and Hershey Bars, and my personal favorite, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, weighed in at a whopping 6 lbs.! That does not include the M&Ms, or the gallon ziplock bag full of Starburst, Tootsie Rolls, Sweet Tarts and Smarties. They had so much candy that we had to purge. I actually swept lesser candies off the counter and into the trash when the boys weren't looking. Someone had the audacity to put in a low-cal popcorn ball. Probably a dentist.

Maybe we should do this more often: stand in the driveway and hand out gifts to people who come by. Maybe soup, or a slice of pizza next time.