On the heels of a frustrating and arduous end to last week at work, I walked into Talitha Koum this afternoon a bit on-edge. For not only did I have last Friday's confrontation still on my mind, but the kiddos tend to have rough Monday's since their weekends are filled with little sleep and, perhaps, some violence at home.

Typically, I arrive to work in the afternoon when most of the little ones are asleep. Some of the older children have grown out of naps (much to our dismay!), so when I get there I'll either throw them into the cushions for all-out havoc and wrestling, or we'll run outside to the playground. I tend to bring an energy and relief to the morning staff, as I'm still willing to use my body as a horse and tackling dummy.

Today was a bit different though as I took over in the room with the kids who were asleep, because one of my co-workers had to step out. Our youngest toddler, "Manny", had a nightmare and woke up early. So, I picked him up and we sat in the rocking chair until he drifted back to sleep. Once I placed him down in his cot, I, for the first time since beginning work at Talitha Koum, realized this was the perfect opportunity to pray. So I knelt next to Manny's cot as he slept and spent a few minutes in prayer for Manny. It was by far one of the most refreshing prayers I've taken part in recently. For a split-second, I saw my own son in that cot and I prayed the prayer of a father for Manny--the son of a single mom with no dad in his life. As soon as I finished, my supervisor needed me to head out to the playground to rough-house...I mean, monitor the older kids. But as I went about the rest of the afternoon, my heart was bathed in that patriarchal prayer.

I finally made it outside to the playground and sat down on one of the blocks. One of our older girls, a 4 year old, approached me with a plate full of sand. I figured it was a typical concoction of hers--"birthday cake" or "enchiladas" perhaps. But boy was I mistaken. When she got to me, she held up the plate and said "The body of Christ." I pinched a bit of Christ's body in between my fingers and pretended to take communion with her. The exchange only lasted a few seconds before she moved on to the next person on the playground to offer them Christ, but for the remainder of the day I marvelled over her simple, faith-of-a-child. This little girl has absolutely nothing to offer, for not only will she depend on her guardians to provide for her for the next 15 years, but she's also living in pronounced poverty. Yet, she was still able to imagine, see, and share Christ in the mud in which she wallowed.

May I find Christ around me. Nay, and not only find Him, but to boldly share Him-regardless of the squalor I claim to be in.

In approximately 12 days from now (March 11), Faith and I are going with Mission Waco to Haiti for an "exposure trip". (As opposed to a mission trip. We aren't going as some great white hype to serve and save, but rather as questioning and seeking Christ-followers with a hesitant desire to be bent, broken, and fixed.) I was lucky enough to go in 2001 and boy was that an experience! Sadly, that's all I can say about it--that it was simply an experience with some outstanding memories. I vividly remember coming back with a broken, but very much alive and rejuvenated heart that was set on personal change.

What change has occurred? Not much really.

I'm sure I've developed and matured in ways that are hard to measure. But when it comes down to it, I'm still making a comfortable $80-90/day, living in a 3-bedroom house with 2 dogs and a fenced-in yard. I complain and pitch fits when the seal on our faucet cracks causing water to spew into our sink incessantly. I forget the brothers and sisters in Haiti that I met nearly 4 years ago who draw their contaminated water from a public well that is only operational a fraction of the time. I forget about the men in the village who, for less than $1/day labor more in a single day than I do in months' time. I forget about the families of 5, 6, 7, and 8 who are lucky to live in a home with a single room.

Pray for us...pleaaaase pray for us. Faith's never really been out of the country (except for Mexico) and is a bit nervous about the whole no-electricity-&-safe-drinking-water-while-having-to-battle-mosquitoes
-&-outhouses deal.

As a couple it's our hope that we get some clarity about where our life will lead. It's quite possible that we won't end up going back to live in Haiti, but we have a desire to live and work with brothers and sisters who are struggling with poverty--be that domestically or abroad.

Further, our families are a bit concerned about the safety down there since Haiti had a coup about a year ago and is still occupied by the United Nations' forces. (Our trip should be quite safe, as we're flying into the opposite side of the country from which all the uprising occurred.)

My personal prayer request is to not only be broken and not only to receive clarity on the future, but it's also to simply fall in love again. I passionately fell in love with the Haitians 4 years ago.

What exactly did I fall in love with, you ask?

I fell in love with their overwhelming joy and hospitality in spite of (or perhaps because of?) extreme poverty.
I fell in love with the fact that their lives were wrapped in such amazing simplicity. They had a remarkable ability to live and entertain themselves with virtually nothing. (We would spend hours playing soccer with a simple ball and at night would sing, tell stories, catch fireflies, or listen to a small, battery-powered radio.)
I fell in love with a people who didn't care about degrees, job descriptions, or what I knew. In all my weaknesses and ignorance, they accepted me with open arms because I stepped into their village and into the midst of their lives. For that short time I was there, I was a Haitian who worked, laughed, played, talked, and communed with my neighbors.

So that is my sincere desire. To fall back in love. Upon my return back to the States, I've forgotten about my Haitian friends and have whored myself back out to materialism, greed, and complacency.

I have a feeling that Haiti will forgive my infidelity with the same open arms and love that I was met with in 2001.


May the love of Christ convict, correct, and commit me to a life of change.

So I told a lie yesterday. Well, I probably told about a dozen lies yesterday. But this particular one was a lie that I pondered over for several minutes before commiting to it. Twenty-four hours later, and I'm still debating whether or not I should have fibbed.

Here's the rundown:
As you know, I work for Talitha Koum--a daycare/nurture center in South Waco that serves the families in the local housing projects. Our kids range from infant to kinder. A good number have been neglected and/or physically, sexually, or emotionally abused.

That said, there's a particular girl in my classroom--let's call her Kimmy. She just turned 4. When Kimmy first began attending Talitha Koum, she was suffering from post-traumatic shock...as a toddler! (She was born in prison, and later witnessed the stabbing of her father...by her mother.) She refused to talk to anyone, and when she did choose to communicate, it took the form of a deafening scream. Kimmy has come a LONG way. Believe me. True, she is particulalry violent with some of the other students. True, she tends to curse incessantly when she's upset. But, she's willing to problem solve now, which is a huge step.

One factor that makes Kimmy's case particularly difficult from day-to-day, is that she regularly gets a beating at home--for wetting her pants, for getting dirty, for talking back, etc. In fact, when she wets her pants during naptime at Talitha Koum, we rush them to the dryer to dry them so that when her dad comes, he'll be none-the-wiser.

Well, yesterday, Kimmy and I had been struggling. She didn't have a nap, plus she visited with her play therapist. Each one of these acting alone can cause the child to have a turbulent afternoon. Just think about how rough things can get when both factors work together!

Anyways, to make a long story short (too late!), Kimmy was having a big crying fit at the end of the day for not being able to carry her blanket around. As luck would have it, her dad (who is huge by the way) walked in and in his loud, deep voice yelled at her to stop crying and come home. I scurried off to find her shoes while he got her coat on. When I handed Kimmy's dad her shoes, he asked me why she was crying.

So I lied to him.
I paused for a second, and told him that she had fallen and hurt herself a couple minutes before he arrived.

Should I have told the truth, knowing she would most certainly gone home to a spanking?

I keep trying to rationalize it over and over in my head but I can't come to peace with it.

For I know that I'll (hopefully) be a father myself within a couple years, and I definitely wouldn't want to be lied to by my child's teacher because they disagreed with the way I raised him/her.

So where does that leave me? I sinned. Though justified, a lie is a lie is a lie. Perhaps I saved Kimmy for the moment, but is there anything right about what I did?



I don't know.

I've been employed at Talitha Koum for about 5 months now, associated with it for nearly twice as long, and there's still some of the little kiddos who misprounce my name. I've been called Darin, Jerrod, Jarin, Greg, Andrew (don't know where that one came from), and more commonly, Eric. In fact, two little girls who insist on calling me Eric day in and day out are two girls who actually go to church with me!

At times, being called Eric or Greg bothers me. Belittles me. Makes me feel unimportant. Unknown. I mean, for crying outloud, I'm the only male teacher they come in contact with--can't they at least know my name?!?! I've tried sitting them in my lap and spelling it out for them. I've tried pronouncing it in sloooow motion. I've completely ignored them until another child corrects them. I've tattooed my name on each child's forehead with a crayola marker to help them remember it. Ok, well, maybe I haven't gone that far. Yet.

The dilemma reminds me of what Frederick Buechner (pronounced "Beeknur") says about his own name:

If somebody misprounces it in some foolish way, I have the feeling that what's foolish is me. If somebody forgets it, I have the feeling that it's I who am forgotten. There's something about it that embarasses me in just the same way that there's something about me that embarasses me. I can't imagine myself with any other name. If my name were different, I would be different. When I tell you my name, I have given you a hold over me that you didn't have before. If you call it out, I stop, look, and listen whether I want to or not.

Maybe I shouldn't be in such a rush for this acknowledgement and recognition among 3 and 4 year olds. For Buechner adds:

In the Book of Exodus, God tells Moses that his name is Yahweh, and God hasn't had a peaceful moment since.

Heres' to savoring these last remaining "peaceful moments".

The Psalters were at Church this Sunday.



The Psalters were in Waco this past weekend, so Faith and I went out to see them on numerous occasions, banking on the promise that we'd experience a different kind of worship that you wouldn't find anywhere else. "Different" is definitely a gross understatement!

We were challenged and uneasy throughout the encounter...and it's not because of the tattered sackcloth and dreads they sported. Rather, it was the message they spoke, sang, and screamed at the top of their lungs. They boldly spoke out against issues such as affluence, war, and lust (to name a few), while embracing wholeheartedly peace, the poor, and justice.

One of their songs, entitled "We Are All Lepers Here" especially confronted me. The Psalters preached that leprosy isn't just a disease of the skin and nervous system that is virtually unknown here in the west but is still a dilemma in the eastern hemisphere. Leprosy, as you know, is a disease where one loses all feeling, so that they often end up with self-inflicted wounds that never heal. This curse of feeling no pain is the eventual cause of many lepers' demise. The Psalters reminded us of Jesus' reception and healing of the lepers in the Gospel text.

My whole life I've looked at leprosy as either 1. a horrible disese from biblical times or 2. something that underdeveloped countries on the other side of the world face. It's been something we comfortably talk about in sermons and Bible studies as we water down our need to be inclusive.

But then the Psalters did the the ridiculous.

They turned the tables.

I'll let the lyrics from their song do the speaking:

We are all lepers here overcome by our fear of pain let us remain...numb
To real we cannot feel our hands already froze holding our bloddless hearts...dear
Pumping liquified apathy through our veins hand frozen to heart now we can hold
Nothing else but the soothing lack of pulse still beating us we are all lepers here
Flood us with Fire consume with Your raging Waters to keep us bleeding give us Your feeling

Me?
A leper?
My stomach churns at such an absurd suggestion.
However, nothing could be more true.

Living in the comfort and safety of the country, I've come down with leprosy. For I don't feel pain! When I consider the billion-plus who scrape by on mere pennies each day, or when I think of the 30,000 children who die each day due to hunger-related causes, or when I'm reminded of the millions in Africa who have been missplaced or killed due to civil war, I do nothing.

I don't flinch.
I don't cry.
I don't yearn to throw myself into the midst of their lives.

Call it a desensitizing handed down by media and entertainment.
Call it a sense of apathy in the face of overwhelming need.
Call it what you want.

One thing is certain. And that is that I don't feel the pain for my brothers and sisters in Haiti, in Togo, or in Uganda. I'm a leper who is numb to the ache and misery of billions. As I ponder on what this means to me, I don't know where to go. For I know that the numbness causes my inflictions to worsen. And if healing doesn't occur, then I fear death may be around the corner.

May Christ bring to me the cry of the ending of "We Are All Lepers Here":

Flood us with Fire, consume with Your raging Waters to keep us breathing Life.
Give us Your feeling.

For it's with healing that leprosy gives way to feeling. And I suspect that pain's the most welcome result.

So it's as I decay with this callousness that I cry out for Christ's healing Fire to bring feeling.

And pain.

Faith and I have been having a rough couple of days lately( I know what you're thinking...how could anyone not get along with me? But it happens.) So she sent me "Sonnet 17" just to remind me how much she loved me.

Part of it goes a little like this--

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

I love you because I know no other way.

I can almost hear God whispering that to me.

Heck, He's practically it screaming it at me to get through my density.

I love you
I know no other way.

Beautiful isn't?

It reminds me very much of 1 John 4. Verse 7-12 of this sonnet reminds us that love comes from God. It goes on to say that God is the very definition of love. Verse 16 then simply states that God is love.

Can't get much straightforward than that! If you commune with God, then you're face-to-face with His almighty love. If you experience love in any form, then you're getting a glimpse of God.

So He's whispering to us, "I love you child. For I know no other way. This is how I show you my love: I sent my one and only Son into the world so that you might live through him."

There's an ancient hymn that's been redone by modern worshipper, Matt Redman called "Here is Love". It presents one of the most striking portraits of the love of God:

Here is love, vast as the ocean
Lovingkindness as the flood
When the Prince of Life, our Ransom
Shed for us His precious blood
Who His love will not remember?
Who can cease to sing His praise?
He can never be forgotten
Throughout Heav'n's eternal days

On the mount of crucifixion
Fountains opened deep and wide
Through the floodgates of God's mercy
Flowed a vast a gracious tide
Grace and love, like mighty rivers
Poured incessant from above
And Heav'n's peace and perfect justice
Kissed a guilty world in love

Chorus:
No love is higher, no love is wider
No love is deeper, no love is truer
No love is higher, no love is wider
No love is like Your love, o Lord

So I stand here today redeemed. Not only by the blood of the Lamb, but by His overwhelming love. I've failed God over and over in showing, sharing, and living his love (see "Five Minutes with Violet"). However, here is love vast as the ocean, that has kissed this guilty sinner in love. So as I'm hit with this love that is higher, wider, deeper, and truer than any other love, I'm propelled to pick myself up, dust off my knees, and share that same lovingkindness!

Thanks be to God.

Violet died this week. I decided on the way to work this morning to go to her viewing. Stayed five minutes and went to the office so I could check my email before the students arrived.

Five minutes.

I didn't know Violet too well. Made it my point not to.

She had a severe crack cocaine and alcohol addiction, which caused her to suffer two strokes. After the strokes, her weight quickly dropped, her speech became slurred, and she walked with a pronounced limp. Before the strokes, she made her rounds through north Waco and became an almost-daily visitor at Mission Waco. I don't think there's a person who worked there who wasn't talked into giving Violet a few bucks at one point or another. I have a friend who was actually duped into giving her his tv and close to $100! Her stories were regularly told there with humor, well before she died. However, beneath those stories was a layer of concern, for she was quickly deteriorating.

Violet was at "mid-life" when she died. While very poor, she isn't what tradition labels as homeless. She always had a stable roof to rest under. However her family and network of support had all but disappeared.

Why? Don't know. Remember, I made it my point not to know her well.

When I first moved to Waco, I often found myself in conversation with her...and then, of course, I'd find myself giving her a ride somewhere and/or emptying out my wallet. (She certainly had a way of making you feel like you two were the oldest and best of friends!) After a year or so, I made it a point of avoiding her when I saw her, or simply blowing her off with a "G'morning Violet. No, I don't have any money to give you, sorry."

So today I gave her 5 minutes. It was all I could do for her because I really wouldn't have had time to check my email before class.

Since high school, I've been quick to proclaim Matthew 25:31-46 as one of my favorite biblical passages.

You know, the whole doing unto "the least of these" deal.

The hungry. The thirsty. The alien and outcast. The naked. The sick. The imprisoned. These folks are Christ.

I quit offering the outcast Violet money for food and drink because she was sick with addiction.

I'm sure you're putting the equation together.

Perhaps I should jump a couple chapters in Matthew and adopt Mattthew 27:54, since it appears I better relate to the guards at Jesus' death.

Surely this was the Son of God!

After his death, these men realized who it was that just died. More importantly, these men had a hand in Christ's death.

So I gave Violet's dilapidated and fraile corpse five minutes of my time this morning.

Now, as I look down at the hammer and nail in my hands,
I cry out, Surely this was Christ the Son of God!

These past couple of days I've been trying to wrap my mind around the idea of worship. More specifically, what it means to live a life of worship. My folks have asked me recently about how and why my theology has developed the way it has, for while there are similarities to their own, there are also stark differences. I have a problem fully answering that question though, because my theology is full of holes. Underdeveloped. Undeveloped. There are areas I've not come to peace about (i.e. "free will" vs. predestination). And there are areas, like worship, where I can't yet articulate what I believe.

So perhaps I'll just empty onto this blogtable my tin full of ideas, quotes, and passages about worship that I've collected and try to sort it out.

Pardon the mess.

The first scrap we see here is a quote from a pastor/theologian I'm getting to know--A.W. Tozer. Tozer was a brilliant preacher and writer from last century who wrote with much depth, despite never having any formal theological training. Here he states the utmost importance for worship, "Unless we are worshippers, we are simply religious dancing mice, moving around in a circle getting nowhere." Anyone of faith can certainly agree with this. I hope.

So assuming we can move on from here, Tozer adds, "Looking at what John wrote, I wonder how so many present-day Christians can consider an hour of worship Sunday morning as adequate adoration of the holy God who created them and then redeemed them back to Himself." Hmmm. So worship is a big deal. And now Tozer is adding that our Sunday morning hour devoted to it is not "adequate adoration". I'm gonna' make another assumption here and say that Tozer wasn't simply suggesting that worship services last longer or that they get added to Wednesday night dinner in the fellowship hall. To me, it looks like he's stating that worship needs to take place over the course of an entire week, between Sunday's, over the course of an entire life.

Well, this is starting to make a little sense I think. When I moved to Texas in 2000, I switched from a Baptist church to an Episcopal church because I was primarily looking for worship that tended to be more reverent and liturgical. Since then, I've realized that reverence isn't simply being quiet during church, its the state of the heart. I now go to a church that meets outdoors every Sunday under an interstate bridge and I've discovered that there can more reverence out there than in a beautifully ornate, carpeted, stainglass-windowed chapel. Further, I've learned what "liturgy" really means. It's not the order of worship. The root words for liturgy literally mean "the people's work". So the "order" of worship is actually fueled by the work of the people?

When on Sunday morning does the "people's work" even take place? Well, for most parishes, I'd say it doesn't at all. That said, it seems the people's work is to take place over the course of an entire week, in between Sunday's, over the course of an entire life.

So how do I apply this to my own life? Any thoughts or suggestions? It seems that I'd have to look at my comings and goings and discern whether Aaron's work is worship. Not just my happenings on Sunday's, or even the weekends...but day-by-day, moment-by-moment.

When I'm at home in the mornings preparing for the day, is that work worshipping God?
When I'm at work preparing my lesson plan, is that work worshipping God?
When my co-workers are out of the office and I'm by myself, does my work worship God?
When I'm at home on free time, is my work work worshipping God?

The German theologian Frederich Buechner supports worship as being service to God:

To worship God means to serve him. Basically there are two ways to do it. One way is to do things for him that he needs to have done--run erands for him, carry messages for him, fight on his side, feed his lambs, and so on.

Buechner adds to this:

The other way is to do things for him that you need to do--sing songs for him, tell him what's on your mind and in your heart, in general rejoice in him and make a fool of yourself for him the way lovers have always made fools of themselves for the one they love.

A Quaker meeting, High Mass, the Family Service at First Presbyterian, a Holy Roller Happening--unless there is an element of joy and foolishness in the proceedings, the time would be better spent doing something useful.

Wow. Ok, so in Buechner's first passage, he reiterates our thinking--that worship is our work. BUT, he notes that there's another way at this whole worship thing, and that's more in line with our traditional thinking--that worship is composed of singing, praying, and rejoicing as a fool in love.

Well dang, does that bring us full circle to where we started? I don't think so. I would argue that our worship is something that should be done at all moments of our lives. Therefore, on Sunday mornings, Wednesday nights, Friday afternoons, or whenever we gather for worship, we must approach it in song, praise, prayer, etc. with the "element of joy and foolishness". However, at each and every other moment of our week (or, as Buechner would argue, when we aren't approaching church with that joy and foolishness), we need to be about "doing something useful" for God.

Found this link on my friend, Kurt's, LiveJournal. It's Sir Mix-a-Lot's explicit song Baby Got Back parodied and titled Baby Got Book. Check it out. You'll laugh. You'll reminisce. Perhaps cry. And you'll likely want to watch it more than once. A few thoughts upon watching it:

1. I've always been a firm supporter of the redeeming value of music, art, literature...but wow.

2. Not only does this do a nice job of redeeming a very controversial song of the early 90's, but it also, in the same breath, pokes fun at aspects of mainstream Christianity. What more could a guy recovering from a life in the Bible Belt and is still trying to find the sacred in the secular want???

3. I found myself thinking, "I can apply this to youth group on Sunday." Woah. Then I had to douse myself with some cold water and jump out of the bittersweet flashback to my days as a youth "minister".

Enjoy.

Martin Luther King, Jr. gave the ever-famous "I have a dream" speech in August of 1963. Eye witness accounts and close friends have remarked since his death, that for at least half that speech, MLK stumbled and sweated over his words, looking as if he'd run off the platform in an instance. He eventually struck a chord deep within himself and with the listeners, and, well we know the outcome.

However, 4 years later and one year before his murder, King gave an impassioned speech at Riverside Church in New York City. The topic? His opposition to the Vietnam War.

Read it. Especially his 7 reasons for opposing the war. It sounds eeriely familiar to a few cries out of the wilderness today concerning the turbulence in the Middle East. Is this the voice America needs today?

...I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today: my own government.


I cannot forget that the Nobel Peace Prize was also a commission, a commission to work harder than I had ever worked before for the brotherhood of man. This is a calling that takes me beyond national allegiances.


We are called to speak for the weak, for the voiceless, for the victims of our nation, for those it calls "enemy," for no document from human hands can make these humans any less our brothers.

Amen

I have a problem with praying. Thing is, I neglect it so much that when I finally get around to the business of God's business, I don't feel like I have the right to go bother God with my requests. Well, I've finally discovered, that any prayer prayed is going to have requests in it...its just the nature of prayer. Nothing can happen in this world without the grace of God. For crying outloud, just look at Jesus' instruction on how to pray in Matthew 6. If you look at the Lord's prayer, its packed full requests (thy kingdom come, thy will be done, give us bread, forgive us, lead us not into temptation, & deliver us). So Christ wants us to ask!

When you look at St. Paul, he wrote that he "pleaded" with God 3 times to remove a "thorn in his flesh". (2 Corinthians 12:7-10) Did God remove that thorn? No.

Now let's flashback to Job. Its pretty well known about his misfortunes, which included losing his family, possessions, and even health. Eventually, Job poses some pretty heavy questions to God.
"If only I knew where to find him."
"Though I cry...I get no response."
"Though I call out for help, there is no justice."
"Oh for the day when God's intimate friendship blessed my house!"

Wow. You go Job. Make God answer. Make Him explain himself to you. What did you do wrong to deserve these trials? That's right man, n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

So what was God's response? The pastor-theologian, Frederick Buechner, said it well when he writes in his book Wishful Thinking that God doesn't do any explaining to Job. Nay, in fact God "explodes"! "He doesn't reveal his grand design. He reveals himself" to Job. We all know the ending of the story, about how Job receives much more than he ever had before and lived a long, full life. However, what we overlook is that before Job even knew he would be restored, he replies to God, "My ears have heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you." This drives him to repentance! Just meeting God...or God meeting him in his lowly state was all that Job ever needed.

So remember back in the New Testament how Paul prayed for the thorn to be removed and how it wasn't God's will? Was Paul rebuked for praying for something that wasn't in God's will? Of course not. The answer Paul received wasn't what he was expecting. In fact, it was much more than he expected for he writes that he was given God's grace and power to overcome.

This was a powerful reminder to me to pray and pray hard. Paul "pleaded". If you look at Job, to say he pleaded would be an understatement! These two men laid themselves open before God and He responded.

Now I must respond.

Peace for the journey-

Today's Phat Tuesday...my bad, Fat Tuesday. You think with all of the crazy news coming out of Mardi Gras that they changed it to a "Ph" though! I've always thought it odd that the craziest times of the the Christian calendar happen to be right before holy days. The reverent day of remembrance, All Saint's Day immediately follows Halloween. Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the Lenten season of repentance, comes as Fat Tuesday ends. Read the news or talk to some folks in your neighborhood or hall, and I'd be willing to wager that you come across some folks who like to party hardy on Fat Tuesday and Halloween nights.

Historically, these two holidays have deep meaning for the faithful. However, nowadays, they are times for throwing on a mask, uncorking a bottle of wine, and partying like its 1999. Why's that? Hmmm, perhaps for the same reason we often go through with something we know we shouldn't while at the same taking comfort in the fact that we can always ask for forgiveness the next day.

Just a thought.

Yea, so today's the Super Bowl (does anyone else wonder how such a cheesy title got applied to one of the most famous single-day sporting events in the world?). I must admit, it's been nice to not have been sucked into tv land with all the analyses, trivia, SB history, etc. Faith and I decided to not own a tv once we got married and it's been nice for the most part. Of course, there are some weeks when we find ourselves over at my old roomate Carlton's more than we are at home! But by-and-large, we've made the most of the time we'd normally spend glued to the tube.

So tonight, w/o the aforementioned tele, I'm headin over to the in-laws tonight for a western tradition I'll be glad to be rid of if Faith and I actually end up living in another country. So who do I think will win? Well, the Patriots certainly seem to be solid. (One "journalist" I enjoy reading on the net is The Sports Guy on ESPN.com. He's a Boston fan so, until recently, it's been quite fun watching him vomit his torment onto his keyboard. Now he's been getting cocky, but still seems to know what he's talking about. Granted, he's a Patriot fan, but he does seem to put up a solid argument as to why they're superior.)

That said, I'm picking the Eagles by 2. 27-25. They're underdogs, it's in me to almost always root for the underdog. I don't have a solid case for the Eagles, nor do I really care who wins, but I figured I'd throw my 2 cents worth in. Take it for what it's worth.

Yea, so like I said earlier...I just got married! Well, not "just" as in yesterday, but "just" as in 6 months ago. Anyways, the lady who makes me look a lot better nowadays is Faith. She was literally "the girl next door". (Remind me to tell you how we met someday.) We're still learning what all this marriage stuff means and are excited about where our path leads us!

As stated previously, we've joined a new church...Church Under the Bridge (CUB). It's quite a shift from the Episcopal Church, that's for sure! CUB has its pluses and minuses, but it's the atmosphere that we, as a young married couple searching to live out the gospel, desire to be in.

Anyways, all that to lead up to my 'a-ha!' thought of the week. Faith and I have recently started leading a CUB small group at our home on Wednesday nights. We're currently studying 31 Days of Prayer by Ruth & Warren Myers. Honestly, it's not something I'd go and pick off a bookshelf of your local bookstore...however, it is very much sufficient for small groups who desire to work through their faith together but have the discrepancy of having varying levels of spiritual maturity. (Another reason I'd shy away from picking this book out myself is b/c I'm quite possibly the world's worst prayer...that is "one who prays". More on that in another blog.)

Let's see, where was I...oh yes, so we just started this small group that is studying prayer together...and it's quite interesting to say the least. We've got singles, couples, newlyweds, oldlyweds, handimen, unemployed, professionals, disabled, blacks, whites, hispanics, and so on. Quite a little petri-dish of the kingdom of God! We typically read 1-3 days worth of prayers over the course of a week and then gather on Wednesday to discuss our thoughts, questions, failures, triumphs, etc. Well, this past week the very last prayer happened to be on abiding in Christ. Not an unfamiliar term for many Christians (of course, neither is prayer but how many of us actually do that??). However, when I got to that part of the book, I purposely avoided that prayer. Rather, I went back and read the prayers we had already covered! You see, I have a problem with this whole "abiding" thing, b/c it's simply a distant concept to me and that's really about it.

As I caved and read the prayer on abiding and the corresponding scripture passages for it, I quickly realized why abiding in Christ was such a faraway concept--it's b/c it involves actual effort on my part. It's a choosing to depend on Christ. John 15 beautifully describes it as "remaining Christ". When have I done such a thing?!? As I read on, I began to look into Colossians 3:1-17, and that REALLY nailed it on the head! It talks of an actual life in Christ, or another way to look at it is as living inside of Christ. Surrounding myself with Him. I remember as a child growing up in the countryside how my brother and I would come in oftentimes covered head-to-toe in mud. Mom would always make us strip down before coming inside the house so that we wouldn't track mud all over her carpet. Then we'd head straight for the tub to clean off. Verses 5-9 talks of the mud that would dirty Christ if we tried to carry that in with us-sexual immorality, impurity, greed, idolatry, lust, evil desires, anger, rage, slander, malice, filfthy language, and lying. I must shed those dirty, tattered rags and put on my "new self" (v. 10) which is constantly being "renewed" or cleaned in the image of Christ. As I enter Christ, I reclothe myself with "compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience." (v.12)

A-HA! Finally, after nearly 27 years of existence, I have an idea of what it means to abide in Christ! To choose to live inside of Christ. To shed off my sin and my own ambitions and surround myself with Him (which, I argue, would involve completely taking myself out-of-view).

Hudson Taylor, the missionary to China during the 19th century, was said to have gotten a pretty good understanding of what it means to abide in Christ. He was once asked later in his life if he was always conscious of abiding in Christ. Taylor replied, "While sleeping last night, did I cease to abide in your home because I was unconscious of the fact? We should never be conscious of not abiding in Christ."

May we always be aware of our struggle to keep those dirty rags off of us as we strive to surround ourselves completely with the cleansing love of Christ. Amen.

Ok, so let's just pretend I haven't been absent for nearly two years. Deal? Deal. Lot's has happened, chaos ensued. And now I find myself in about the same place I was April 1, 2003. Except that now I'm married....at a different job...different church...different house. Ok, so about the only similarity between Aaron of 2003 and Aaron of 2005 is the part spelled Aaron. So, that said, let's see if I can get some thoughts, jokes, prayers, pictures, etc. on here. If you have any suggestions, let me know! Peace.