The Talk On a Cereal Box

Years ago, I wrote an article called "The Death of Smart" about authority and postmodern culture. The idea was that the framework for credentials is changing. We used to trust leaders and news sources who were educated and official, who were in print or on the air because, we assumed, they must have done the hard work to get there and become wise and learned in their field. But today's American no longer makes those assumptions. We assume instead (and rightly so) that anyone can be corrupt or fake. When I wrote "The Death of Smart" I said that the highest virtue of postmodern culture is tolerance and the second, following closely, was genuineness. Now, I think genuineness has overtaken tolerance. To be respected and trusted in our society, you no longer have to be smart or wise. You no longer need integrity or discipline. You can neglect faithfulness and substance. But you'd better be honest and sincere. We hate fakes.

My assumption in that article was that this new paradigm of virtue would undermine journalism and any organization with centralized communication. As we get more cynical, our circle of trust draws in. We check sources instead of trusting that others have done so. We are more likely to trust our friend's Facebook post to deliver the goods than a news story on ABC.com. I assumed that authority would line up in inverse proportion to prominence, and so authoritarian sources would go the way of the print newspaper. If you're broadcasting to a lot of people, I probably don't trust you. If you're my golf buddy, I probably do.

But I was wrong. In fact, I've noticed a shift in the opposite direction. I'm reading successful writers who speak not in postmodern disclaimers and excuses ("This may not be true of everyone but," "From my perspective," "In my humble opinion.") but rather as real sages with real answers. I follow Seth Godin and Michael Hyatt. I just read some Steven Pressfield. These are men who do more than muse. They teach. They correct as if they have a standard by which to perceive error. This is not postmodern, relative truth, mamby-pambyism.

So what's the difference? How have these writers have found a way to speak with authority in a postmodern culture? What does the "new authority" look like?

1. They speak from their own experience. They aren't researchers with data or pundits with opinions. They haven't arrived at their conclusions through careful observation. They're become someone new through trial and failure. They have a story. And that's what they write out. They don't pretend to know things they don't. They don't write or speak about things they haven't learned from experience. They know the difference, and if they don't know a topic from experience, they say so and decline to comment further.

2. They speak their convictions. The postmodern leader (in fact, a good leader fro any era) doesn't look back to count followers. He isn't checking to see how many Facebook fans or Twitter followers he has. He has chosen his work and his path. He's going to do his work. He's going the way he's going. His face is set toward the future. And if someone wants to follow along, they're welcome. This, I believe, will be the biggest difference in cultural leadership in the next decade. I think Americans are realizing that the people we thought were leaders (politicians, especially) are followers.

All of this brings us back to "The Death of Smart" and a corresponding rise in philosophy. It makes sense. We value what is scarce. Knowledge (or at least access to it) is no longer scarce. Honesty and experience are. If you have a story, we want to hear it. If you have polling data, we turn the channel.

When the Apostle Paul visited Athens, in the first century, the Book of Acts tell us that his crowd shared our American viewpoint.

"All the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there spent their time doing nothing but talking about and listening to the latest ideas." — Acts 17:21

In Athens, philosophy reigned. And though we don't call it philosophy often (we have more subtle names like "my approach to life," "the way I see things") we too are a nation of philosophies. Three hundred million of them. Philosophy is religion without research. It's the "it seems to me" view supported by anecdotes. And it's all we have left. Because if there is no absolute truth to research (we handled that in the 90s) and there is no scarcity of information (we took care of that in the 00s), then our sages are thinkers, not builders or learners.

Broken Hearts & Broken Planet

Concepts from John Eldredge's book Epic and Andy McQuitty's sermon "Until Nowhere Becomes Somewhere" have rattled in my head for a couple of days. Here's what's coming out.

Philosophers have said that the greatest enemy of man is man. Maybe it's Satan but if so, man is Satan's most efficient weapon against man. Consider: the death count from all of the earthquakes, mudslides and hurricanes of history don't hold a candle to the millions killed by armies, tyrants, terrorists, despots and assassins. More than we have been battered by the storms and calamities of a broken planet, we have been tortured and killed by men with broken hearts. It makes sense. After all, the human heart is central, valuable and powerful. The heavens and earth testify to the glory of God, but the human heart bears it like an inheritance. We are God's workmanship, the highest expression of his valiant beauty and risky grace. Created in his image. Created to reflect him.

Something endowed with that kind of promise has potential for radical destruction. Made in the image of God, nothing on earth has the power to destroy like broken hearts. As much as the human spirit can inspire and lift us to our better selves, we know from our battered past that it can just as quickly drag us to numb cruelty. It is no small thing to be created in the image of the Almighty. It is glorious weight that we have struggled for centuries to carry well with little success.

And above our struggle to deal with our own dignity, there rages another level of struggle pitched on even higher stakes. Good battles evil. Light invades darkness. Hope, joy, courage and love trade furious blows with hate, cowardice, fear and despair. And the object of that struggle is the image of God. The human heart. Because nothing bears the image of God like the human heart, nothing is hated by Satan as much as we are. Sure, Satan loves to defile all of God's creation, from molecules to mountains, stars to stamen. But he reserves his darkest thoughts, his craftiest schemes for us. Our hearts are the crux, the ring that Frodo carries, the message for Private Ryan, Magua's captives, and Princess Leah's plans.

Nothing in the universe is in greater peril or under more harsh attack by the enemy. And nothing in the universe is more in need of redemption. As much as the Earth groans for renewal, and as much as God intends to restore it, hearts are more important. Nothing is higher on God's priority list for restoration.

Claws, Antlers, Friends and Fathers

I am not a baseball fan. Never enjoyed the game that much growing up. Never built much of an affinity for any MLB team. I liked the accoutrements of baseball - the smell of grass and leather, the tension of a full count, the terrific father / son bonding opportunities. I still remember the first time my dad bought me a glove and showed me how to oil it and wrap a ball in it with a rubber band. But the game itself was just not that appealing. Of the four major sports, it's my least favorite and probably ranks behind some lesser sports like cycling and even soccer.

But three things have converged of late to pique my interest in baseball again. First and most importantly, my son loves it. It's strange to me that my four-year-old won't watch a fast-paced game like football or hockey but he wants to see every pitch of a Rangers game. I think it may be because he just loves to throw stuff. But whatever sport he chooses, I'm going to take an interest. If the kid wanted to sit and watch women's college field hockey, I would do it.

Secondly and most obviously, my hometown team is making one heck of a run. After a half century in obscurity, the Texas Rangers will make their first ever World Series appearance Wednesday. I know I'm a bandwagon fan and I'm not trying to pretend I've always been with them, but I've been following them through the playoff and will certainly be by the channel for some more DFW sports history.

Thirdly, one of my best friends just took a job with a baseball team. Not just any team though - everyone's lovable losers, the Chicago Cubs. Colin and Jaime Faulkner are dear friends and we're going to miss them. I intend to keep a much closer eye on the Cubbies than I ever have before. In fact, for irony's sake, I'm thinking of going to buy a Cubs cap (which would be the first piece of MLB merchandise I've ever purchased) on the day of the Rangers' first World Series game.

So I've got baseball on the brain more than ever before and it reminded me of this poem I wrote years ago. I wrote this when a friend's dad was going through some serious health issues so, to clarify, this isn't reflective of any health issues with my own dad. It just sort-of came to me from hearing my friend's plight mashed up in my head with the father / son relationship and this family-friendly sport. The poem was actually published once in a literary journal called The Coffee Faucet, but I think that publication has discontinued now, probably because they were accepting swill like mine. In any case, here's to watching October baseball with my son. Go Rangers.

Swing

All of life is in the swing of a bat.

That’s what Dad taught me, pointing to players and stances too far away to see while he held my Coke so that I wouldn’t spill.

In a sense, life is all physics. The ball is wound tight, stitched with knotty, red twine and hurled at you with speed. The bat is hardwood- sanded, polished, solid and heavy. There’s a pitch and a swing and life is ignited in the material.

But in another sense, the batter swings supernatural. With rhythm, timing, momentum, strength, hope. Toward the mystic union.

The critical time, the living part of the swing, is in the instant that contact is made. The hands feel the shock that reports that they’re alive and they’ve arrived at the right moment. The pitch is fast and the crack violent and stunning so that it feels like the bat should shatter or fall helplessly from the hands and the pitch continue on its ripping course.

But then the weight of bat and arms and the strength of hands and hips carry forward faith until, as quick as that, the course is changed and the bat swings away wide and shoulders open to the field before them and eyes look up to a sky of clarity and possibilities.

Last week, Dad’s doctor said “cancer.” The pitch was fast and, for a moment, I wondered if he would strike out. He seemed to swing free and I expected to hear the pitch forever sink into the padded mitt behind him, the chances gone.

But then the bat shook and hands and hips carried forward faith until, as quick as that, the bat swung away wide and shoulders opened and eyes lifted.

And all of life was in the swing of a bat.

Two Piles

All of life can be sorted into two piles - the things we do to extend our number of days, and the things we do to make our days count. The first pile includes work and paychecks and healthcare and exercise. The second includes family and friends and service. God is in both. And if we're lucky, there may be some overlap where our work is also important or fulfilling.

Deep and Wide?

Wisdom springs from the wise like water from a spring, not a well. It's not pumped out with effort or machinations. It bubbles up out of the overflow of its reservoir beneath the surface.

I think this is true of any expert. Anyone who has depth of knowledge in an area (I think of those tediously detailed discussions on Book TV or CSPAN) speaks about their chosen topic as if its history and issues are part of his personal past so that the players and events in those histories are more than facts in a mental catalog; they are memories with feelings and smells. Bob Sturm has assigned emotions to great sporting events in his lifetime as if he were personally invested in each. Phil Ligget can give details about every stage raced on the Alp d'Huez since 1965.

It inspires me when I come across someone with deep knowledge in an arena that holds my interest. John Kane knows more scripture by heart than anyone I know. He knows it by heart, not by rote, and when he recites it, he still registers emotion. He is identifying with it, taking it in, letting the word dwell in him richly. John Eldredge seems to speak out of a deep place about healing and warfare and intimacy with God. Thomas Merton never propped up a sentence in his life. His writing has always seemed to me to be eloquent without trying. He has known beauty in contemplation so when his pen is pressed to paper, beauty manifests in prose. I have a lot of respect for those men.

One of my fears is that I am not a spring but a vast and shallow sea - a pampas lake, a buffalo wallow. I like variety and I make brief sorties into new interests all the time. I like to meet new people and learn about their passions (if I can find anyone with any passion any more). And I can usually carry my end of the conversation - at least enough to properly interview them. But what is my passion? What subject have I studied so much, revisited so often, and meditated on so deeply that it reaches the core of my soul? What's yours?

Community Baby Steps

The article below is under review by the awesome editorial staff at Chatter Magazine for an upcoming issue. The three of you who read this blog get a sneak peek. Enjoy.

There's an episode of Dharma and Greg that speaks to the deep things of my heart and a profound need of the American church.

Yes, you read that sentence right: Dharma and Greg.

In case you had better things to do in the nineties than watch second-rate sitcoms, here's a summary: Greg is straight-laced and conservative. His family and upbringing were formal, proper, respectable and uppity. His parents are members at the local country club. Dharma is a hippie, wild, passionate, reckless and carefree. She doesn't plan or dress up or think twice about discussing sex in polite company. Greg marries Dharma. Lifestyles collide. Hilarity ensues.

In the only episode of that show I can remember, Dharma and Greg are lamenting their loneliness. Their single friends have dumped them (of course) and they don't have any couple friends. And then they meet someone and it's like love at first sight. They have so much in common - he likes cars and baseball, so does Greg. She likes rock music and margaritas, so does Dharma. They like the same restaurants and the same movies. Piano music plays. Birds sing. Everyone laughs in slow motion.

But Dharma and Greg push too hard. They're too eager, and their new friends stop calling. Eventually, Dharma and Greg spot them at a cafe with another couple! Shocked and betrayed, Dharma storms into the restaurant and causes a scene.

"How could you cheat on us like this?! I thought you were our friends! Who are these people?"

It was a funny episode but only because my wife and I knew it too well. We've been in that boat. Who hasn't?

You're newlyweds and have better things to do at night than hang out with your single friends.

You're new parents and your childless couple friends don't understand why all you ever talk about is that kid and all you ever want to do is sleep.

You're new in town and no one really knows you yet.

Or you've just not had the time, the opportunity, or the relational agility to land a really good friend in a while. You meet someone interesting but then you zig when they zag. You laugh at something that wasn't a joke. Or your schedules just don't allow for the natural next step - that imaginary platonic courtship where you say, "Hey Mark, it was really good to meet you and Missie in line at Starbucks this morning. My wife and I were just on our way to a Toadies concert and we happen to have an extra pair of tickets." And they say, "No way! The Toadies played our wedding!" And a week later Mark calls to announce that Missie is pregnant and they were wondering if the two of you would consider being the child's godparents.

If you haven't already given up that dream, let me speak the truth in love: that only happens in sitcoms.

But hope is not lost. Since Dharma and Greg Episode 312 aired on December 14, 1999, my wife and I have experimented with many forms of couple courtship and many new friendships. Some have failed fantastically, but others have grown into deep, meaningful and abiding couple-love. So here are our tips:

How to Woo and Win New Church Friends in Eight Easy Steps.

1. Meet someone while passing the peace, waiting in line at the Mo, or attending a Bible Community.

2. Meet their spouse. Point out something small that you have in common, "Oh! Opposable thumbs, huh? Nice. Me too!" Smile.

3. Run into them a second time at church and invite them to lunch after the service.

4. At lunch, exchange surface-level information about your family, your career and your testimony. Don't overshare. Remember all you can about their stories and not just the stuff you found interesting.

5. Observe a three-day cooling-off period.

6. Start working an angle to have them over for dinner. Some suggestions are:

• Stalk them so that you can sit at their table at Wednesday evening meals in the Commons.
• Even though you never have dinner parties, throw one with your "some old friends" and invite them. (If they accept, bribe neighbors to show up and act like "some old friends".)
• Just be bold; call them up and invite them to dinner.

7. Ask for a commitment, like a ring or a mention in their will.

8. Apologize for overplaying it in Step 7, but offer to make it up to them when you vacation together on a two-week cruise next month. You've already booked. They can't say no.

I'll admit that our Eight Easy Steps might need some tweaking, but the message is this: you have to be intentional. Jay Utley speaks the truth. Friendship, like marriage and prayer and anything else worth having, doesn't just happen. So even if your steps aren't exactly like ours, at least consider what steps you'd like to take to find community. Try having a plan. Try to find your own "baby steps" to community.

Deep and meaningful relationships are difficult and set against long odds. They are opposed by our self-centered, self-sufficient, alley-facing garage, drive-through, let-the-TV-be-your-friend culture. They are opposed by our work loads and pace of life. They are opposed by our enemy who wants anything but iron sharpening iron. So they are not going to fall into place. They will require some work, some inconvenience and some planning. It may be awkward, but it makes for great TV.

Gots iPhone Money?

I held off as long as I could. You knew it was coming. Here it finally is ... THE iPHONE RANT!

I am among the millions of Americans who have invested large parts of their lives into the hunt for the ever-elusive iPhone 4. My journey toward wireless phone nirvana has been a long and treacherous one filled with clamshells and candy bars, Missing Sync and eternal contracts. Fully four years after the release of the first iPhone, I was finally in the perfect position to bag one. My Verizon contract expired in May; the new release was due in June. I was as giddy as a geek at WWDC. Little did I know my quest was far from over and I would have to endure retail travails not seen since Tickle Me Elmo before I could pierce the Apple veil and lay hold of the sacred circuitry.

I won't detail all of those hardships because to do so would produce a tome worthy of Tolkien and probably crash Wordpress servers. But I will mention that it would have been handy for Apple to let people know that Family Talk plans cannot be ordered via their website. And to the manager of the Southlake Apple store who sought to reassure all 200 of us by saying that his team had almost gotten the duration of each transaction down to seven minutes: Sorry man. You looked cool in your cargo manpris. But we were not reassured.

All of this has got me thinking (and now writing) about Apple, iPhone, Steve Jobs and Just Bieber. And I've come to the following conclusions about the (now) most valuable technology company in the world.

1. Apple: if they weren't so dang good, they'd be bad.

Apple is on the verge of making a classic branding blunder and the only thing, in my opinion, keeping them from shooting themselves in the PR foot is that they're so good at what they do. The problem is, they're losing sight of what they do.

Five years ago, if you had asked any random man on the street (henceforth to be referred to as "Streetman") what Apple does, he would have said, "Oh, they make iPods."

Ten years ago, Streetman would have said, "Apple? You mean like IIe? Yeah, we had those in school. I dunno."

Twenty years ago, Streetman would have said, "They make computers."

Today, Streetman might say, "They make and sell gadgets."

The devilish detail Streetman has given us is not in the ever-shifting Apple product line. It's in the subtle insertion of the words "and sell."

(Thank you Streetman. You may put your branded white earphones back in now and continue on your way.)

I understand the reasons Apple decided to get into the retail business a few years ago. Namely, no one wanted to sell their stuff and no one who did sell their stuff could answer questions about it. But now that Apple has seemed to clear those hurdles, I think staying in the retail business only hurts them. After all, what can you do at an Apple store that you can't do at other stores? (Save for getting ideas for where to get your next body piercing.)

Apple is not a retail company at heart. At heart, they are a technology company. By launching into the retail marketplace, and then Bogarting product launches to the point of overwhelming themselves, they are moving dangerously close to messing up the heart of their business.

Apple makes the best consumer electronics in the world. They should stick with that. They don't make the best retail machine in the world. Wal-Mart has that one cornered.

Now, I am not one to just point out problems without offering solutions. Here's my solution: Apple would be wise to seek out the best retail partner to help them with sales and delivery. A big one. One with a stellar logistics machine. One that can handle product launches with 1.7 million sales the first weekend. After all, the best of both worlds would be to purchase the best product in its class (iPhone) from the best store in its class (Best Buy?).

2. Steve Jobs: has just taken a bite of hot chili

My high school ag teacher (yes, I went to a school with an "ag" class) used to say that certain mistakes were like taking a bite of hot chili: whatever you do next is wrong. Jobs has backed himself into a similar corner. Based on the blundered release of iPhone 4 (not to mention the "just don't hold it that way" issue), I see only three possibilities:

1. Stevo and his friends are enormously humble. "Oh, we had no idea so many people would like what we make. I mean, we just do it for the love of the game. We weren't really expecting people to line up like that to buy this stuff. We're humbled and thankful."
2. Steve and company are enormously short-sighted. Maybe they rushed the launch? Maybe they had production delays they didn't want to make public? For whatever reason, they might have just decided, "Meh, we're going to sell out and make people wait, but who cares? We'll be alright."
3. They are incompetent at retail. A friend of mine tried gamely to come to Apple's defense in this iPhone4 bungle by saying, "Can you imagine what would happen if millions of people started lining up at Office Depot to buy toner? They'd sell out too." I think a lot of Apple defenders take this view. But the effective rebuttal is obvious. If Office Depot had four years to figure out their toner supply chain, I guarantee they would figure out a way to stock enough, sell enough, and deliver enough so that people weren't asked to order online and wait three weeks for shipping. The difference, of course, is that Office Depot has to compete with other stores who carry toner. Apple can afford to be laissez faire about sales because no one can compete with their product. And by hoarding the launch for a week, they ensured that no one was allowed to compete with their stores.

I guess the bottom line is that they flubbed up, but they can afford to. I and millions like me are sticking with them because for all of the headache involved in the delivery of their product, I'd rather endure the headache to get a phone and then enjoy it than get a phone easily with a BOGO coupon and then spend the next two years screaming at it. That's why I paid more for the Mac I'm using to write this. It's why I'll wait two weeks for an iPhone.

If you're waiting with me for you online order to arrive in seven to 10 business days, may the force be with you.

Getting My Head Around John's Beheading

This morning I read the passage about the beheading of John the Baptist. I let the scene sink in a little more than I usually do. And I was repulsed. If it has been a while since you took a minute to sort through the details of that story, take a minute. But be warned: it's not a feel-good story.

The main player is Herod and here's what we know about him. He's a tetrarch which means he's a governor of some sort. Mark's gospel gives him the title King. He's a powerful man. He is married to his sister-in-law Herodias. John has pointed out to him that he probably shouldn't have taken his sister-in-law in marriage and so Herod has put John in prison. He would have preferred to kill him on the spot for pointing out his sin, but Herod didn't get to be tetrarch without some craft. He knows that wouldn't be a savvy political move. Instead, he'll just let John rot in prison.

For her part, Herodias seems just as depraved as Herod. She, too, is murderously angry at John for pointing out her sin.

So that's the situation with this royal family when we pick up the scene in Matthew 14. What happens next is even more sordid.

Herod is having a birthday party. Probably not an ice cream social. Mark says he invited many powerful men to a banquet. There was much food and girls dancing. The modern equivalent is pretty easy to see. Imagine our president treating his cronies to a good time a local strip club. We don't know the nature of the dancing or who performed, but we know that at least one dancer was particularly popular. The text says "she pleased Herod and his dinner guests."

Now I'm a recovering Baptist so I know what it means to assume that all dancing is suggestive. I don't do that. I don't mind dancing at times. But given the hints in the text, I don't think it's out of the question to assume that Herod wasn't pleased at the cleanness of her lines and the strength in her pose. We're not talking Ballet Folklorico here. My guess is that Herod was pleased by a lurid dance from his stepdaughter and pleased to share that lust with his buddies.

Then Herod makes an astounding promise. As a reward for her dance, he offers to give his stepdaughter anything she asks for - up to half his kingdom. Why would he do that? I can imagine a few reasons.

First, this is the reptilian impulse to contact and control the object of his lust, and to do so in front of his peers who might also have designs on her. He's flirting.

And he's showing off. What better way to impress your friends than give extravagant gifts? Besides, what could this girl possibly ask for? She'll want a bauble or a new room. Maybe a pony. She's inconsequential. We know Herod was a savvy politician. He would never make such an offer to a worthy adversary who might threaten his riches or power. But the girl is just a plaything. She won't have the mind to ask for anything that might truly cost him.

So Herod makes the promise which gives Herodias the opportunity to add violence and revenge to the list of improprieties in this story. She tells her daughter to ask for John's head on a plate. Herod, of course, grants the request because he can't be seen to back down in front of his buddies. Plus, a good beheading might serve as the perfect crescendo for a lovely evening with friends celebrating his birthday.

Besides the profanity of this story, two things stick out to me.

First of all, this is how John the Baptist dies? It's ignoble! It's sad. It seems like such a waste that the great herald of salvation comes to a pitiful end on the whim of an adulterer and a stripper.

But the hardest thing to face about this passage is our tendency to be just like Herod. I've been in his shoes: guilty of sin, aware of my sin, confronted by someone, and bitter at them. How many of us, if we had the power, wouldn't likewise imprison our accusers even if we knew they were right? We do it all the time - imprison them behind emotional or relational bars, accuse them wrongly out of spite. No, we probably aren't carousing as openly as Herod, but he comes to that end after making a start in unrepentance. Repentance is incredibly hard. Unrepentance is natural and easy. But Herod demonstrates that the easy way leads down a path of debauchery and violence and death.

In Defense of Fairy Tales

I have a different take than many on this cartoon getting passed around the interwebz. I think the cartoon is pretty funny, but I also think it's message is just as misguided as the Disney Princesses it derides. Here's why.

Put simply, it is good and natural and healthy and beautiful for a girl to have this desire to be attractive. I have a six-year-old daughter. She wants to be noticed. When she was two she started dressing up. I didn't teach her that. It's innate. And it doesn't go away no matter how much we praise her for what's inside versus what's outside.

Stasi Eldredge makes this idea abundantly clear in her book Captivating. Women and girls long to be captivating. They want to be noticed. My daughter is terrible at hide-and-seek, not because she doesn't know when I can't see her, but because she doesn't want to be hidden. If I don't find her in the first 10 seconds, she makes herself known. She wants to be found. And she wants the finder to be the object of her affection. She doesn't care so much if the neighbor finds her hunkered behind the shrubs. She wants me to find her.

Now, here's the disclaimer: Has our culture emphasized physical beauty too much? Absolutely. Has our society confined physical beauty to one narrow definition (this color eyes, that shaped body, etc.)? Yes. Is Barbie or Bratz or Disney Princesses giving our daughters unreal expectations of what they should look like? For sure. And do many of our little girls continue to pursue those unhealthy avenues toward getting "noticed" into adulthood? Sadly, yes.

But I contend that there's a reason for that and it's not a Disney conspiracy to make money or steal our daughters' innocence. Disney has made all that money because they found a theme that works. And the theme works because little girls love fairy tales. And little girls love fairy tales because they long to be captivating.

Couldn't we offer the same objection to our own favorite films? Should we complain that Braveheart encourages men to be violent? That Gladiator promotes revenge? That Saving Private Ryan glorifies war? We could, but we'd be missing the point. Those stories don't appeal to men because our culture has trained us so. They appeal to men because they call to something we're born with - something deep and unspoken that tells us we were made for something epic. Something that asks if we have what it takes. Something that makes us long to be brave and strong and offer that strength to a beauty.

I understand that fairy tales are fairy tales. No real girl can look as good as Arial. I mean, c'mon! And no real guy will ever fight a wicked sea witch and defeat her by sheer force of valor and his love for his maiden. It's a fairy tale! But the fairy tale shows us a glimpse of what can be - of the larger story that we can be a part of. Fairy tales, whether they intend to be or not, are visual metaphors for adventures that are available to us all. I can be found brave and strong and offer that strength to my wife, even if our enemy manifests in debt or bitterness rather than sea witches mean stepsisters. And she can be beautiful and captivating even if that doesn't mean fin surgery or 1,000 year naps.

Sure, it would be foolish for us to teach our daughters that blond hair and skinny legs are their highest goals in life. But it's equally foolish to deride fairy tales because they don't look like our day-to-day lives. The solution to this problem is not to disdain fairy tales. It's to offer a better story. It's to teach our little girls that they can be beautiful, no matter what their dress size. It's to teach them to look for men who will offer them strength and sacrifice, not take from them in weakness and selfishness.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think my little princess needs me to rescue her from some dragons in the back yard. Where did I leave that sword...

Unplugging

The Matrix was on TV last weekend and I plopped on the couch and watched part of it. I doubt the Wachowski brothers were making a statement of faith with that film, but it's hard to miss the parallels (for more on that, there are a ton of books, one of which I once owned, never got around to reading, and eventually sold in a garage sale.) The most meaningful metaphor for me is the Matrix itself. It's a fake world. A sham. An elaborate deception based on a former reality.

It's been a busy Spring. My company has had several very time-sensitive projects plus we've been busy with kid activities, church stuff, etc. And we've been sick a fair bit this spring. All of that combined has kept me "plugged in" more than is healthy. I have to get out of the Matrix often - and for at least a half hour at a time - to really get the stench off of me. To really see the Matrix for what it is. Otherwise, it starts to seem real. And important.

So after the movie I unplugged for a bit. Felt good. That's it. Gonna go unplug now.

Faith & Fandom

I want so much to fix Tiger Woods and Jennifer Knapp, don't you? I have been a fan of both. Have seen both of them peform live. Loved both shows. I've bought their records and the merchandise. Tried to swing like one and play guitar like the other. I'm a fan. And now I'm facing what every fan has to face eventually - the object of our fandom is broken. Tiger is not a Jedi. Jennifer is not an angel. They struggle. They're broken.

It's hard to have anything new to say about either case. I can't condemn either for their brokenness, nor can I dismiss their sin as unimportant. Like Professor Barry Jones says, "Sin is a big deal to God." The tricky part is how to respond as a fan.

First, let me say I think it would actually be easier to respond to them if I were a friend and not a fan. At least it would be easier to know how to respond. Carrying through would be tougher. How would you respond if a friend of yours confessed sexual sin to you? Before you answer, remember you've been there. You've had sin to confess before. Have you ever trusted a brother or sister with it? Have you trusted the whole world with it?

I think it would be easier to respond to Tiger or Jennifer if I was in community with them. I'd give them a hug. I'd cry with them. And I would try to do the really hard thing of facing the sin with them - of telling them that what they've done does not reflect the heart and character of God. I would hold hands with them and pray and ask God for healing and clarity and redemption. And then we'd meet for breakfast at Corner Bakery every Friday and have to answer the question, "How is God redeeming your sexuality?" I would invest. I would carry burdens with them. That's how we do things in the Church. And actually I think we're pretty good at it. For all the mishandling that makes news (I'm looking at you, Pat Robertson), I know many cases of loving restoration, including my own, that never get reported.

But I am not Tiger's friend, or Jennifer's. So I have to decide how to react from a distance. Do I stand on principle and cheer for bogeys? Burn Kansas? Or do I go buy some tickets to show that I believe in forgiveness?

I don't know. If I'm gut-level honest, I have to confess that I'm skeptical of their repentances. Tiger's seemed forced, and Jennifer doesn't seem to think there's anything to repent of. I have a lot of thoughts about both - about how soon I expect Tiger to start carousing again; about how Jennifer seems misguided in her Christianity Today interview. Those thoughts are actually why I started writing this entry. I have piping hot opinions about their restorations and, in Knapp's case, about defense of the truth. But, it turns out, I can't issue those opinions. At least not with any genuineness. And not to anyone but Tiger and Jennifer.

In fact, I think to do so would be sinful on my part because who am I to judge that? I can't tell you if Tiger is sincere. And I can't tell you if Jennifer is using smoke screens or really struggling to understand scripture. And I would certainly be hurt if someone who doesn't know me decided to start scoring my confessions as if they issued passing grades for contrition. I've got my own plank to worry about and even if I didn't, I wouldn't be qualified to know their hearts. God judges the heart. We have to live with skin and bones. And that - especially the skin part - really seems to mess us up.

Puking Prayer

Warning: This post is not for those with feeble stomachs...

The past 36 hours have been pretty rough at the Sanders home. This weekend, all four of us were hit with the same nasty stomach bug. On Sunday night, three of us (me, Christine and Bethany) were shooting off one after the other like geysers in Yellowstone. I counted 15 barfs in the span of 30 minutes. I'm thinking of calling Guinness.

But the barfing also taught me something about prayer.

Sunday night's trouble started with Christine. Just before the kids bedtime, she grabbed a barf bucket, collapsed on the couch and said she felt queasy. Being the spiritual giant that I am, I paused the Mavericks game and said a quick little prayer for her.

Lord, please heal Christine's tummy. I pray she'll get some rest tonight and feel better in the morning. Amen.

That was at 7 p.m. By 9 p.m. Bethany and I had both thrown up several times and I felt I had already met my annual quota of gallons-of-pizza-barf-cleaned-up. The Mavs lost and we all went to bed, each with our own bedside bucket.

This particular stomach bug was not only strong, it was punctual. For the rest of the night, we awoke at exact one-hour intervals. Every hour on the hour someone was puking. 11 p.m. Midnight. 1 a.m. 2 a.m. 3 a.m. 4 a.m. 5 a.m. All within 11 minutes of the top of the hour. Uncanny. The constant interruptions were not good for our rest or our recovery but somewhere around 3 a.m. I realized they were good for our prayers.

Lord Jesus, please come and heal us quickly. Just as you had mercy on Jairus, just as you had mercy on the centurion, please have mercy on us now. Heal us and our children. Remove this disease from our household and any foul spirit set against us, and we will praise you for it. We pray in the name and the power of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I prayed a radically different prayer at 3 a.m. than I did at 7 p.m. With my guts in a tangle and my head worried about my little girl getting dehydrated, I was much more invested, and willing to sacrifice much more than pausing the game to get an answer. I was getting desperate.

And that's when it hit me: I was praying down angels because of a stomach bug. My tummy hurt. I had to take some Pepto and clean up some mess. I cannot even imagine what Matt Chandler's prayers are like right now. Or Andy McQuitty's. Or Melinda Wells'. I had a tiny taste of desperation and I prayed with much more urgency. Lord, teach us to be pained by what pains you and pray with urgency for your healing in the world.