The other night my Dad and I are sitting around bored out of our skulls. So we decided we will traverse the whole 2 blocks to the movie theatre WOW 7. Which stands for Weally Owesome Wovies in case you were wondering. I personally can't stand going to this theatre. They employ those whom we call "the chair Nazis." The actually have people that just wonder through the seven theatres making sure that you don't put your feet on the seat in front of you. You can talk through the movie, throw popcorn like you're trying to grow a field of it on the floor, you could probably make obscene shadow puppets at a Disney film showing, but if you put your feet on the seat you'll be booted out of the cinema so fast it will make your head spin. I don't know how these people sleep at night. That would be like being a night club bouncer and your sole responsibility was to keep out the rif-raf that tried to talk over the music. Surely you have better things to do. Anyway, I digress.
While in line to buy tickets I see a kid in the youth group named Eric. Eric is the little brother of a friend of mine that I went to youth group with. I turn to talk to Eric and just notice out of the corner of my eye a girl with him. I say, "What's up up man.." and I was going to continue on to say, "oh, you out on a hot date?" What can I say? I like to embarrass the kids in public any chance I get. But before those words passed my lips, I look to see who it is. It's his sister.
Patina is one of those girls that is fun to grow up with. She was fairly drama-free and usually had more fun hanging out with the guys than with the girls. Usually every group has one of these girls: the girl most of the other girls are uncomfortable around because they don't understand a girl that doesn't have hidden agendas with the boys she hangs out with. She was/is cool as all-get-out. I took her to prom my senior year of high school and she put Blue highlights in her hair to match her dress and my tux. Unfortunately, this reunion was slightly awkward, as most high school reunions are. At least when they are an organized event there is plenty of alcohol to cushion the blow. She didn't really blame me for not recognizing her right away. She claims that when her and Eric go out together his friends always say things like, "Hey Eric, your date is hot!" I remembered Patina in jeans with black fingernail polish and short spiky hair. Now her hair is long, her nails are manicured, and her favorite color is pink. She is no longer one of the guys, but quite feminine. We exchanged the uneasy banter of people that haven't seen each other in forever and live only a short distance apart. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was that made it so weird.
Granted, these appearances of old classmates and friends is becoming almost a weekly phenomenon. But mostly they are awkward because I didn't really fit in during high school and don't really care to see these people again. But I was glad to see Patina, but I somehow we couldn't shake this semi-thick cushion of apprehensiveness. We exchanged numbers and decided we would have coffee on Sunday. I don't really drink coffee, but it's still fun to say.
Come to find out through talking for a good four hours at Panera (the best place on Earth), she thought the reason I didn't talk to her any more was because she stopped going to church. Truthfully, the reason I didn't talk to her any more is that I just liked college and didn't go home much. So naturally I lost touch. I feel like I'm in some kind of 12 step program where you have to find everyone you ever knew and rehash things. We have now dispelled the awkwardness and are resuming our friendship. Ah, Happy Ending?
I curious to see who I'm going run into next.
Hey Who's Your Hot Date?!
Yeah, I go to Harvard...
There are many tales to be told about the wedding of Jeff Peterson in Manchester, New Hampshire. Tales of adventure, anguish, airplanes, adversity, and alteration. But perhaps the greatest story told about our weekend in "The Shire" is what happened after the wedding.
On this gloomy Sunday afternoon, after driving home the fact that I have no sense of direction by getting us lost for 40 minutes trying to drive to a mall 1 mile away, Eric and I have decided that what we really need to do is travel into the City of Boston, to the region of Cambridge and the University of Harvard, capture a student and rub ourselves all over this lucky undergrad hoping that we, through osmosis or infection, might gain some of their superior wisdom. And if we can't accomplish the rubbing... we wanted to tackle a squirrel and dress it up in a cap and gown "even the squirrels here are superior."
So, because I can't traverse 1 mile without getting lost and Harvard is many miles away, we employed the help of our friend Lindy Nardoni. Armed only with her "boy cut" hair, my "boot cut" jeans, and Eric's "boot camp" experience we traveled to Harvard. We asked Lindy to come assuming that because she lives only 1 half hour away from Boston she would know how to get there and where to go while there. We were wrong. We discovered this when after about 30 minutes on the road I asked, "So what exit am I looking for?" She replied, "How should I know." As this comment resonated in my ear mixing with the sound of rain starting to fall outside, I knew this was going to be an "interesting trip."
We stole about $6 dollars worth of toll change from Jeff's pirate stash of coin in his car. We rode the train into Boston and emerged in Harvard Square. They didn't know it, but I had a secret agenda. I knew that short of rubbing on Harvard students, the best way to appear that you belonged at Harvard was either to transform into a Hippie that could speak for hours protesting a war that I would never fight in because I love the sound of my own voice and I can't leave my Daddy's credit cards behind.... or get a really obnoctious Harvard T-shirt. We got T-shirts. Thanks to my uncanny powers at "synergy" we all got the same T-shirt.
So after walking around Harvard like lost puppies, watching Eric pose like Captian Morgan, and being completely soaked because it rained the whole time, we rode the train home. Being soaked, we all changed into our newly acquired Smart Shirts and adopted new names. I was Guenther, Eric was Chet, and Lindy was Podimer Taylor. "Shut Up Chet" This is how we dined at On The Border. After the hostess realized Lindy was a girl we were all seated and proceeded to annoy everyone around us, laughing so hard I had a sore throat the next day. The subjects of discussion revolved around the fun fact that the hostess mistook Lindy for a guy, girls we were going set Lindy up with, my breasts, Eric's breasts, and of coarse Lindy's breasts. We never broke character and acted like pompous know-it-all's the whole time which added to the fun. In fact, Eric was so thrilled with it he is going to take the game to a whole new level when he goes back to school at ISU in the fall. He will wear his Harvard shirt with pride and lie through his teeth this semester.
"Yeah, I go to Harvard... I just transferred cause it was too easy. Shut Up Chet!"
A Series of Short Stories
Story #1
Title = Happy Birthday... I Hope You Like Crap
So my buddy Eric is in town this week doing his Army Reserve duties. Sunday was his birthday, and so being his only friend in the vicinity, I set out to take him out for his big day. We set out for lunch, Best Buy, a movie, dinner, and a good ole' game of catch. What happened was I lost/left behind my wallet twice and after the movie we realized that Eric had lost his keys. So we spent the next four hours driving around, retracing our steps. They ended up being at Best Buy, but it was closed. My parents of coarse made fun of us. The next morning my mother woke me out of a dead sleep because she had to go to work and couldn't find her keys. I immediately told her to call Dad to see if he knew where they were. This idea, of coarse, was ludicrous to her. Well... you know where this is going. We search for a good hour until she called my Dad and he knew exactly where they were... his pocket. The irony was only made thicker when I said to my mom, "You need a hide-a-key on your car." My mother outraged at the idea that there was something convenient in this world she did not own, retorted, "I have a hide-a-key Lucas..." Dead Silence. She had a hide-a-key this whole time.
Story #2
Title = Is That Even Possible
People sometimes question the use of cell phones. Most people are so annoying that they can't even walk and talk at the same time. They are actually passing laws now that you can't drive and talk on your cell phone unless it is a hands free headset. However, today as I pulled up to an intersection I was stupified. There was a man riding a Harley talking on a cell phone. Not a headset, but actually had one hand on the bike and was hold his cell phone up to his ear. I can't hardly talk to someone clearly on a windy day, or with my windows rolled down, let alone riding on one of the loudest motorcycles on God's green earth. Then I'm wondering how he actually steers the bike, and uses the throttle, and uses the clutch. People wonder if cell phones in the hands of stupid people are dangerous... now we know.
Story #3
Title = I Must Be Gay
So I went to get measured for a tuxedo at Men's Warehouse in Naperville. I would assume they would know me by name at this point. Jeff's wedding is the fifth that I've rented from Men's Warehouse. So I go in and endure the drill. I actually know my sizes, but they want to measure just in case I hit a growth spurt at 24. The old codger that is suppose to measure me goes outside for a cigarette. He yells to someone in the back room if they would get me started on my information. A brunette about 5'3'' and smoking hot comes out with a clip board. In the Naperville area this is not a rare occurrence. Most of the population is 20-30 and good looking. Which is why I live in Plano... the competition isn't as steep. So I begin to give her my measurements and she smiles and nods. At first I assume she is acknowleging that the measurements I am giving are correct, but as we continue she starts to make small noises and comments indicating that she is "approving" of my measurements. I felt slightly violated, but just slightly. This continues until she is entering me into the computer. She sees I have been there before and asks if any of these weddings were mine. I reply no. She approves. We talk for about five more minutes as she holds my receipt. Finally, I just said, "uh... can I have my receipt." "Oh, yeah... sorry." I leave. She waves goodbye and gives the faminine "bye (giggle)." I was dumbfounded. I was trying so hard not to be the creepy guy that hits on the girl behind the counter. I have lost my nerve. But I still have my num-chuck skills.
Say it in 6
It's a Revolution!
What if you showed up on Sunday morning and the preacher got up to bring the word... you prepare yourself for a funny introduction, 3 points interspersed between some not so funny jokes, and finished up with challenge to let Christ work in your heart... but instead, he sat down after 6 minutes?
I'm reading this book entitled "Say it in Six." It's a book aimed at corporate America and CEO's. The premise is that we waste a lot of time saying nothing when every word we choose should communicate our purpose. Every sentence should be thought provoking and heart felt, every idea should be relevant, and every solution practical. Basically, in a meeting some one stands up and says, "Here is the problem, This is the solution, This is a visual to help you understand and remember, Now lets make this happen!"
What if we preached like that? Here is a problem Christians are facing, This is what the Bible says about it, Here is a everyday visual representation of the solution, Now lets make this happen! And then sit down. Every word is chosen carefully. No Fluff. Visual Guides. And something practical like: You need to find your spiritual gifts so now we will fill out a gift inventory packet. Turn it in on your way out and next week we will find you a place to serve.
At six minute sermons or even 18 minute sermons (six minutes per point) we would have time. Time for worship. Time for singing. Time for scripture reading. Time for drama. Time for quiet. Time.
It think it might freak people out. But I want to try it some Sunday. Just preach six minutes and sit down. I wonder what they'll say?