A Lost Art

I have always wanted to write a book. Mostly, I feel like I make a lot of observations about the world and they are the kind of things that are boring to listen to someone prattle on about, but when you read them you say, "hmmm... I never thought about that." Then you prattle on about them to someone else. This is one of those such topics.

A Lost Art: Gifting.

I have observed recently that in an attempt at social comfort we have lost some of the social graces that made everything about those encounters... complete. For instance, when a friend has wronged you and they apologize, the response that you give to that humble act is, "Don't worry about it. It is nothing. It's not a big deal. Forget about it." and my personal favorite, "It's okay." This is done obviously to try to relieve the weight and magnitude of the climate and make your friend feel less guilty. However, what really has happened is that one friend humbled themselves to apologize for an act that was a big enough "deal" that it merited an apology and what they receive for their efforts is... Nothing. In fact, less than nothing. They receive a lie that says, "you didn't even have to apologize, because I didn't care." No forgiveness. No absolution. No closure. Incomplete.

And since it is Christmas time, I've been reflecting on the social graces involved in gift giving. Not just Christmas gifts, but gift giving in general. You see, I believe that more often than not people are better gift givers than gift receivers. And sometimes for no other reason that no one has taught them the proper way to receive a gift.

When you were about six or seven you started to loose the innocence of receiving gifts. Your parents brace you for the fact that some of those brightly wrapped gifts under the tree are socks and underwear. And they teach you that when you open them to say, "Wow! Thanks! I really need these!" Let's just be honest. Regardless of whether you did or did not need those, you would have pretended none the less. This training continues into the teen years when you learn about receipts, exchanges, and re-gifting. All of which are not exactly good gifting habits, but seem necessary. And somewhere along the way we loose what the true art of "Gifting" is.

I could write about this forever, but let me share some quick tips for gifting with you.

1. Gift giving is more meaningful when it is not a holiday. Gifting out of thought rather than "obligation" is ten times the gift.
- "I was thinking about you yesterday and saw this and knew you would want it."

2. When receiving the gift make sure you honor the gift. Look for the "why" of the gift. And then speak it out.
- Your grandma makes you an ugly sweater, but it is because that is the best she can afford and she did it with her own time and effort. So you say, "Thank you Grandma, this must have taken you a long time to make."

3. Learn to recognize your obligation to the gift. You are under no obligation but to honor the gift. A gift that is "repaid" is not a gift, but a loan. To "repay" someone's gift out of obligation is to unmake the gift and turn it into something less and cheap.
- If someone pays for dinner say "thank you". Don't keep track, don't get them a gift that is of equal value. Just give back to them out of your generosity. You might pick up the tap at McDonald's and they might pick it up at LoanStar twice. Say "thank you". Complete.

4. Don't expect something back from your own generosity. Not even a "thank you." Giving with expectation is not a gift, but a "payment."
- You will find you are less disappointed with gifting when you expect nothing in return for your gift.

These are just some quit tips, but the reality is that we have to shed the feelings of obligation and guilt involved with gift giving. Don't feel guilty because someone got you a Christmas gift and you didn't get them anything... Thank them for the gift. Honor their generosity, don't cheapen it. And don't throw away the joy of the gift because you feel guilty.

May you have a generous New Year.

Uncle Luc... Awkward?

My niece Kiera was born Dec 11th at 2:05 AM. Allow me to share the not so magical parts...

- People ask me if she is beautiful or cute or what does she look like?: I only saw her when she was fresh from the womb. What do I say? "Well, she is kind of wrinkly and purple and crying and squinty.

- I find it weird that everyone wants to know her "stats". I considered making her own baseball card. Kiera Cathryn Motley: 18 inches tall, weighing in at 5lbs 11ounces, with a life-time era of...

- Christy went into the hospital having mild "clenching contractions" not "pushing contractions." So they put her on pain meds expecting more painful contractions. Those never came and they decided to C-section. So they numbed her and put her under. All in all, I was disappointed with the whole "...women's threshold for pain at childbirth..." thing. Christy is slightly sore from the surgery... no other pain.

- Since now my brother has both married and had a child (a girl no less) my parents seem more expectant that I would "catch-up" and get married SOON! As proud as I am to be an uncle, I don't feel like my biological clock is ticking and I will marry when I am ready. But the extra pressure is annoying.


However, none of these things take away from the fact that I have a beautiful baby niece and I look forward to teaching her what no one else in the family can teach her. Style and good taste.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Today I find my self in a festive mood. Usually at this time of year, I am snapping at everyone and displaying a rather Ba-Hum-Bug attitude. Ever since I was born Christmas time has started in July and ended in January. In Fisher and Plano my mother was the director of the Living Christmas Tree. (for those of you that have never seen one, it is a giant Christmas tree shaped apparatus that holds a choir on risers built into the tree. And so, since I was able to crawl I have been singing, acting, preparing, running tech, and finally overseeing this enterprise. We've gotten pretty good at it. We do six shows and sell them out at 300 seats a show totaling 1800 tickets sold per year.

But in order to put on said performance, the choir starts practicing in September. For the choir to practice they have to have their books and tapes/CDs by August and that means preparations begin in July. So I have had to listen to Christmas music 5 months out of year almost every year. This year we took a break and didn't do the tree.

This is the first time, in long time, that I am really excited about Christmas. And today I caught myself sing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" as I was working.

So if I don't see you this Christmas... May the blessings of Christ Jesus be with you as you celebrate the day of the Christ Mass.

Creatures of Habit...

This is a blog about garbage.

Actually it is about my garbage can. See, in our kitchen we have a very slick looking garbage can. I'm not quite sure why, maybe it is all the testosterone coursing through my veins, but I have always wanted a stainless steel garbage can. So, when I moved back north, I bought one. It currently resides in the kitchen and looks really shiny. The best part is that this bullet can has a foot pedal that lifts the lid of the can. I made sure it had this feature, not because it is handy, although it is handy when you are scraping leftover Chinese food into it, but because of a deep seeded reason in my childhood.

When this garbage can pedal was first invented my grandpa (who as a small child I considered the richest man I knew because he would give us five dollars in quarters) had one and I thought it was the coolest thing ever!!! I would just stand there and stomp on the pedal and make the garbage can lid lift up and down like a puppet mouth. I would pretend the garbage can was speaking to me, not that I still do that...

All that to say, now that I have a garbage can with a pedal I have picked up some rather strange habits. I went into the garage the other day to throw some cans in the recycling bin and stomped on the ground three times before I remembered this particular bin does not open with a pedal. I got so mad! I was outraged because my hands were full. And as I reflected I realized that lately I have been annoyed each time I go to someone's house and have to (God forbid) lift the lid to the garbage. Not only that, but if you watch me approach a garbage can, while you are checking out my butt, slide a little to the south and look at my feet. My right foot will be right where the pedal would have been... positioning me closer to the can than I would naturally be. It is almost as if I have developed an "I'm throwing this away" stance where my right foot has to touch the can.

There seem to be a lot of things in our homes that we just assume work the same way in other peoples home. Or they are put away in the same cabinet, etc. I'm I the only one who does this?

Lucas flexes at you... Ooohh So Strong

So over Thanksgiving I went to Springfield, IL. I traveled to the deep south to visit my girlfriends parents. That's right! Holiday's at the In-Laws! Well not quite the in-laws... how do you say that... the dating-laws?

So I always feel a bit intimidated down there, but you would never know it. Charissa's parents are world travelers, previous missionaries, and her dad is a college professor. Last time we visited, her dad and I had a 20 minute discussion about proteins. I think it was a test. At this time I would like to send a shout out to my college Biology professor... Thank you Scott Jones for all your biology wisdom. Don't get me wrong I graduated with honors, but we just don't seem to read the same books, if you know what I mean. But even though, sometimes I feel like I may have the smallest brain pan in the room I always just try to relax and keep up as best I can.

So for Thanksgiving dinner we go to Charissa's grandparents house and her Aunt, Uncle, and 3 cousins came over. Charissa is an English major, her dad a professor, her G-pa is a doctor, one cousin is pre-med, etc, etc. Clearly the gene pool is stacked. So what game do we play... Scrabble. Actually we played speed scrabble which is a lot of fun. It's kind of like scrabble, but faster and there is no board. I didn't think I would have a prayer.

There were words like meerkats, and roadsigns, and I'm pretty sure someone spelled an 11 letter words with only 10 tiles. But when it came to the last round, who was ahead by 34 points. ME! So the last round myself and her pre-med cousin brent were still true to the task, but everyone else got a teammate. And so I lost by 1 point. The Holland Family had to team up to beat me!?!

The greatest Irony is that I achieved victory by spelling words like "zoo", "pits", "go", and "jig". Suckas. Don't mess.

This post contained 6 grammatical errors previous to spell check.

May Angels Wing You To Your Rest

She's dead.




My heart hurts and it is pounding through my chest. Betty Jo Bidner has died of respiratory failure. I haven't seen her in two years. Not since my brother's wedding. She was one of the kindest women I have ever known. She had time to teach a squirming six year old piano. Even when he didn't, couldn't play she never made him feel bad. She just kept encouraging. When the whole world was looking to my brother as "the musical one" she would tell me that I was gifted and should pick up another instrument and another.

I moved away when I was 10 years old. Every year I got a birthday card. Every year, a Christmas card. She came to my graduation. She came to my ordination.

She's dead. She leaves behind, a loving husband, two children, grandchildren, and a very grateful 25 year old boy.

You owe me on this one...

So this weekend Jonikay invited my roommate and I to movie. I wasn't going to go, but my roommate begged me because I think he owed Joni money or something... I don't know. So I got dragged to this movie... little did I know that the reason my roommate and I were asked to go is that Jonikay had plans of her own.

Half way through the movie there began to be quite a few naked men and penises gracing the screen with their presence. Joni told us that Bre had highly recommended this movie. This made me slightly uncomfortable in and of itself, however, every time one of these scenes took place I looked over and Jonikay was "making eyes" and "making obscene gestures" in my general direction. I was shocked! It seems miss Jonikay was trying to seduce me while my girlfriend (her roommate) is in Florida. I felt so violated and ashamed. My roommate was pissed. He also felt used and embarrassed. Nothing happened, I swear! I told Joni she should be ashamed and go home. Tyler had to drive her home because she was drunk. So I strapped Tyler's chastity belt on him and told him not to make baby Jesus cry. All in all, an eventful evening I would say.


And now a true story...

So Tyler and I got to the movie early to get tickets and seats. It's a good thing, because the show quickly sold out and seats filled up fast. I went in to save seats while Tylo waited for Jonikay. She was late, because she had to put on her leopard stretch pants.

So as I sat alone in the theatre, the crowd started to get restless "THerE ARen't EnOUgh Seats!!" A group of three came into the theatre and after being deny twice they frantically looked at me and said, "YOU!" (who me?) "yeah, are those seats taken?" (the three on my left were open) "Oh thanks, thanks so much!" They continued this praise every time they passed me which was 2 concession runs and 4 bathroom breaks. "Thanks so much!"

Did those seats belong to me? Did I wield such power? Could I have shattered their very lives? Was I deserving of such praise? People are freaks.

No... It's Spelled F-L-U-X Capacitor

How do you feel about who you've become?

I don't mean who you are... I mean how do you feel about who you have become? How does it compare? How do you feel about the difference between (you) now and (you) then?

A lot of times we feel complacent or disappointed about who we are: I'm too fat, I don't like my hair, I'm not pretty enough, I'm not smart enough, etc, etc, etc. But it's funny to me, that as most of us at times don't like who we are or where we are, we are usually pleased with the comparison to who we were. How about you? Would you want to go back? Did you like who you were better?

There have been seasons in my life of joy, sorrow, melancholy, unadulterated ecstasy, overwhelming depression, and undeniable goofiness (and I'm not even bi-polar). I've seen the rise and fall of 5 and 1/2 girlfriends, the coming and going of countless friends, and the near breaking of my heart at the hands of those I trusted. But was it worth it?

I think about it sometimes. Who would I be? What would I be doing? Did I waste my heart on dating, or did it make me better at relationships? Was it worth it? Would I have traded the good to avoid the bad? Have my experiences in ministry helped me to be better or worse? I think I'm certainly less naive. But am I jaded? Could I have learned the same lessons with out the pain? Is the fact that I don't keep up with everyone I've hung out with or befriended make our friendship void and a waste of time? Did it shape me? Would I want to go back and be the man I was two, three, six years ago?

I think about the guy I used to be. I miss him sometimes. But I don't know if I would want to be him. I think about the guys I could have been...

It's Like An Eighth Grade Graduation... Only Catholic

That's right... I'm Back... sorry for the slight delay.

So my roommate works for a church that is "non-denominational, independent, Christian, blah, blah, blah..." They are Lutheran. Or, at least, they have enough Lutheran background to have Catholic tendencies. (P.S. don't ever tell a Lutheran they are Catholic, they really get pissed... and then cross themselves and walk away.) So my roommate working at this church is fun, because it is new and different than what either of us have experienced in church work. He is the music/youth pastor. So, on Saturday he put together his first ever Confirmation Service. He asked me to come and play guitar at this service, and this would be my first experience attending that church. It was... awesome.

It was like one of those 1950's cars that are tricked out with the latest electronics. It was a service based in Catholic/Lutheran Confirmation Literagy and we were singing Third Day/Tomiln worship songs with Media Shout video presentations. And the whole thing is held in the gym at the Middle School.

The service itself lived up to its name. It was a confirmation service. It confirmed that "yes", in fact, these were freshman in high school. There were nine kids moving from confirmation class or "Jr. High Youth Group" to B.A.S.I.C. or "High School Youth Group". Each one gave a short speech about what they believed about Jesus Christ. Each one got better and better. Answers ranged from the Buddy Christ helping them with their homework, to Jesus, the man who they tell they're sorry to stay out of Hell.

The smartest answer was given by a child who was 35 years old, or at least appeared to be. He had a full, Ned Flanders mustache. Granted it just looked like no one ever gave him a razor, but it was clearly more hair than I have ever grown on my face. This made me skeptical, but once he opened his mouth I was certain he was 35. The bass in his voice was startling. Clearly, this man was a plant to boast GPA's in the confirmation Class.

One of my favorite speeches involved a young lady who began her speech with audience participation... even though she did not count on it. She began... "I love Jesus..." and was then interrupted by a "Yeeeaaahhhh!" from a toddler in the back row. I almost wet my pants.

Yet another Student included his mother's divorce and remarriage in his speech. He told us that he had prayed to God that his mother wouldn't marry his new step-father, but since his prayers weren't answered that he was happy God had given him "Steve" but wasn't quite sure what to do with him and his 2 and a half siblings. I believe the shade of his mother's face was... Scarlet Red.

It was one of those nights you spent trying not to laugh the entire time, because these people took this very seriously, but that is what made it more funny. (inappropriate laughter at inappropriate times is always the best kind of laughter).

Check out more Blog Post to come... I'm back.
Also check out my Photo Blog, Picture Pages.

My Palladian is level 57...

(Nick) So the other day...

For those of you that don't know, I now have a lady in my life... that isn't my mother... or a pet. I know what you are thinking... I was shocked too. What is even more shocking is that my heterosexual life-mate, Eric, has a lady as well.

We interrupt this blog to bring you a definition:
Heterosexual Life-mate..: noun - a person of the same sex that is pledged to live with you (purely in a heterosexual way) if neither of you are married by the age of 40. So you can live out the rest of your celibate days with some form of companionship.

So Eric and I got to do something we have never done in the 15 years we have known each other. We went on a double date. Eric, Melissa, Charissa, and myself went to a fair. It was a small event near Melissa's house. But every time I go to a fair I remember how much fun they are. We got funnel cakes, gyros, nachos, beef, and lemonade shake-ups. mmmmmm.

Eric decided to participate in a "Bible Jeopardy" game at a church booth. He figured with me and Charissa (who is also a minister) standing with him, he was sure to knock this thing out. Between all four of us... we basically flunked Bible Jeopardy. I blame my parents for never enrolling me in Bible Bowl, or giving me any brains to go with these dashing good looks and impeccable fashion sense I received from them. And by "them" I mean my mother.

So after trying our hand at Christianity... Eric turned to Voodoo Witchcraft. That sucker paid like $20 to have his palm read. She did the Tarot Cards and then started the palm reading. Why don't they just put a sign out that says "Hot girl will say nice things about you while rubbing your hands $20" At least that would be honest, and I don't think they would loose any business. Charissa and I just laughed and I think Melissa started to get a little jealous. (Considering that when Melissa and Eric first met in the Army her first words to him were, "HEAD BUTT ME!" and then she beat him in wrestling by hitting him in the head with a chunk of ice... I didn't want to know what she would do to that 90lbs palm reader flirting with her boyfriend.)

So the three of us sat at an empty booth next to the palm reader and pretended that we were giving away my half-drunk mountain dew and made up what the reader was saying. Eric was played by Melissa and I played The Hot Reader. This reminded me of another situation with Eric at the Sandwich fair... but that is another story.

The night ended hot and sticky, but with good music from an 80's-90's cover band and Eric dancing on the table. Classy. Ah, those summer nights.

Pictures of the Future

There is a man I pass on my way to work. He is the kind of salty old man that compels young women to, "ohhh"'s and "how cute"'s in the daylight. But in the dark they might cross the street and huddle together giggling to ease the tension. He has the look of hard living, maybe a widower who has seen alot of life and most likely calls young people "hippies" as his hand absently-mindedly touches his Navy tattoo on his forearm.

I see him just about every other day. He walks his dog (who may be as old as his master) up and down this stretch of timber with a walkie talkie in his back pocket and a massive unlit cigar protruding a full seven inches from his lips. The only thing that changes is his attire... and this only changes seasonally. In the summer it is knit shorts with a v-neck white t-shirt and black socks. In the winter it is full coveralls with a bearskin hat. But always an unlit cigar, a walkie talkie, and his faithful hound.

I'm not quite sure what to make of him... I never quite work up the courage to stop and talk to him. But I want to know.... "Why the unlit cigar?" "Who is on the other end of that walkie talkie?" "Why carry either?" "Does he ever actually smoke the cigar?" I imagine all kinds of weird scenarios like the cigar was given to him by a famous general in WWII, and he never smokes it, and he has the walkie talkie because he just likes to listen to the truckers on the CB channel because he is lonely and sometimes jumps on to talk about hippies. Or he walks his dog because it belonged to a friend that has since passed on, and even though he is reluctant to do so... he doesn't even like dogs... a promise is a promise. I don't want to stop and ask because I'm afraid in reality he walks his dog for the exercise, doesn't smoke the cigar cause his doctor told him not to, and has the walkie talkie in case he falls and breaks his hip.

The only conclusion I can draw is people are more interesting when you don't know anything about them.

I Don't Know What Is Going On Anymore...

So, I was driving today in Naperville on route 59, so I obviously have time to think about WHY I CHOSE TO DRIVE IN NAPERVILLE ON 59! In front of me was a small sports car that was getting on my nerves. It was a 98 Talon or some kind of car they don't make anymore because they are small and the engine revs like a race car as it putts along at 35 mph. The simple idea of cars like that driven by guys in Oakley's and wife-beaters showing off his barbed wire tattoo is enough to make anyone furious, but I wasn't furious. I was annoyed.

You see every different car has different blinker patterns. Usually they correspond with the car type. A turn signal on a Lincoln Continental is perfect for Grandma because it blinks with the lethargy that matches the drivers attitude of "All get there someday... if I don't die." This turn signal blinked 90 times a minute!!! I was like, "Chill out... you're turning... I get it." It was so annoying, like some spastic yelping poodle, or some ADD kid all cracked out on Kool-Aid. Did the makers of this car just have too much coffee, or did they think this would be a selling point? This car is fast... everything about it is fast... the engine = fast... the tires = fast... the turn signal = so fast, it will send the person behind you into epileptic fits! Now that's fast!

I'm going to track down these people and eat their young.

Conference

Melancholy

A breakthrough with my team.

Inspiration! Understanding! Praise!

Lofty goals.

Hard talks.

Am I doing anything right?

So far to go.

Too soft... too callus...

Stop dragging your feet.

Plan for the future... Leave room for God...

Reevaluate.

Refresh.

Time to go back to work.

God be my strength.

I Am So Ashamed, I Might Join the Military

It's just such a stark contrast. Where are the warriors? Where are the citizens? I'm struggling to wrap my mind around this and what it means. I just finished this book, and I've read quite a few of it's kind. I've become addicted to Celtic and Medieval history and lore. You know... Knights, kings, Arthur, all things old and glorious.

I read about a time that was a little more black and white... Or what gray their was, was easily dispelled by things like loyalty, honor, and dignity. Valor was Paramount! I don't think I am alone when I say that when I watch Braveheart or Troy or Gladiator that I not only want to follow a great warrior, but I want to be one. I want to win renown and glory by fighting a foe that is bigger and greater than me... to say a prayer and rush into to a fight to obtain glory and honor to God and country. I think there is something in this that speaks to men's souls. Surely, we were called to be great warriors.

But maybe glory is only won at the edge of a sword, and maybe valor can only be inspired by kings. The news today said that 8,000 military personnel have gone AWOL since 9/11. There is a First Lieutenant Ehren Watada that says that he will disobey orders go back to Iraq. NOT WATADA, but others in the media and country are encouraging soldiers to follow his example and refuse to fight. Some are actually encouraging the soldiers in Iraq to quit their post. The big discussion is "Is Watada a Hero or Traitor?" I don't count him as either. If he truly believes it is morally wrong, then let him stay and face the consequences of his actions which will most likely be a court-marshall and imprisonment. That is what he has chosen. At least he has the strength to take a stand and face his consequences. Those of you that have gone AWOL, I call you cowards.

Just listening to the radio this morning as they discussed this topic, I was ashamed. There is no other word for it. At first I thought I felt guilty for not serving in the military. But that's not it. I felt deep shame. I felt ashamed that our country is full of such weakness and cowards. Oh, that we would be like the Celts of old that were held by honor and fidelity to serve their country and king, and if a warrior stayed behind it was to his everlasting shame. Bottom line, when you sign up for the military you are a soldier. Not a cook, radio operator, or a truck driver. You are a soldier. Your job is to fight... not just one battle, but until you are no longer a soldier. You laid your life at the feet of those you serve... your people. It should be the most honored and revered position. It is a humble act of service. It should not be defamed by whinny weaklings who are just looking to wear a uniform and get free college, who run thinking that soldiers were not meant to fight, but bag sand and run drills. And as citizens we should honor the brave and teach our children that to die serving something greater than yourself is the greatest gift you can give.

I was so shamed this morning, I wanted to join up, to be a soldier first and a volunteer Chaplin and inspire men with words of everlasting glory and valor. Where are the warriors? Where are the Cymbrogi?

Vertical Horizon or Verizon?

I'm in a state of reevaluation. I was dipping some of these flour tortilla chips in this savory taco dip, when we hit a snag. I came up with no dip and only half the chip I started with. So I did what every God fearing man of honor would do. I when in after him. I took a new, young, health, strong chip... I looked it over... it was good... thick... no burn spots... only slightly pliable... so we went in. Try as we might, I was unable to free the other fragment. Now I have two chips that are mauled and no dip. I need a new game plan. Is it possible I may have to use utensils to eat chips and dip. The thought is beyond madness. Time to get creative...

Blog Neglect

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah... so I haven't posted in a while. There has been so much going on, I can never decided what to write about. So out of all the important events happening in my life... I choose this.

I saw a commercial the other day for a razor with four blades on the the front and one the back for shaping your sideburns. I was amazed. Not at the number of blades, or the shear frivolousness of the pain it would inflict if not used with the utmost care... but I had never considered until that moment the shear volume and magnitude of that single invention. There is not just one razor company, there are many. And each razor company employs not just one guy, but a "Development Team" to think this stuff up. In fact, right now there is a team of people that probably get paid a six figure salary to sit in a room and go... "what do we have now? Three razors? Let's make four... and put on the other side too... no... lets make it vibrate!" And this is happening at all the major male grooming companies. Then they send it to the team that actually makes the razor, then people are employed to make that machine that mass produces these four blade face fiestas. We may think it is stupid to keep adding more blades, but if progress stopped millions of americans might be out of a job.

Such fuss for a piece of plastic. Five blades... you might as well shave with a buck knife.

Another Awkward Encouter... Brought to You by Wal-Mart

So, I ran to Wal-Mart to grab something really quick. It's never that easy is it. I ran into four people I know and had to stop and talk. One of which is one of my best friend's ex-girlfriends.

What do you say in the moment?

"Hey how's it going?"
"Good."
"Do you see Jeff any more?"
"Yep."
"When?"
"uh, his wedding... to ... not you."

I conclude that running into your friend's ex is more awkward than running into your own ex. Because, at least I know why she is my ex. Girls often ask me why my friends broke up with them. What do you say? "Well... basically, you are weird and possessive and jealous... and crazy." Because if you say "I don't know" they don't believe you. But it is bound to happen... and it's going to happen at Wal-Mart.

Call Me Crazy...

So the other day, on my way to work out at 6:30 AM (flexes muscles with bloodshot eyes), I was listening to this Chicago morning show. I was shocked this morning for a few reasons. The first was that they were actually discussing a topic that was half-way intelligent. Usually, it is just celebrity gossip and funny things. However, that morning they were talking about the current events of all the politics surrounding illegal immigration. Unfortunately, I think the callers were still from the same audience that is more informed on Tom Cruise than George Ryan.

And as I continued to listen to the callers, I became more and more disturbed. There was call after call of people who basically said, "Well, really... Everyone in this country immigrated from somewhere (Europe, Mexico, etc.). So I don't see what the big deal is. Why would you want to keep these people from crossing the border?" Call me conservative or whatever, just don't call me crazy when I say this...

Why would you want to stop ILLEGAL immigrants!?! I don't know? Why would you want to stop bank robbers... I'm sure everyone in this country has made a withdrawal from a bank at some point in their life. And before you say "that is not comparing apples to apples" yes it is! One is the legal way of doing something and taking something you have a right to. The other is ILLEGALLY taking something you have no legal right to.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those crazy people that think we are being invaded by Mexicans. Those people are paranoid. I have no problem with people entering this country with visas, or work permits. I just don't understand how we have come to a place as a country that the people are mad at politicians for enforcing laws already in place.

The state of Illinois is basically talking about tightening up security so that ILLEGAL immigrants can't get a driver's license. I don't think this is out of the question since you have to have a STOLEN social security number to get a ILLEGAL drivers license. "but if they don't have a license they won't be able to drive or work..." Maybe they shouldn't be breaking the law then!!! And then who really suffers are the people who did the paper work and are here LEGALLY with student visas and such, because now they are always under suspect.

Yet I listen to caller after caller, say that we should just leave ILLEGAL immigrants alone and stop trying to stop them. Some times I wonder if I'm the crazy one...

What Would Christopher Walken Do?

Sometimes I find myself in awkward situations and I ask myself, "What would Christopher Walken do?

A woman came to me and told me she just doesn't know if she can control her teenage daughter.

"Bottom line... I'll drop her out a higher window. Meantime, I got better fish to fry." - CW

I was standing next to one of the high school kids at church when he graciously extended his hand to a three year old and said, "gimme five." The child's response was, "NEVER!"

"Hey, You're talking to my man all wrong here. It's the wrong tone. You better watch it, or I'll stab you in the face with a soldering iron. Hey, does your mother sew? BOOM. Get her to sew that. "

After spending an evening with one of your friend's new boyfriend that is a jerk... especially to her. She asks you, "So, isn't he great... what did you guys talk about?"

"First of all, he made me laugh, and that was very important... The fact that I was really enjoying this guy, and then I shot him anyway. And the same is true of him - he really enjoyed telling me that story. And you could see it was delightful, don't you think? It happens to end with me shooting him in the head. But up until then, wasn't it delightful?" - CW

Hypothesis #118: Welcome To the Mall... Choose wisely

In recent trips to the Westfield Shopping Center, known on the streets as the "mall", I have inadvertently stumbled upon a secret... a governing law of the universe if you will. There are powers at work that I was not previously aware of, but now what was hidden will soon be revealed.

So here is my theory...

In the dating realm, one of the most time consuming parts is finding the guy or girl that is "your type." How often do you hear people say, "He's not my type..." "She's not really what I'm looking for in a girl..." So most people rely on their friends or relatives for recommendations. They get set up on dates with guys that other people say would be a good match. But what do "they" know? I have discovered a loop-hole. A short-cut in the space/time continuum of life, so to speak. A time machine, an on-line dating service, liquor and nudists. None of these time honored traditions. It's the Mall.

Call it "Shopping for the perfect girl/guy." Here is the premise. I believe in the phrase "the clothes make the man" so let's go right to the source. No more wondering "Is this person my type?" You can tell a lot about someone by the clothes they wear and subsequently where they shop. So lets break it down. If you are looking for someone who...

Cares about physical appearance, is at least slightly high-maintenance, trendy, middle to upper-middle class, orders tequila mixers, has a razor phone, and works at a job with a level of professionalism...
These people shop at Express.
Their favorite song is Drop It Like It's Hot.

Is high school jail-bate, spends their parent's money (and lots of it), buys whole albums to listen to one song, has surfer hair, orders yager bombs, has a skate board just to carry around, and doesn't have a job because they "don't want to work fast food."
These people shop at Hollister.
Their favorite song is the Cha-Cha Slide.

Is into independent rock bands, would be described as "different" or "artsy", most likely has a special diet (ie vegan, vegetarian, organic), like Zach Braff, cynical about life and pop-culture while consuming both, shops at IKEA, and do things and wear things that other people think "are cool... but I would never do that/wear that."
These people shop at H&M.
Their favorite song is anything by the Postal Service or Snow Patrol.

Has a summer condo = Banana Republic
Has a boat = Eddie Baur
Any guy, or she already has a boy friend = EB Games
Is a divorced mom with highlights = Forever 21
Skinny people wearing sandals = Gap
Frat Boys and Girl's Basketball players = Aeropostle
People that look good in plaid and flanel = American Eagle
Ghetto Booty = Dress Barn/Lane Bryant

You get the point. So what do your shopping choices say about you?

Two Roommate Stories

Many of you that read this blog know of my love/hate relationship with IKEA. My new roommate seems to have inherited my grudge. Being as now there are two IKEA's with-in a reasonable driving distance, there is now twice the disappointment.

We set out to attempt the impossible. Tyler works in what can only be described as a log cabin. In his office there are three different types, colors, and grains of wood. So we went to IKEA to try and fine office furniture to match... well... at least the furniture matches itself. So we went to Bowlingbrook and we found a unit to start with. Of coarse, it's not all there. IT'S NEVER ALL THERE! So we went to Schuamburg. Well, that's to say that we went the longest, wrongest possible route we could have taken. I blame only myself, I290 west, and of coarse... the spirit of IKEA who haunts my very dreams. D*$^ you IKEA.

But I am thankful for my new roommate. The other day I was suppose to drop off my parents at the airport and pick up Jason and Melissa. These were suppose to be separate events. Unfortunately, I got it in my head that they were on the same day. So when Jason called me as they ARRIVED at the airport, I was no where near them. Luckily, roommate went to get them. I'm done being a basketcase now. And I'm done with airports. Definitely done with airports.

Episode 6.1 For the Ladies

Tyler and Lucas go under cover to bring you this shocking information about women.

(to download, go to "extras", right click and select "save target as/download liked file.")

Learning To Fly

So this past weekend I flew out to Manchester, NH to visit my friends on the east coast. All in all I would call it a discounted extravaganza. And to explain that let me give you a cost break down of the trip.

Plane Tickets - $60 round trip - instead of $320
New Snowboard - $26 - instead of $299
Lift Tickets - $40 - instead of $60

The trip was great. But if you've read Tyler's blog, you know... I had a bit of trouble at the Airport. Allow me to elaborate.

You see my friend Jeff was the one who bought the tickets. And originally, Jeff had made a mistake and booked the flight for 3/15 and return 5/19. That's right... two months. So he had to call and change the flights. Well in all the confusion, I showed up 12 hours early for my flight on Thursday. 12 HOURS! Not only that, but when I did go for my flight at 6 PM, it was delayed. I can't tell you how much I hate to fly.

Usually, if it is a good flight, with no storms or turbulence... I will only get a huge headache and feel sick to my stomach. If it is a bad flight... I want to kill myself. This was not a good flight. You know it's bad when the two strangers sitting next to you keep asking, "Are you okay man?" I just can't take it.

But while in New Hampshire, I talked to Jeff's wife, who deals drugs on the side... and she hooked me up with aspirin and this stuff called Bonine. Bonine is a combination of ginger and Dramamine. They are small, pink, chewable tablets from the gods.

My flight back was amazing. I looked out the window the whole time. I didn't feel sick to my stomach or anything. I felt like Aladdin on a magic carpet ride. Thank you Bonine.

Warning: Side effects may include headaches, nausea, drowsiness, projectile vomiting, demon possession, spontaneous picnics, kidney failure, or instant death.

Do you like to fly?

Can life get better?!?

I don't know how this could escape my attention! I came home during my lunch hour to drop off my rent check, and I took the back way. Then I saw it. It had to be there for at least a week. At a distance of maybe 100 yards from where I live... they (the ominous they) are building a Culvers. I know what you're thinking... I was shocked too. How could I have missed this development?

But that's not all!

About a month ago I had intended to get cable. I wanted to have cable modem, but ended up going with the good ol' SBC. But in that whole process, I had hooked my TV up to the cable hook-up on the wall... hook-up. Today, to take some of the edge off learning that a butter burger with-in walking distance was but a few days away, sat down to watch a DVD. I hit a wrong button on my remote and all of a sudden I'm watching Cartoon Network. Free cable. Can life get better? I submit that it can not.

Oh wait!

I'm going to the spa next weekend and Tyler is moving in!

So if you are in the area, come on over and have a butter burger while we watch CSI.

Say Something...

Can I tell you my deepest darkest fear? I spend my life communicating. Visual media, music, preaching it's all communication. I even wrote a few dumb books just for fun. I maintain this blog with funny stories and updates... I'm scared to death sometimes that I'll never say anything important. Truly important.

So I'm going to do it. Right now. Pay attention because this is true.

It's not what you say that is important... it is what you do that changes the world.

Just let that sink in for a moment.

It's not what you say that is important... it is what you do that changes the world.

Loo-a-vul

There are few things in this life more exhausting, more grueling, more... refreshing than a road trip. In my lifetime I've been on a few. At least enough to know they can change your life.

My first road trip was freshman year of high school. I drove with my family to Florida to spend two weeks in various places. Orlando, Clearwater, St. Augustine... it was a wonderful family vacation.
It was the first time I saw the ocean.

In college, my best friend Jeff planned a road trip of epic proportions. He grabbed a guy named Jason and me and told us his dream. Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Canada, Michigan, Wisconsin, and back. ONE WEEK. Just three guys, one car, and a whole lot of scenery.
It was when Jason became one of my best friends.

Later, Jason and Jeff and I reunited. This time we went west. We survived Kansas (just barely) to make it to Colorado. This trip was less hectic. This was a lot more music and mountains. This was a turning point in my soul. If the ocean made me feel small, the mountains made me truly see beauty for the first time.
It was when I fell in love with God's creation.

Just this last weekend, I took a break. I took a breath. There are people in my life that will always be special to me. Even though we have scattered across America, some in Indiana, some in Ohio, some on the East Coast, some in the South... They will always be special. So in the midst of my crazy, always on the go life... I went to Louisville (pronounced: Loo-a-vul). I drove to Lincoln, IL after worship team practice on Thursday night. And arriving at my destination around 11PM and knowing I had to get up at 6AM my friend Squeaky did what he could to make sure I got my rest. He threw a party. Which is exactly what I needed. No really. I thought I was going to be tired and drained the next day, but I wasn't. My soul was rested.

So at 6AM I picked up Alaina (a good friend) and we started our journey to Kentucky. There was music and pancakes and music and conversation. We only got lost once and five hours seemed like an eternity and a fleeting moment all at the same time. We arrived at Louisville and at SouthEast, one of the biggest churches I have ever seen. It was a good thing we brought our "southern teeth." We reunited with our long lost friend Amanda and got the full tour of the church. I was tired and took a nap on a couch. I woke up two hours later realizing that I was now apart of the tour, as the couch was located in the History Room and a tour was in progress. "And to your left you will see the bum on the couch under the historic news clippings."

The night was long, the conversations full of joy, and the rooms full of laughter. I had the best pork chops of my life at Molly Malone's Irish Pub. And the next day we were back on the road. Just one night. Just a couple of friends. Just a few hours sleep.

It was when I found some rest.

Have you taken a road trip yet? It will change you.

Valentine Smalentine

This was probably the most fun valentine's day I've had in a while. Along with the wonderful girls from my small group (Shout Outs to Bre, Charrisa, Shelly and Kimberly) I threw a party at my place. I went to Wal-Mart and got Valentines, heart shaped candles, balloons and party favors.

There was a Velcro dart board you could use to play kissing games. There were dice you could roll to snuggle or you could consult the magic 8 Ball Dateball. I personally found the magic dateball surprisingly lacking in optimism about my dating life and life in general. But the most infuriating part is that the most frequent answers given were "I don't know" and "Why Not." Thanks for the sage-like wisdom. Kimberly took the scratch cards I bought and made a fun game out of them. We played some games, had some food (aphrodisiacs) met some new people. All in all it was a good time. It was a nice distraction.

But it was still a distraction. I wasn't even feeling bad about being single all day. I was so excited about the party. But after it was over it hit. I was standing in my apartment deciding whether or not to clean up in the morning and "Fix You" by cold play was on the stereo. It was only then that it hit me that I had no one to end the night with. Not necessarily that I didn't have anyone to kiss or buy flowers for, but in the end I was still alone. This is the first time in a long time I've felt like this.

Just after Lindy and I broke up, I felt like this because I was used to her being there. Whether we spent the day together or not, I knew when I went to bed that she would be there the next day. Then she was gone (admittedly my choice) but it was still hard. I was alone. It's been more than a year since I felt that way, and I don't think I was ready for it. It was just sudden and unexpected at 11:30 at night. I just had a half of an hour left, but I couldn't make it.

I don't think it is terrible to be alone; it just sucks to feel alone. I don't know where
I'm going with this... I guess I just wasn't prepared for it.

Observation, Hypothesis, experimentation

Over the last two weeks I have conducted an experiment. I grew a beard. This has in fact been the most itchy period of my life... far surpassing the great poison ivy catastrophe of 89' and leaving in the dust the narcissistic Nair incident of 01'. So far I have correctly followed the Scientific Method, as taught at the eighth grade level.

Problem -- I get carded at Wal-Mart buying compressed air and rated R movies. At the age of 24 (soon to be 25) I do not resemble someone of, or over, the age of 17.
Observation -- Hey that guy has a beard. He looks old. Old people can grow facial hair that prepubescent boys cannot. People associate beards with age and wisdom.
Hypothesis -- If I grow a beard, I will not look like a prepubescent boy. I will seem wise bed, bath, and beyond my years.
Experiment Notes -- My face itches.
Stills itches.
This is infuriating.
Formulated Theory -- Beards, while giving you an older look... Suck to grow.

I think this experiment has about run its course.

Meanwhile, back from Candyland.

Last weekend, when I wasn't thinking about the theological implications of living in a world without certain candy (the evil we do not speak of) I was busy attending a party.

If one were to visit my Photo Blog entitled "Picture Pages", not only could you enjoy the nostalgia of the Bill Cosby reference, but you could see the visual representation of said party. It was... for lack of a better word... awesome sauce.

I haven't seen my friends Tristan, Crossman, Becky, and Ashlie in quite awhile. So I got the word and we all decided to converge on Ashlie's apartment in Chicago. There were supposed to be about 11 people at the dinner party. But as fate would have it. Ashlie got a phone call that afternoon. Her cousin's husband Jeff (being a campus minister) and his friend Steve (being a college age minister) were on a road trip and happened to be in the area. They were taking a "pre-roadtrip roadtrip." This means that they normally take kids on a Spring Break Mystery Roadtrip and they were now scouting out stuff to do on this trip. So their travels brought them to Chi Town. So randomly they called Ashlie to see if they could crash at her place. They could and they did.

Steven and Jeff were kindred spirits. Jeff was a cool guy and Steve can only be described (to LCC people) as the product of Benji Maur and Bob Kudavali having a child. This being a wonder of it's own. Both Jeff and Steve have special places in my heart now. We all had dinner, all 13 of us, and then played some outrageous Taboo and Tetris Attack. It was a great time and I'm sure Ashlie's neighbors would have yelled at us to keep it down if they were less chill.

The crazy thing is that Jeff and Steve left dinner to scalp tickets to the Bulls game and I believe they got in. I was never given a strait answer, but I'm going to tell the story as I think it happened.

Jeff and Steve went to the United Center to try and get tickets to that night's game. Being that they are from Florida, they are an hour ahead of us. So, they arrived at the game at half-time, making tickets dirt cheap. They watched the second half of the game and returned to Ashlie's for the night. The next morning, they decided that they wanted to go see "Wicked" the stage production. I reminded them that tickets were sold-out until the end of time, but they were not deterred. There is a lottery an hour before each showing. They reserve 20 seats and have a drawing for them. So sure enough, just to drive home the point that I am, in fact, the ONLY person that has not seen Wicked, they won tickets. Not just that. They went to the early show and Steve won one ticket. This did them no go and they sold the ticket to someone else, went to lunch on the money and then reentered for the afternoon show. Steve again won. Two tickets for the lucky guys from Florida.

The rest of us couldn't believe it. There were other events that weekend involving curry, someone jumping off a balcony drunk, getting punched in the temple, and me whipping the crap out of a bowl of tiramisu. But it is neither the time nor the place to discuss such things.

Lewis, It's corn... that tastes like candy.

I'm Pretty sure that every holiday has it's own assigned candy from Hell.

Easter = Peeps
July 4th = Super Bubble and most other candy picked off the parade route
Halloween = Popcorn Balls
Thanksgiving = Candy Corn
Christmas = Homemade Rock Candy

And of coarse, we counter this array of terrible treats with candy made with love and excellence like Hershey's Caramel Eggs, Starburst Jellybeans, fudge, and anything and everything "fun size."

But it seems clear to me that Valentine's Day (Singles Awareness Day) got the shaft when it comes to candy. There is nothing like opening a cool valentine and reading "I Scooby Do have a crush on you," but then out comes two pieces of multicolored chalk. One says, "I heart you" and they other says, "Lookin Good." You expect me to eat that?

Valentine's Day candy hearts (no matter how witty) are just dressed up Tums. And you need those antacids of adoration to keep you from vomiting after you eat the box of Red Hots that you got. Really, Red Hots are a masochistic candy made by parents, hoping that if kids eat them that their mouths will burn so badly they won't be able to kiss their sweetheart.

So my question is...

If you could rid the world of one holiday candy, which would it be?

Don't Say Crap Like That To Me

Like I didn't have enough to stress out about. Mom and Dad were leaving to go to Colorado and ski Breckenridge. So not only were Jake and I to fulfill our regular duties, but everyone was covering for everyone else. So as I'm going over my message Saturday Evening and hoping I don't botch the baby dedication, I get a phone call from my Mom. "So, am I going to see your face before I leave for Colorado?" That was a little strange to put it that way, but okay. Yeah just come to the church on your way home from the mall. I'll be here.

So Dad and Mom come and talk about how Mom just bought four pairs of pajamas for vacation. (She doesn't ski) She's just going to go to the spa and read in her P.J.'s. And just in passing Dad says, "Oh, by the way let me show you this... in this drawer in my office is all our papers in case something happens to us, you're going to need to know where this is."

Mom adds, "Yeah, and make sure you tell your brother we forgive him. He is blaming us for his drinking now. Tell him we love him. And don't worry about anything, I left you quite a bit of insurance."

They hug me, my Dad says something about wishes I could be snowboarding with him. I don't really hear him... ... ... ... What the F!?!

I'm glad that they're cool with dying in some awful plane crash, they have had good lives and they are definitely ready to meet Jesus, but I'm not ready for that. I had nightmares last night about their funeral. Who says stuff like that before they go on vacation?

So in the midst of all that is on my mind, I say a prayer and preach. Sunday is awesome. The praise team is incredible, the Spirit moved, people worshiped, two ladies came forward. One is getting baptized this coming Sunday, and there was only one spelling error in the slides (A miracle). Now if I can just get my parents home safe, this experiment called "vacation" will be a success.

You want me to do what!?!

Well... I suppose it was only a matter of time. Allow me to set the stage.

Historical Background:
My parents and two other couples are leaving this Sunday for Colorado. That's right. I spend years trying to convince my Dad to go skiing. Now, he loves it and he is headed to Breckenridge and leaving me here to mind the shop. So, I get to preach this Sunday. It just so happens to be "Sanctity of Human Life Sunday." Which means that my sermon will cover such topics as: Abortion, Euthanasia, Terri Schiavo, etc. Thanks Dad.

But that's not all:
Not only will this be my first time preaching on "SHL Sunday", but it will be my first baby dedication.

Stan: Hey, you need to add a baby dedication to the order of service.
Lucas: You want me to do what?
Stan: A baby dedication.
Lucas: This Sunday.
Stan: Yes.
Lucas: You won't be here. I'd have to do it.
Stan: I know.
Lucas: Do the parents know?
Stan: I explained it.
Lucas: And they don't want to wait a week?
Stan: No, it's the babies one year birth day.
Lucas: Babies?
Stan: Twins.

I have a chronic fear of holding babies. I haven't done it much, so I'm always afraid that I'm going to hold it wrong or drop it. So I almost had a panic attack that I would have to hold twins at the same time and offer a blessing on them. But thankfully, they are turning one year old. So I won't be holding them. The parents will hold them and I will lay hands on the parents. But this will be my first baby dedication. I think I'm more nervous about that than preaching on controversial issues. I'll let you know how it goes. I'm excited.

A Thrilling Tale About Overcoming All Odds...

I wasn't always the confident, swaggering, ego that you see before you today. There was a time in my life that I couldn't communicate well enough to get my team to say Five Words in under two minutes by only speaking five words to them (In your face Bre). In point of fact, it used to be really hard for me just to speak five words in under two minutes. I had a speech impediment.

My mom used to tell me that I couldn't speak for the first five years of my life, so I was making up for it the rest of the time. When I was little I used to stutter. It isn't exactly what you think of normally when you hear that some one s-s-s-stutters. I could say my S's and my P's. But I would talk disjointed and in fragments. Half sentences, one or two random words, and broken ideas... It was so frustrating to talk to people that most of the time I just didn't.

I ended up having to go to a doctor. My parents were starting to worry at this point that I was like savant or something. The doctor told my parents it was a good news, bad news thing. The good news was that I was exceptionally bright for my age. I was very alert of my environment and had good cognitive skills, but I thought so fast that my mouth couldn't keep up with my brain. So I would start a sentence and in my head say three. So the sentence would be, "Mom can I... because the cat has darker fur." But in my head I had said a whole paragraph. And if I tried to correct it I would end up just starting the sentence over and over because I would get lost. I was having all these new thoughts and emotions and having them so fast I couldn't articulate them.

The way to fix it was probably more embarrassing than stuttering. I had to speak very very slowly and simply. I worked with a doctor once a week with flash cards and toys like the weird movies where the kids were government experiments or possessed by aliens. The office had the mirror window and everything, so my parents and the CIA could watch the progress. At home I would go to my Mom and she would stop me and say, "Okay Luc, think about it, and tell me what you want to say." So that was suppose to be a reminder for me to complete the thought in my head and then go over it again and say it slowly in the most simple words I could find. So now instead of being disjointed, I appeared "Slow". I began to speed things up eventually.

Now I talk all the time. But I can't say that the "think before you speak" thing ever stuck.
(This post inspired by PostSecret.com) Pictured left.