The voices have spoken.

Well, today is Monday. Mondays are usually hit or miss at work. Today was kind of both, I guess. I slept in a little longer than I planned to, although I don’t do a lot of planning in that regard. Anyway, I still had enough time to get ready and pack a lunch (as well as eat breakfast).

Maybe it’s allergies, but my left eyeball was pretty much bloodshot when I woke up. Even after eye drops and a cold cloth I still looked like a drug addict. Oh well, I suppose the folks at work are used to it by now.

I spent about an hour and a half in the shipping department for the first part of the morning. I haven’t been in shipping since around February, I think. It was around that time our powers-that-be decided to revise the shipping system. The revision was meant to eliminate costly and timely mistakes known as miss-ships, which occur when the product gets sent to the wrong warehouse. Without boring you too much, the new system sucked hard.

After hearing a lot of grumbling and very few suggestions, I went to work on a solution. It was a solution of necessity, to be honest. The system was driving me nuts. The old system, while better, still had a lot of inherent flaws that only seemed to be magnified by the new one. In any event, I had an idea. It was a biblical idea at that. I told God if it worked, I would give him the glory. Not surprisingly, it did. After a bit of backsliding, I eventually upheld my half.

Anyway, all this to say that I’ve been out of the shipping loop for a few months now. So the time I spent this morning was good, because I’ll be going back next week. Next week, I start Spanish 103. Next week, my life returns to chaos. I’m enjoying the brief respite, but I’ve got a lot of work to do on my personal creative projects. Which brings me to the topic at hand: my blog.

The trouble with blogging is at least two-fold.

First, I tend to enjoy crafting tales of my experiences and/or thoughts in such a way that isn’t just stream-of-consciousness updating. This entry is perhaps an exception, but in general I treat each blog as if it were a short essay or entertainment article with an intended audience of everyone. I love it, but there’s a price.

I can’t always say what I want, at least not what’s really on my mind. I can’t share the deeper, more serious thoughts. Yes, I do have them. And yes, some of my past blogs were kind-of-sort-of deep. It’s more an audience problem than an ability problem. How do I balance funny and not-so-funny?

Second, my style of writing takes time. Time to prepare, time to proofread, time to revise… ultimately, a lot of time. Too much time.

There you have it. The trouble with my blog. There’s not much I can do about the time issue, but there’s something I’ve started doing about the setting. I’ve started keeping a detailed journal (not a diary, ladies) of events in my life, both big and small. I do this so I can express what’s on my mind, but also because I tend to forget a lot of stuff. I want to be able to look back and remember the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’m also using it for future reference when I write volume two of my autobiography (years 25 to 50). And no, volume one does not exist yet.

OK, so what does this mean? Since fall of ’08, I had plans to start a second blog that would begin in January of 2009 and receive updates two or three times a month. It was designed for entertainment purposes only and would not feature personal ramblings about bittersweet romantic endeavors and/or pent up anxiety about life. It may have featured amusing retellings of childhood stories and highly embellished glimpses into the unusual workings of my brain, but it was intended to keep readers at a healthy, appreciative distance.

That particular blog is still moving forward, albeit quite slowly. As for my official, run-of-the-mill personal blog with a hint of entertainment (this one), it only seems right to grant it a merciful death. It’s been five months since the last update and I don’t have much to share that hasn’t been recorded in my journal (the likes of which you won’t see until I’m dead). I have so many other creative outlets I’ve neglected that it only makes sense to axe the one that never quite worked.

On one hand, I wanted to entertain; on the other, to bare my soul (metaphorically speaking). But it’s a fine line between glamorizing mundane happenings and sharing intimate thoughts I wouldn’t dare utter aloud to those creepy weirdos swimming through cyberspace. And then there’s the people I don’t know.

As per the title of this blog, permit me to make a declaration. Thanks for the Memories is officially dead. My intent, however, is to return to blogging this fall with my all-new, half-baked, hyperbolic (pertaining to hyperbole) entertainment extravaganza!

It’s called Pizza for Breakfast. And I’ll let you know more as it develops.

My dream-inspired abstract collage.

01.25.09

Last Sunday, I decided to take a nap in the afternoon. I changed into my flaming Superman S-shield pajamas and a gray sweater and got under the covers, eager to get some rest and hopefully heal from my cold. Five hours later, I woke up.

And this is what I dreamed…

I was at work and Oksana gave me three little slips of paper. She didn’t tell me what was on them, but I noticed some writing and a couple of numbers. She made it clear that I was supposed to read them as soon as possible, but our assistant manager Pat told me I had to take care of the garbage first. So I did my best to quickly round it all up as the other employees were getting ready to leave (it was time to go home). Oksana waved goodbye from behind a chain-link fence and I suddenly remembered I was supposed to read her notes.

The garage at our old house was somehow part of the Costco warehouse, specifically the cardboard and garbage compactors. My dad had some strange construction/painting stuff lying all around so it was kind of hard to maneuver. I struggled to get the garbage into the chute and had to set my notes down in the process. Then I got called away to do something else. After I left, Ray and Greg brought more recycling garbage over and the notes got mixed in with their stuff. The next day, I realized I’d lost the notes and was really mad at myself. Who knows what they might have said? Maybe she wanted to tell me how great I was, or maybe it was something important related to work.

Earlier in my dream, my dad and I were painting the side of our neighbor’s house (it was a gross, milky-green sort of color). We were up on the tallest ladders I’ve ever seen, and we were standing on the rungs facing the wrong direction. My mom was down below in the yard talking to a woman I’d never seen before. The woman’s husband was abusive or something and she was trying to escape. From my vantage point atop the ladder, I saw a futuristic car further down the road. Its two front wheels recessed into the hood of the car on diagonals, and the hood was some kind of weird metal-wire meshwork. It was kind of cool looking, but I soon realized the owner was this lady’s husband and he suddenly screeched out of the neighboring cul-de-sac.

My mom and the woman gasped in fear as they saw him coming, the engine of his car roaring so loudly that it shook the ground. When he came to a stop, the vibrations were so powerful that it knocked me off the ladder. I fell in a strangely relaxed, reclined position (like I was tanning on the beach) and shouted angrily until I hit the ground. I wasn’t hurt, but I was sure mad. I was madder than I’ve ever been. My dad tried to calm me down, but I was enraged! I chucked something at the guy’s head but missed. I’m not sure what it was, but it may have been my Rubik’s cube. My dad yelled back at me to chill out, fearing I might turn into the Hulk. And I almost did, as I was shouting at the top of my voice, neck-veins bulging and my face bright red and scrunched up, teeth bared.

So later, I was moping over the fact that I’d lost Oksana’s notes. I still didn’t know what was so important about them, but I couldn’t face her again without them. So I planned to go back to the compactors at work and see if the notes had somehow, miraculously, not been tossed into the recycling chute with all the other stuff. I looked through the screen door to our garage and saw the notes, but more of my dad’s junk was in the doorway and I couldn’t get through. Then I looked down the hallway and saw our stupid dog Hailey running up to meet me. There were several open paint cans on the floor and the dog was stepping in all of them, splattering paint everywhere. I told my mom to do something about it, but Hailey was still coming. So I switched to diversionary tactics and went down another hall and came up behind her, and of course she turned around to follow me.

I led Hailey into the downstairs living room, which for some odd reason resembled an underground parking garage (the ceiling was concrete and very low). Everything was lined with a giant plastic drop-cloth that formed various hills and trails, sort of like the countryside of a small town. Anyway, my mom showed up and we tried to figure out what to do with Hailey, who was rolling and splashing in random pools of black and white paint scattered all around. At one point she turned into a Dalmatian. When she finally noticed us again, she ran (splashed) over to meet us. I was adamant about not getting paint on my nice clothes and somehow managed to keep her from getting too close. My mom offered to keep watch over the dog, so I left and headed for the garage.

I took a detour through my old bedroom and found a bunch of strange people milling around. They were all dressed in black and I got the feeling they were holding a funeral service. I noticed a few food trays on my old dresser. I made my way through the crowds feeling a little frustrated, but oh well.

At the entrance to the garage, I looked through the screen door for any sign of the notes. My heart leapt! They were still there, but they were in a pile with a bunch of floor sweepings and other stuff. I carefully removed the various stuff blocking the doorway and clamored through the rest of it. I hastily sorted through the bunch of paper scraps until I found the notes! And then I woke up.

Yeah, that's me.

A few months ago, I found myself in a situation very much like the picture on the left. It happens every so often, and it’s always because I try being a nice guy. I don’t think it’s wrong to be nice, but it’s been a problem of mine for a long, long time.

It’s not that I struggle with burning rage and/or a desire to rip people’s arms out of their sockets (most of the time, anyway). It’s not that I’m so incredibly selfish I don’t care about other people. Well, I am incredibly selfish, but that’s not where I’m going with this.

Rather, my problem is that I’m too much of a nice guy too much of the time. Some of you may be scratching your heads, wondering if I’m speaking about one of my lesser-known alternate personalities or elaborating on my delusional, self-propagating superhero status, but I’m not. I’m being serious.

Maybe it’s because I wear my Superman t-shirt a lot. Maybe it’s because I’m naïve. Maybe I’m just stupid. Whatever it is, I get into a lot of trouble trying to be nice.

At work, I suspect people question my motives. “Is he trying to win favor with the ladies? Is he a suck-up to the supervisors? What’s his angle? What does he want?” I say “suspect” because I don’t know for sure, but I have a hunch. The fact that I work with forty-two women and eight other guys means the misinformation distribution system is always left running. The scales of privacy are woefully unbalanced. There’s a gossip river knee-high, and I don’t have a boat, much less paddles.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that being a nice guy has its disadvantages. For instance, women tend to manipulate me. I usually think I’m helping them out or providing a source of amusement—two things I love to do. But the harsh reality is that these lovely ladies are frequently taking advantage of me.

And you know what the worst part is? I let them! Now, to be fair, most of these women are unaware of what they do, but for those select few that do? Well, they make a point of pushing the dagger in deeper at every turn (and twisting it for good measure). Luckily for me, I don’t have a heart; otherwise it would have bled dry years ago.

Yes, I use a lot of hyperbole, but the fact remains that I need to keep my guard up. Most of all, I need to resist the urge to encourage this kind of behavior. I need to learn to be polite and courteous within the limits of my job title and not overdo things. You can be nice without bending over backwards for attention.

That’s it, really. Attention. I allow myself to be manipulated (knowingly or otherwise) because of the attention I receive from my female co-workers. I sit like a block of wood in Geppetto’s workshop as his lovely assistants drill holes in my head and run wires from my limbs. Is it any wonder I became a puppet in the hands of a beautiful but flippant puppeteer? Not really.

This story has an ending, but it’s not particularly happy. My puppeteer became my enemy when I decided to cut the strings, and now she’s moved on to a friend of mine who may not recover until he’s been chopped up and used as firewood. If that reads funny, I apologize. It’s not.

Well, I don’t have any great revelation to share except the most obvious: the attention of women should not be your motivation for doing what’s right and being helpful. Do what’s right because it’s right, and always let your conscience be your guide. And by conscience, I mean God.

Well, I don’t really have any significant updates to make, so this will be short and sweet. Speaking of short and sweet (not a shameless segway into romantic matters, fear not), our vacation is already drawing to a close.

It didn’t hit me until today, but I realized I’ve been enjoying vacation so much I failed to take my usual slew of photos. So I took a good number of them today and shot a little video of my journey to Haystack Rock. It’s probably not as exciting as I thought it would be, and my entertaining narrative was kind of… well, lackluster at best. I was too busy trying to keep from stumbling and getting my pants wet to crack any good jokes. Oh well, I’ve got at least one goofy photo to make up for it.

So there’s no romantic prospects this year, which is a little disappointing. I speak of the here and now at Cannon Beach, Oregon; it’s an important point to clarify. As I was saying, it’s been a very safe and emotionally lax experience, which is good, but I’m mildly miffed that I couldn’t so much as talk with a girl remotely close to my own age. Sure, I may have the maturity of a four year-old, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy their company.

The real problem is that I’m getting older but things around me haven’t changed much. The married couples close to my parents’ age have kids who didn’t join them on vacation because they’re either out of the house, married themselves, in another state, at school, or some combination of those variables.

I’ve been able to have bits of almost-conversation with two girls, but they’re so much younger than me I feel like I’m some kind of old, creepy-looking yogurt-eating freak. And honestly, I don’t think older guys should be investing much or any time with younger girls (Christian or otherwise) under the age of eighteen. And even then, there’s got to be a very good reason. Anyway, I’m just rambling. I’ve got the confidence to be friendly and (somewhat) outgoing with the ladies, but not the opportunity. It’s just ironic, I guess. When I was young and stupid, I couldn’t say “Hi.” Now that I’m old and stupid, I would just like the chance to ask, “How are you?”

Oh, I took third place in the ping pong tournament. I guess they only gave recognition for first, but I was pleased. It was single-elimination and I won the first two of three games. Very fancy. Caleb Predmore’s winning streak from our 4th of July faceoff (almost ten games, I think) has finally been broken. I’ve beaten him more than he’s beaten me, but I had at least one terrible, terrible defeat tonight. Most of our games are within two points of each other.

There was a talent show tonight and two Filipino ladies did some kind of “fisherman’s dance,” and it took all my considerable discretionary prowress to keep a straight face. It wasn’t bad, but the one girl obviously didn’t want to do it and the song kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny. After they walked offstage, I burst out with stiffled convulsions that left me crying and gasping for breath. It was pretty hilarious, but you had to be there.

Well, that’s about it. So much for short and sweet, huh? Oh! After three games of Monopoly with my brother Dan and Rebekah Predmore (over the last three days), I finally won! It was a landslide victory with eleven hotels spread out over a full side of the board plus two corners and all the railroads. It got boring though when I couldn’t develop any more property and couldn’t really lose any money. It was a nice feeling.

This is Jon Sulzbach checking out for Wednesday, August 27, 2008.

Daniel Predmore wanted to share. In my face.

So I’ve come to realize that updating each night this week would prove fruitless for the following reasons: one, all we really do is eat, and two, I’m on vacation.

I’ll post if something interesting and out of the ordinary happens, but what follows is an average day: breakfast, recreation, session, recreation, lunch, recreation, session, recreation, bed.

The recreation bits can include, but are not limited to, sleeping, writing, Game Boy, ping pong, pool, carpet ball, air hockey, foosball, board games, basketball, mini golf, and visiting the beach. So far we’ve had drizzle and rain, meaning I’ve stayed away from the beach. I don’t own a pair of sports shoes, so basketball is probably out.

I did sign up for the ping pong tournament tomorrow at two o’clock, after practicing a fair bit and destroying the morale of my opponents. It’s fun, but my only real competition is my dad, brother, and Caleb Predmore.

Oh yes, the Predmore clan came to Oregon as well and we’ve spent most of our meals with them, as well the recreation time. I took a photo of Daniel with his piece of pumpkin cheesecake (which he offered to throw in my face). Vacation is great so far, and I plan on getting some good naps in during the week. The sessions have been good as well.

One of the two speakers, Bob Vernon, was a cop for the LAPD for many years and he’s got amazing stories he relates to biblical truths. The fact that he talks, sounds, and even resembles Robert Culp as FBI agent Bill Maxwell has endeared him greatly to me.

As usual, my mom is trying to hook me up with any reasonably attractive young woman she sees. I’ve already decided who I want to try talking to and will endeavor to do so if/when the opportunity arises. More as it develops. Or doesn’t, as the case may be. We’ll see.

This is Jon Sulzbach checking out for Sunday, August 24, 2008.

That's my name, but not my handwriting.

Well, it’s that time of year. We’ve packed our bags, thrown on some shorts, and piled into the family ‘95 Ford Aerostar van, heading for the coast. It’s been four years since we last visited Cannon Beach, Oregon. I’ve got mixed feelings about going back, but overall I’m thrilled to be on vacation.

We’re still driving there as I write this on my iPhone. My thoughts are very stream-of-consciousness, but I’ll do my best to be coherent.

I’m trying to think of all that’s happened in the last four years. I’m trying to see if I’ve made any progress in things both big and small. Apart from changing jobs, there don’t seem to be any noteworthy accomplishments. How depressing.

I need to make some goals. Education has been a thorn in my side all this time, supposedly being the deus ex machina for career, happiness, and home. It’s just been a black hole sucking away my time and resources. And yet I may still continue pursuing a bachelor’s degree. Why? So I can theoretically make better money doing something I dislike only marginally less than my current job.

Life is needlessly complicated. It seems all of mankind’s advances have ultimately served to tie us down with extra responsibilities and baseless social obligations. If ignorance is bliss, it’s no wonder so many people struggle with depression. We’ve become shackled to cultural expectations and lost the opportunity to make it on our own. Students can’t afford education without financial aid or grants; couples can’t buy a home without a loan; you can’t visit the doctor without medical coverage. If man’s only desire is to survive, good luck. Heaven help anyone who seeks more.

All right, time jump! Now it’s 9:43pm and we’ve been in Oregon for about five hours. We always stay at the Cannon Beach Christian Conference Center, which is practically on the beach. It’s similar to a small resort, only they have a speaker for the week and various kids programs as well as recreational stuff.

Anyway, our first session concluded at around nine and it was very inspiring. When I was writing earlier, I trapped myself in the kind of thinking that gets me frustrated and depressed. Obviously, I fell into the “it’s all about me” mantra, which leads to the “things aren’t going as planned” mentality, quickly followed by the “woe unto the single, aging, lonely white male with no future” funk.

Of course, there’s more to life than just my happiness. Thank God. I pity those who don’t know their lives have purpose and meaning. It’s tough enough as it is!

Anyway, in years past, I’ve always had a crush on somebody while staying here. Whether it be one of the lovely servers, counselors, or other vacationers, it almost never fails. Hopefully, this time, I’ll be able to keep my roaming emotions in check. We’ll see.

In breaking with tradition, I’m going to try keeping a daily record of my events for this week and make a blog entry each night. It may work better to post a week’s worth of stuff when I get back home, but I kind of like this real-time update stuff.

This is Jon Sulzbach checking out for Saturday, August 23, 2008.

Paint the town green.

It’s been a while since I had a memorable dream, and I mean that literally. Most of the time, I only have a foggy recollection of what goes on in my head during the night. Wednesday morning was an exception. As soon as I woke up, I started typing on my iPhone in a desperate attempt to record every bit of nocturnal weirdness before it faded away. What follows is a slightly edited version of what I wrote:

There’s a big remodel/construction project going on at my parents’ new house. Mom and dad are still living in the old one. My sister Sarah is here and Oksana (an attractive girl from work) is in the kitchen. Apparently, she forgot to put some kind of food in the oven and asks me if I did. I say I didn’t, and she pretends it’s my fault. Sarah walks down the hallway, enters the kitchen, and gets one of those weird expressions on her face. She tells Oksana that I’m already married (which I’m not), just to make me mad. Oksana has no response.

Outside, I supervise the deck-building project and the weather is awful. One of the captains from Deadliest Catch (a Discovery channel show about Alaskan crab fishers) is working on the deck with his crew. I do my best to help, but just end up getting in the way. I’m not sure why, but they have Geiger meters testing for radioactivity while it snows.

At another point, I crawl through a narrow passageway inside the new house where my mom and grandpa are sheet-rocking the hallway and bedrooms. It’s really claustrophobic as the sheet-rock is about a foot thick—one of the bedrooms is really tiny due to the loss of space. I hope it’s not mine.

Later, Mike from work asks to borrow a can of paint for his parents. Apparently, they want to paint their cabinets the same color as ours (in the old house), but when he and I go to my old house, the cabinets are painted a poop green and brown with neon caulking at the seams. My parents seem to think it looks great. I apologize for the horrible colors and we leave with the paint; we try leaving through the basement but encounter a rattlesnake barring the exit.

I grab two wooden dowels each about a foot long, and whack it when it springs at me. Mike escapes and I keep fighting. After I hit it enough times, it turns out to be a little iguana/lizard/newt thing that hisses at me, but I just step on it and its guts pop out. Weirdly enough, its guts are made from salsa.

So bitter, but so sweet.

About a year ago, I wrote a blog entitled “Chocolate Most Dark.” It was a naïve and simple-minded attempt at sharing my musings on life in general with the rest of the digital world. Yeah, that was stupid.

My ex-good-friend, who shall remain anonymous, promised I would feel great pain and embarrassment for dropping my guard and getting sentimental, and he did an admirable job of keeping his word. Thanks, Luca.

In any event, I’m doing it again. This endeavor was prompted by my Friday night visit to the very same Dilettante coffee shop at Kent Station. I had a 41% milk chocolate Mocha Café, two degrees less intense than my previous brew (and technically not dark chocolate). Consequently, I did not attain an altered state of mind, and, while I’m sure women of all ages would indeed swoon upon hearing me croon, although probably for less than favorable reasons, I refrained from embarrassing myself in such a manner.

Why then, you may wonder, am I writing a pseudo-sequel blog? Simply put, because I’ve had a lot of things on my mind lately that pertain to “fathoming the mysteries of the universe (women)” and the future in general. That and I love cool blog titles even more than blogs. I’m weird like that.

At the same time, I do have reservations about spilling my guts online. In the past, when I had fewer friends on Facebook and the blog import function was temperamental at best, there was little fear or concern that more than two people would read anything I wrote. Now though, I have to be a little more careful (or ratchet up my privacy settings so you’re all reduced to limited profile views). Thus, I will speak even more vaguely than before.

I recently met a new girl at work. It’s my habit to be friendly and welcoming to all my co-workers, but I make extra effort to help the new hires feel accepted. This is usually accomplished by sharing my love of Superman and super heroes in general, which unveils a side of my personality that is easily ridiculed. It may not be the best routine, but it puts people at ease faster than a shot of Novocain and is a lot less painful. They laugh, I laugh, and it makes the process of getting to know each other that much easier.

As for this girl, she seemed to peg my personality a lot faster than I did hers. Actually, I’m still working on it. I hate it when people ask me what kind of music I listen to, because so many opinions are based off the answer to this question and my answer is always, “I don’t really listen to music.” It’s true. I don’t really listen to music. My music is music I know well enough that I don’t actually need to listen to it, with a few exceptions.

In keeping with the theme of my aforementioned blog, I do like big-band numbers from the 30s-50s with crooners like Bing Crosby and Dean Martin. It’s all a bit over the top, a little silly, but a lot of fun and, dare I say, often romantic. This girl didn’t seem a bit surprised when I mentioned these details, and in fact seemed vindicated in her esoteric assessment of my personality. Am I that transparent? Is there no mystery left? Is my disguise no better than a fedora and coke-bottle glasses?

Well, I’m getting off track. The fact is that I do like old-timey music and I do like cheesy romantic notions of years gone by. I’m not actually Superman and I can’t actually dance, and I can’t actually croon to save my life, but… it’s the thought that counts.

Lately I’ve been trying to piece together the puzzle of my life. I’m convinced a few pieces are missing, but I don’t know if they’re all that important in forming the big picture. I know what matters most in life, and I’ve made several leaps in that direction, but the immediate future is very vague and I haven’t got a clue what it entails. Where God has led, I’ve followed; where he’s leading next, I don’t know.

I’m still looking for another job. I’ve closed the doors on some past issues, and walked into a few closed doors too. I’m frustrated by my lack of progress on my personal and creative projects; I’m discouraged by the death of several visions. I’m seething with anger at my stupidity with women in general and disillusioned by several non-potential potentials. My ambition and vigor for life is drained.

I nearly punched out one of my co-workers recently. I was so angry and infuriated I could hardly talk above a whisper to my supervisor about it. The situation was resolved quickly, but the next day I woke up and wanted to strangle my co-worker with my bare hands. If you think I’m exaggerating, you’re wrong. I’ve never snapped like this before and it really scared me. I could have killed the guy and felt no remorse.

Part of it had to do with seeing The Incredible Hulk on Father’s Day. For far too many years I’ve played the pacifist Bruce Banner, keeping my anger and frustrations in check. Not being taken seriously, being made fun of, getting pushed around, being mocked for my timidity… well, it came to an end. I didn’t pop out of my purple pants or anything, but this once-was pale-faced pacifist became a boiling bucket of agitated gamma rays. Er, that is to say I was not a happy camper. It’s over now, but it was worrisome.

A lot has happened in a very short time, and I’ve never dealt with stress very well. With so much uncertainty and outside pressure, I’m feeling like my old way of life is at an end. I’ve ceased caring about subtleties and avoiding social faux pas; I’m happy to share my thoughts verbatim to any unlucky soul in earshot. On a positive note, this has made sharing the gospel less intimidating. On a negative note, I don’t think I genuinely care about the outcome. Sink or swim; accept it or die. You know? No? Oh, well.

These are very trying times. Things aren’t going badly for me, and in fact I’m enormously blessed, but I do feel my life has been only a fragment of its potential to this point, and I’m impatiently waiting for this phase to end.

Where goldfish dare.

This wasn’t the photo I originally wanted to accompany this blog. I was hoping for a screenshot from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, but everything I found was either too small or too blurry to be of any use. It’s probably just as well, as this photo works better.

There’s a familiar adage, an old saying, an oft-clichéd phraseology that goes something like this: “Yeah right, when salmon fly!”

Over the years, or what feels like years, this time-worn expression has evolved to convey an unwavering immovability among those who have long since thought nothing good could possibly happen to them, or if it did, it would mean the beginning of a cruel, terrible, life-long cosmic joke.

Such has been my battle cry, my mantra, my modus operandi if you will, for quite some time. I claim to be cautiously optimistic, but in reality I’m a reckless pessimist. If I think it won’t work out, I’m free to be a goofball and revel in the utter hopelessness of it all. But if there’s so much as a glimmer of hope, a speck of possibility, an iota of good fortune, I find myself scarcely able to stand on my own two feet.

I tell you this not solely for humorous purposes, but because it’s indicative of a bigger problem. It’s not scriptural to think God’s out to get me, or that he’s only going to give me something good so he can snatch it away at a later date, especially after I’ve set my heart on it. This is wrong, this is stupid, and it’s what I’ve been thinking as of late.

I’ve been seeking God’s direction for a new job. It looks like he’s answered my prayers. Why then am I so uncertain? Why did I wait so long to act? Is my faith so small that I don’t expect God to hear me when I talk to him? What’s wrong with me?

It’s become much clearer: fear is a recurring theme in my life. Fear of people, fear of the unknown, fear of losing what little clout I possess. Fear of inadequacy, of not measuring up—fear I’ve been wasting my time in pursuit of things that don’t really matter. Fear of responsibility and accountability. You name it, I fear it.

Lately, in seeking God’s will, I’ve been given clear instruction in a matter of no small consequence. I’ve struggled with taking steps towards that end, tiny, little baby steps if you will, and as such I’m encountering vast quantities of fear. Truckloads, even! Part of my fear stems from realizing I can’t do certain things on my own, and rather than facing embarrassing failure, I simply retreat.

James 4:17
(17) Therefore to him who knows to do good, and does not do it, to him it is sin.

There’s no doubt in my mind that where I’m being led is where I need to be. It’s the process of getting there that I find nerve-racking. I have no choice but to trust in God for the strength to make leaps of faith.

Philippians 4:13
(13) I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Not King Jimmy's bible.

[29 April 2008 | Tuesday]

Since this is the last time I get to talk before Awana’s over, I really want to use this time to tell you guys some of the things that are on my heart, and encourage you to pursue the one thing in life that matters the most—seeking and following after God.

Now, if you’ll allow me to lecture for a bit, I’ll begin. For starters, I’m a bit of a slow learner regarding important life lessons. If you’re like me at all, and you probably are (with or without the meager Obi-Wan Kenobi facial hair), you’ve had or have some misconceptions about your role in life in respect to God’s divine plan.

For the longest time this is how I viewed life: God loves me and wants his best for me. By trusting in him and praying for his help, I will succeed and be prosperous, living a life of contentment and joy with a home and wife of my own and a couple of kids. I could pursue my creative interests and enjoy my work, going to church and living a moral life. And compared to most people I knew at the time who were non-Christians, this seemed very true. I saw their lives and families falling apart, while I was blessed with two loving parents, good friends, a bright future, and lots of pizza. I like pizza.

Anyways, I’ve always been a creative person and envisioned becoming an actor, an artist, a voice actor, a filmmaker, an author, a professional yodeler… just kidding about that last one. It seemed God had given me oodles of talent that I could use for a wide and varied career. So many interests, so little time!

But you know what? I was wrong. I was immature in my understanding of the nature of God and his will. I asked the question, “What can I do for God?” Instead, the question I should have asked, and the question I now challenge you to ask is, “What is God’s will for my life for his glory?”

You’ll notice two things about this question: one, it places the focus on determining God’s will, not my own, and second, it’s asked from the perspective of living my life for God’s glory. God’s glory, you ask? What does he mean by that?

It’s pretty simple. Just read through the Bible and you’ll realize one of the main themes is that God desires and is worthy of all glory and worship. When God led the Israelites out of Egypt, he declared that his purpose in hardening Pharaoh’s heart was so people would see his miraculous signs and know he alone was God. When he was angered by the Israelites’ grumbling and disobedience and wanted to destroy them, Moses interceded on their behalf, saying it would diminish God’s glory in the eyes of the Egyptians if he failed to fulfill and honor his promises. Guess what? God spared the Israelites time and time again.

When Christ began his ministry, he spoke often of doing the Father’s work. He even went so far to say that he did everything in accordance with the Father’s will, and he repeatedly gave glory to him.

John 9:2-3
(2) And His disciples asked Him, saying, Master, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?
(3) Jesus answered, “Neither has this man nor his parents sinned, but that the works of God might be revealed in him.”

This is just one example, but it’s a theme and truth you’ll find all throughout Scripture. God loves us and saved us so that we can ultimately tell others about him and bring glory to him through it. God doesn’t need us, and no glory we bring him is adequate, but he has chosen to love us and save us, and desires for us to do his will.

As Christians, we’re supposed to live like Christ, and that means living our lives according to the will of God, not according to what we think we should do or would like to do. I tell you these things because it’s what I’ve learned the hard way, and I hope I can save some of you the trouble and grief I’ve encountered.

God does not exist to make your lives better—you exist to bring glory to God. Your life needs to reflect this in everything you do and say. There’s no aspect of your life that is exempt from examination. You need to evaluate the things you hold close to your heart, your hopes and dreams, your aspirations and personal goals. You must make an effort to live for God and God alone.

Philippians 2:13
(13) For it is God who works in you both to will and to do of His good pleasure.

Ephesians 2:10
(10) For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to good works, which God has before ordained that we should walk in them.

This got me to thinking, “Realistically, what can the Trek guys do?” This is a valid question. The age range for Trek guys, that’s you guys, is from 12-13. None of you own a car, none of you drive (legally anyway), and none of you have finished high school. You may not get out much, nor even have many friends. How can you possibly do anything meaningful for God? Well, let me read an oft-quoted portion of Ephesians that always rubbed me the wrong way:

Ephesians 6:1-3
(1) Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.
(2) Honor your father and mother (which is the first commandment with a promise),
(3) so that it may be well with you, and that you may live long on the earth.

This bugged me because I didn’t think my parents deserved my respect or obedience. But, the Bible says differently. So that’s good. Now you know of at least one way you can do what’s right in God’s eyes, and you don’t even have to seek his will about it. Honoring your father and mother is something that branches out into various areas of your life, and if you make a conscience effort to do so you will find it directly affects your life expectancy.

So, is that it? Do what your parents say and you’re good to go? God will bless you and you can sit back, relax, enjoying life? Absolutely not! There’s much more you can do, and much more you must do.

We’re Christians. We have a charge from Christ to make disciples. We need to share our faith, we need to be prepared to give an answer for the hope we have within. We need to have a growing relationship with Christ and be in the Word. How do you get to know someone better? You spend time together, ask questions, and learn from one another. It works the same way in the Christian life. You can’t tell others about Christ if you don’t know him yourself.

The fact that you guys participate in Awana is great. It means you’re spending time memorizing God’s word and value the things of the Lord. Awana is a great opportunity to fellowship with Christian brothers and sisters. That’s something else you can do. But I want to caution you, and challenge you. We have a pretty laid-back atmosphere here, both in game time and handbook time. There are plenty of opportunities to talk with your buddies and have fun. But how often do you actually discuss things that really matter?

I’ve been talking this whole time about the things that really matter—the things God wants us to do for his glory. As the body of Christ, we’re supposed to encourage and strengthen one another. It’s not enough for you guys to simply obey your parents and read the Bible. You need to cultivate healthy Christian friendships and sharpen one another. You need to be sensitive to others, and keep rude comments to yourself. Build one another up instead of tearing one another down. Anyone can make a clever joke and get a few laughs, even me. But why is it so much harder to actually encourage one another?

You also need to pray. Don’t pray, “Dear God, help me get fifteen kills in Halo 2 today and move up a rank.” Pray in such a way that God will want to honor your request, and be sincere. Let me share an example of what I mean.

A few weeks ago a co-worker told me about a job interview she had. It went absolutely horrible and she was devastated. Later, she told me she had a new interview. I encouraged her as best I could, but since she’s not a believer all I could really do was wish her good luck. But as I got to thinking, God laid it on my heart to pray for her and ask her permission to do so. Well, this seemed like a pretty uncomfortable thing to do, but I told God I would do it—if certain conditions were met.

Words to the wise—don’t tempt or challenge God unless you want to lose. I told God something like this, “I’ll bring it up to her in conversation, but it needs to be one-on-one, nobody else hanging around and listening in, and I need to have enough time to have a decent conversation to address the question.” So, that same day, I took my first break and went into our quiet break room alone. Guess what? My co-worker walked into the room, saw me there, and decided to sit down. Hmm! Instantly, I remembered my part of the bargain. She asked me how I was doing, and I blurted out, “Do you believe in God?”

From there, we talked about church and her beliefs, I shared a little about what God was doing in my life, and when we were done I asked if I could pray for her during her interview. She said yes. That night and the next morning, I got down on my knees and prayed something like this, “Dear God, I’ve spoken boldly on your behalf regarding your faithfulness to answer prayer. I pray that you will show yourself mighty on behalf of my co-worker so that you will receive glory through this. And if the interview goes well, I’ll personally give the glory to you.” I prayed again and I prayed hard.

The next day, I was cautiously optimistic. When I saw my co-worker, she had this huge smile on her face and she told me, “It helped.” It was a little awkward, but my exact and immediate response was, “Praise God!” About a week later, she told me she got the job.

The reason I’m telling you this is because you too can ask God for opportunities to give him glory, either through sharing your faith or being obedient to the prompting of the Holy Spirit. You may think there’s no real way for you to do this, but I promise you that God will answer this request if your motivation is only to honor him, and if he’ll truly be honored by it. Maybe you’ll be at the grocery store and have an opportunity to help someone struggling with a bag of groceries. Who knows, but the point is you may not see how God can use you, but you must be open and sensitive to the Spirit’s prompting at all times.

1 Timothy 4:12
(12) Let no one despise your youth, but be an example of the believers, in word, in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, in purity.

You guys may be young, but you’re not that young. Some of you will be moving up to Journey next year if you’re still in Awana. I urge you to look for ways to take on new responsibilities and prove yourselves workmen who are not ashamed.

Colossians 3:17
(17) And everything, whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by Him.

Maybe instead of going into Journey you’ll become a leader in training. Perhaps you’ll be in my shoes in a few years, trying to impart some biblical wisdom to the future Trek guys. Believe me, it’s not easy. If you’re like me, you may be a slow learner regarding important life lessons. Use the time you have now while you have relatively fewer responsibilities to study God’s word, encourage one another, be a good witness, honor your parents, and focus on the things that really matter.