the world is bright and beautiful

Having full realization that my posting of late has been somewhat long-winded, here is a list.

• “Trying to find the ground beneath your feet.” Pastor Sarah’s description of my life right now.
• Jesus is the ground beneath my feet.
• Wow. Wednesday nights at ORCC are alive. Young, old, single, married, happy, sad, dopey…all of us converging with each other to converge with God.
• Time in the presence of God? Transformational.
• Reuben at CB and Pott’s? Not so good. Glad Dustin enjoyed it.
• 2 more days? Tough. Here comes the weekend.
• The future? Getting brighter.
• The past? Gone, and good riddance to much of it.
• The present? Where I’m called to. Where I belong. The people I love. The best friends, the biggest smiles.
• I like being 21. I feel grown up. I feel young. It’s perfect.
• Lost. Addicted. As in the TV show. As in bad.
• Goodnight.

So, from my perspective this hasn’t been the “greatest” week. Even with $2 Rock Stars (which I suspect may be slowly sterilizing me.) Have you ever experienced God telling you not to do something you really, really want to? And I’m not talking “don’t look at that website,” or “don’t steal that purse,” or “don’t eat that cookie.”

I’m talking “Don’t go to El Salvador.”

Pardon? Excuse me? Perdonarme?

It’s a missions trip! Surely you must want me to go on this trip, right?

Nope. Sorry kiddo. I need you to sit this one out.

Well, frick. That kind of…sucks. Stinks. Sticks in my craw.

You see, I’ve been wanting to go back to El Salvador ever since my first missions trip there in 2005. To see the people, breathe the air, taste the Papoosas and native hot sauce, get the diarrhea and sweat like you wouldn’t even believe. But it’s not going to happen.

Now, I admit that for a while now I’ve felt like my body and mind were going to El Salvador, but my heart wasn’t. I’ve been praying. And fasting. And listening. And working on going to El Salvador. And then God spoke.

And He said “No.”

Now, a year ago, yours truly would’ve gone anyways. I would’ve broken it down to symantics and said something to the effect of “well, unless God is two-faced, He must still want me to go here and I’ve just got ‘jitters.’”

But God isn’t two-faced. Nor jittery. He’s really, really smart.

See, in a lot of ways I was going to El Salvador for me. Not for God. Not for the Salvadorians. I could tell you stories about that place that would make you tear up in seconds. Heck, I can make myself cry just thinking about it.

But here I am. Not going.

You see, at times like these, I’m sure we’ve all had a serious “What the crap?” moment with God. When my will becomes juxtaposed to His will, things get unpleasant.

Especially because He always wins.

But by now you may be thinking that I’m pretty mad at God, or that I see God in a negative light, the figurative string-puller, the anthill-stomper, the plan-ruiner. But He is not these things.

The fact is, He’s got way too much for me to do here. There’s church to be lead. There’s songs to be written. Tonight is Wednesday night. My gig.

So where goes my heart?

This may shock you, but as a Worship leader, I’m a big fan of the Psalmist. Did you know that a lot of the Psalms were written by King David before He was king? He wrote them in caves, where his best friend’s dad was searching high and low for to spear him. David’s life sucked at this point.

Now comes my favorite part.

When you read through the Psalms, there are countless instances when David speaks to his soul. He says things like, “Why are you downcast, oh my soul?” Now, we tend to think he’s just being poetic here. Or old-school emo. But look at all the times he says this: “Praise the Lord, oh my soul.”

Do you think David wanted to be in a cave? No. He wanted to be a king! But God had him sit for a while. In a cave. Hiding for his life. And what does David do?

He stares his soul in the face. I imagine at this point it was fairly bruised, broken, sad, downtrodden, angry, tormented, confused and lonely.

He stares his soul in the face and says “Praise the Lord, oh my [bruised, broken, sad, downtrodden, angry, tormented, confused and lonely] soul. Praise the Lord.”

Folks, tonight is Wednesday night. Now, I’m bummed about El Salvador. I’m upset that my job ends on Friday and I don’t have another one lined up. Yet.

But I’m going to stare my soul in the face. And I’m gonna tell it to praise the Lord.

And I’m gonna do it like it’s never been done.

Because God will be there in all His glory. And I intend to meet Him there.

See you tonight, soul.

God has really changed my perspective on ministry this year. I realized that it is very easy to fall into a “career” mindset of ministry. We as Christians like to rail against the corporate ladder mindset, but I think we fall deep into it ourselves quite often. You go to school or ministry training somewhere, and you start climbing. Children’s Pastor, Youth Pastor, then Worship and one day Senior Pastor: big leagues. VP. CEO, CFO. Not that changing your role in ministry is somehow bad, that is far from my point. My point is this: I was living outside of my calling because I was waiting for ministry to “start;” of course, I thought that “real” ministry started when you were being paid by a church to do it.

But if that’s the case, then wouldn’t my “ministry” be a perpetual stepping stone to somewhere else? I mean, if I’m only ministering so I can score a job, then who am I really serving? If that’s my focus, then the people around me are just means to an end, a flesh-and-blood staircase leading to my empire.

And then came a Wednesday night church service at ORCC.

I did not want to be there. I wanted to be playing lead guitar in Catalyst. Guitar solos were my calling. And one day I’d finally play the perfect one and land myself a cushy church job. Instead, I lead worship for a hundred or so people. And I fell in love with them. Crossed arms raised. Locked jaws opened. Dormant voices sang. Loud. And I felt happier, more complete than I ever had. I was everything I’d ever wanted to be when I grew up.

I was a worship leader. I was ministering.

But no one was paying me. No one called me “P-Barge.” So “real” ministry must still be around the corner, right?

Silly rabbit.

I work a steady[ish] 8-5 job. Some nights I leave it to work 6-10 at another. But I have a secret life. A life where I talk to Jesus. Where I meditate on the words of God. Where I write songs for my church to worship through. And on wednesday nights, the band gathers up and we do what we do: lead the people of God into His presence to be transformed.

Healed.

Made whole. Made new.

Made right.

I’m a worship leader. I’m in the worship ministry.

That’s what I “do.” Frankly, I don’t care if I ever draw a steady paycheck from it. I’m living in my calling. I’m doing what God put me here on earth to do. To quote one of my besties, I’m “doing something that has eternal value.”

I am doing “real” ministry. Now, I do believe that I will one day be on staff somewhere, leading worship and a worship ministry full-time. But just the same, I can live my alter-ego life. Because having a steady job, providing, raising kids, being a good husband or father or brother or cousin or nephew or whatever you are? That’s ministry. That’s showing Jesus to people. That’s leading people down to the river.

Be content where you are, doing what you do. Because that’s ministry.

God, my life is sweet.

TodayI have a severe case of the monday morning droopies. (MMD) My body is letting me know how much it would rather be asleep than at work right now. But you know what? I’m going to drink some [awful] coffee, throw on my iPod and rock out until I’m awake. You know why? Because God gave this job to me, He’s given me tons and tons of favor here, at my other job, at church, and in my relationships as of late. He’s given me a ton to take care of. So I’m going to take names today and knock this out of the park. I will literally be swinging a baseball bat at my coworkers and hitting them over fences. Figuratively. Enjoy.

I feel I should say a few words about yesterday. The first ones that come to mind are “PWN,” “awesome,” and “scrumtralescent.” <BTW, spellcheck totally allowed the word “scrumtralescent.” Worship was incredible at last night’s service. It feels as though out of nowhere, Wednesday night’s at ORCC mean something new, are about something new. We have a vibe, a flavor, a culture developing. About this all, I am inexpressably excited. To further express this, I feel that a list is in order:

• Creating mix tapes = wonderful goodness.
• Phone time? Party time.
• If this post by my beloved JD doesn’t give you a bad case of the warm fuzzies, you are a cold dead robot. Maybe you don’t have enough RAM for this, but there is a little thing called “brotherly love.”
• Playing frisbee and practicing Kung-Fu. My true passions in life.
• Barefoot soccer. My feet hurt.
• Seriously. Pipe time. You want it so bad.

Enjoy.

• I am so, so sorry for the recent lack of posts. I am adjusting to my new 8 - 5 life. I will get better.
• Midnight Society re-tooled and blogrolled. You’re probably not invited. I’m sorry.
• Date tomorrow night. No, you did not misread.
• First paycheck from 2 jobs tomorrow. Hello new socks.
• Who else wants to give me money for El Salvador?
• Who else loves finishing practice at 7?
• Who wants to play my guitar?
• Hulk? Kung-Fu Panda? Prince Caspian again? How do I decide? When do I find the time?
• But seriously, can we slow-dance in my living room?
• My old band was awesome. I mean, just listen.
• Sean + Mama T. + “Everlasting God” = holy crap, Holy Spirit.
• Sorry Mama, I’ve linked you enough lately.

It is blazing hot in the room at the moment, but my goodness what a nice night. Tonight I took a bike ride up to the local Starbucks and it was absolutely glorious. I defy you to take a fixed-gear bike out at 8:45pm when the air is 75 degrees and not have the time of your life. Oh, wait. It can’t be done. I’m getting incredibly excited to lead worship tomorrow night, I still feel this stirring in my guts like God is getting ready to tear the roof off of ORCC Wednesday Nights. Not that it hasn’t been amazing before; it is just going somewhere feisty. Oh, and my roommate is totally listening to Alan Jackson in the shower. Drink it in.

This has been a pretty wonderful week (barring a few exceptions,) but I am very ready for the weekend. This will be my first saturday sleeping in since probably January, and I look forward to it with great pleasure. I must say that weekends are much more satisfying when you’ve actually worked 40 hours in the preceding week. Feeling like you haven’t worked for your rest takes the fun out of it. I hope to get in some good blog time to catch up from the lack of computer, re-work a new manifesto for the midnight society (lack of link is intentional,) and generally laze about a recuperate from a long few days. I wish I had more fun in store with this post, but sometimes you’ve just gotta sit back and type out your real life.

What you see below is what happens when I let my mind out for a spell. This generally involves blank paper and a perfect pen. Bic makes a set of gel pens that are absolutely marvelous. As you can see, my mind can wander pretty far pretty quick, and I always have a good time seeing what happens out there beyond the buoys. I hope to one day harness this into something productive like a book or an album or a nice set of leaflets about artificial sweeteners or something like that. But for now I will grace you all with the drivel of my imagination.

It may make me a bad person, but this is the way my mind functions on a bacon cheeseburger grilled to perfection and a large Cherry Coke. Across the rapidly-emptying cafeteria, there is a frizzy-haired woman seated at a table of four. Beside her is a very large man with a ponytail who clearly collects Silver Surfer comics, watches those wierd and unbearably sexual japanese cartoons, and maintains his stance that the new version of Battlestar Galactica is for posers; he is old-school or no school. Across from the woman sits a man of despairingly little consequence; in truth he is merely obscured from my vision by the man to his left, but my version of his situation is infinitely more eloquent, and will therefore remain herein. It is on said obstruction, a man in burgundy, that I am fixated. He and the man with Seven-of-Nine pinned to his cieling are engaged in lively conversation, which I of course cannot hear and am now inventing. In my strange world, human interaction is far more entertaining. The starfleet commander uses his massive and intimidating hands to an alarming degree; my best guess is that he’s either describing his revisions to the Flux Capacitor or explaining the paradox of flying through a wormhole to play your 15-years-younger self in a game of Stratagem. But still to the man in burgundy am I continually drawn. He is going monk-bald, and posesses those wild orangutan arms that certain old men grow. It is these arms that he waves about constantly while speaking, as though preparing to engage the unseen alpha male in a fight for dominance. While he speaks, the woman keeps her mouth covered, making it impossible to discern if she’s enraptured or repulsed by his choices of topic. Gauging her wandering eyes, he could be telling wholesome knock-knock jokes, or just as easily be spewing forth the most vile remarks of racism and misogynistic euphamisms the world has ever seen. This is all skepticism, of course, and the lack of whiskey bottles and tire irons being hurled his direction force me to draw the conclusion of wholesome knock-knock jokes; still, it has made for a wonderful lunch.