the opJOSHist

I don't really have much to say, but I wanted to post a ridiggs twist on a somewhat creative title.
p.s. I would LOVE to see a Coweta Tiger

I'm trying to be an opTIMist these days

I try not to watch the news anymore. Partially because we don't have cable and the rabbit ears wrapped with aluminum foil hardly bring in a clear picture. But also because everything seems to be so depressing....the 17-year old whose car was mutilated after hitting a tree while driving drunk; people shooting cops; politicians who lie and bash one another; the list goes on.

Stuff like this makes me completely not like and not trust our society. But every once in a while a story comes along that gives me hope. It makes me think that there are people out there who truly care. Maybe they're doing it for the PR. Maybe their doing it because they really do care. When the kind actions are done in private, I like to choose the latter. Either way, bringing happiness to someone is rarely a bad thing.

mySelf

It still fascinates me how little at home I am even in my own skin, and wonder how many others feel the same. You know who you are. You know who you are. You know who you are. You know who you are. You know who you are. The quintet of words from stolen art that now hangs in my office eternally resound and reverberate through the corridors of my life. They often don’t serve as a reminder that I know who I am. You think you know who you are, or you wish you knew who you were, or who are you? are better indicators of how found I am.

You know who you are. Who are you?

I am the one lost sheep. I am the silver coin that abandoned the other nine. I am the lost son who followed his ‘heart’ to find his ‘happiness’, only to realize too late that Disney World is a large and loud place, and his father and mother were no longer where he thought them to be—beside him. Was it they that left him? I couldn’t read the guide map. I didn’t know where I was. The 'happiness' waned, soon replaced by fear.

I am surrounded by strange people in a strange place. I know who I am. I am the one with no way home. I am the one who strayed. I am the one who leaves Joy to pursue happiness. I am the one with no hope. I am the lost son, the lost coin, the lost sheep.

I am the sinner who repents to find the host of angels singing and rejoicing that the One with fiery eyes has again risked it all to find the lost sheep, has again turned the house upside down for the sake of the silver coin, has again searched a theme park for a lost little boy and rejoices at the reunion of Father and son. I know who I am. I am the one who has been found, the bastard predestined to be adopted as His son. I am the one with Hope.

With each passing day, the stolen words become less haunting. Perhaps I am becoming more acclimated to the sound of them, perhaps more comfortable with their meaning. The more I discover myself the more I find there is to discover. The more I see how I am to play out my role in this colossal mixture of land and water, the more room I see to grow. In seasons I figure out the meaning of those words in my life, but those seasons pass as quickly as they come.

How is it that identity is so elusive? Who should know me better than…me? Sometimes familiarity breeds contempt. The more comfortable I become with who I am, the more honest I am with my true self, the more I see I am not someone I would even want to hang out with. My insecurities run deep.

"Remember who you are, and whose you are." "You know who you are."

I’m sure the words comfort some. But the questioners? What of them? Introverted or extroverted? Strategic versus Diplomatic? Solving problems with people or with programs? External or internal locus of control? (do i have control of that, and in wondering does that automatically mean I have an external locus of control?) What of me? Who am I? What makes me come alive? What makes you come alive? You know who you are. Or do you? Ever?

As I find myself in the midst of this journey (one I would never have willingly signed on for) of discovery over the past several years, I find this snippet from Keirsey at least thought-provoking, if not fully-resonant. Is a comprehensive understanding of self something attainable, or in attainment is the understanding completely defeated?

[Background for the following quote…David Keirsey, in his book Please Understand Me II, describes four main categories of personalities, determined by temperament, character, and intelligent roles we play in our social context. He begins with the Myers-Briggs letter E/I, N/S, F/T, and J/P and expands from there. One of the four types is the Idealist, or those who are NF’s, so when you see those terms (capitalized) it is a reference to one of his four types, not someone who is an idealist.]

“But even more mystifying is the paradox coiled at the very center of this search, namely, that the search for Self is fundamentally incompatible with the achievement of finding the Self. For many NF’s the search for Self is a quest which becomes very much an end in itself, and which can come to dominate their lives. Thus, the Idealists’ truest Self comes to be the Self in search of itself, or, in other words, their purpose in life becomes to have a purpose in life. But how can one achieve a goal when that goal is to have a goal? Intent on becoming themselves, Idealists can never truly be themselves, since the very act of reaching for the Self immediately puts it out of reach. In their enthusiasm for self-discovery, then Idealists can become trapped in paradox: they are themselves only if they are searching for themselves, and they would cease being themselves if they ever found themselves.

Late in his life Siddhartha tries to explain this contradiction between seeking and finding to his friend Govinda, a Buddhist monk who has spent his life searching for himself. It might be, Siddhartha tells him, that

‘you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.’
‘How is that?’ asked Govinda.
‘When someone is seeking,’ said Siddhartha, ‘it happens quite easily…that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal.’

The seeking impedes the finding; the search for identity is its own obstacle. Some Idealists no doubt reach Siddhartha’s perspective and find their true Self, which means that they finally give up struggling to become some perfected idea of themselves, and simply accept themselves as they are, somewhat short of ideal. But for many NF’s, the search for identity only winds them more deeply in the complexities of inner division and self-contradiction: the more they seek their ideal Self, the more frustrated they are in their search.”

I know I am given to be over-analytical and think too much, but out of curiosity, does this passage resonate with any of you? Do you wrestle with concepts of identity and who you are? Have you ever? Is identity something you find or do you create it for yourself (and in creating it, is it your Self that determines You, making in essence the creation of identity in actuality discovery)? Do you know who you are, or does that phrase have a haunting ring to it? Did any of this make any sense?

the opTIMist

(i didn't want dan to have a monopoly on melancholy, so here's a stream of consciousness poem i wrote a little while back...)

i think
in this moment I choose to be celibate.
no amount of love can heal this pain,
no amount of love can make this ok.
it doesn't matter the giving or receiving end
--or perhaps--the taking or losing...
both tax the very soul--the inmost core.
saline cheeks and quivering lips can only mean
i was wrong.
again.
what little confidence gasped for life--
choked to death in the cold hands of spite
as if it weren't easy enough to be cynical.
and it doesn't take much light to reveal the imperfections in me.
anymore.
i dare not dream tonight and ruin this moment.
for what good is Hope?
She died fifteen minutes ago. or was it days? years?
surely she knows I really did care.
i mean--do--do care.
"i'll see you at the wedding" she said
as if that were good enough. for her.
maybe i am meant to be alone.
surely i am made to be lonely.
i would choose loneliness before hurting you
because the very thing i did to protect you
was the very thing that robbed us both of life.
i didn't mean to.
i just don't know who i am. and no,
that's not good enough for me either.
my eyes have never looked so green (or so red).
so here's my white flag--
i'll try not to be surprised when You hang me with it.

life and death

so thats kinda been a theme in my life the past weekish... on monday night i got in a car accident, it was pretty nuts i was just sitting at an intersection and two cars obliterated each other right there... a minivan flew up in the air landed on its side, rolled over then started sliding and slammed into me, the other car an envoy ended up upside down and backwards... it was one of the most severe accidents ive ever been close to, and although i was fine and everyone else seemed to be fairly ok i recognize that if i was in that intersection i might have died or at least been injured severely.... that really got me thinking about how true it is when the bible talks about our live being a vapor... our lives can be over at any time at all, its crazy to think about...

then this morning i was talking with my friend who is teaching in china and is trying to get me to do the same. i am giving it fairly serious consideration and i was asking him about the ministry of it, like what are you allowed to do, what arent you allowed to do, things like that. so he tells me that you cant talk about jesus, like not at all. so i asked what happens if i do, and basically i would get deported and the person i was talking to goes to prison. the weight of that really hit me; i dont know a lot about chinese prisons, but you know you hear stories, and maybe its not always terrible, but just the fact that there are lives on the line if i share the gospel in china, thats overwhelming. and then i started thinking about it more and lives are always on the line when it comes to the gospel, always. But its more than just lives, its peoples eternity, and yet i handle the gospel flippantly so often. I dont cherish it. I dont think about its power, and even if i talk about it, i dont let it impact my life profoundly...

the gospel is the hope of the world.

why does jesus entrust people like the four of us with the gospel, with His good news... i dont understand that. why does God let me know His truth when He knew before time began how poorly i would handle it. and how i would keep it to myself so often. even though lives are on the line...
the gospel really is the hope of the world, the only hope of the world. and i know that it is, and i want so badly for that to sink in and effect how i live daily. so badly i want that...

dumb

i am dumb.
i have the worst blogger name, no danger or lateness in it. not even cool initials...i almost changed it but i thought it to be rather fitting. also i joked with josh about being the worst writer on the blog cause im not good at english, and then i just read everyone elses little blogs or posts or whatever you want to call them, and i realize that it blows when false humility bites you in the ass...but i guess that stuff happens.
that was my introduction.
so im excited about this blog. i was down in tampa this weekend and i really was excited to get home to write in this. i dont know why i was excited really, i dont feel like i have anything pressing to say, in fact maybe the most pressing this is the lack of pressing things in my life. i dont really know what you guys are gonna say, and i hope that i can add valuable things, but i feel like right now i dont have a ton to add in life. i feel pretty empty. like you know how they say you gotta be filled up to be able to pour into other people...well i feel like i couldnt do that right now. i feel like so confused bc i want so badly to have influence in this world, and im convinced so much that Jesus is the hope of the world, and really the worlds only hope. and i wanna be able to impact this world with that truth, but i feel more impotent to do that then i ever have in my whole life. i know that its really jesus who does that and not me and i know all that good stuff, but i still feel weak and so hopeless.
i did get to talk to a friend this weekend in tampa who is really struggling with lesbianism. it was really cool to get to talk to her about it, and she knows she shouldnt do it, but its just really hard for her. and i just didnt know what to say, and i prayed a lot while i was sitting there with her and asked God for help, but i still just feel like im not sure i did any good. and i had no idea what to say or anything like that. its a really hard issue, i mean what do you do with it when she says that her lesbian friends have been so good to her and loved her and all that, and so many of her "christian" friends have kinda abandoned her. what do i say to that. what do i say considering ive seen her maybe 5 times in the past 2 years. maybe ive prayed for her 5 times since i found out that she was really struggling with this, and thats been about a year, and i never talked to her about it either...what kind of love is that? thats the love of jesus?

im overwhelmed by that situation. im overwhelmed by my life, i am incapable of handling it, im going through my life day by day just winging it. hoping it goes well. hoping things turn out ok. no intentionality, just winging it. and i dont know how to change any of it. and i know that jesus does that, but why isnt it happening if jesus does it.

i could go on like this for a long time, but i think im gonna stop now and spare you all. i have lots of incoherent rambling in my head, and i havent proofread this, but im sure its incredibly disjointed...thats what my mind feels like. it feels disjointed. i really want clarity, i want direction, i want to have something to go for, but i dont have it, or maybe im scared to have it...i dont know.

enough is enough, i love you guys, and i promise my posts wont always be obnoxious and down, i wont always be a debbie downer, but really i do love you all, and thanks for letting me write on this with you. even just babbling just now was good for my heart...much love

airplans

I'm no stranger to being alone, but I feel the loneliest when I travel solo. It’s almost ironic. I see more people in several hours than in a typical week, yet despite the sea of sojourners, I am awkwardly all alone. I desperately desire someone to do life with. Experience is all the sweeter when shared with people you care for. You can think of your own personal examples of the times when life would just not have been the same if you were by yourself. Airplanes and airports only amplify my solitude.

Often it is a romantic attitude. I want to share my journeys, my joys, my jokes—my experiences, my life, my armrest…with that one special girl. I hate when the seat beside me is empty or (God forbid!) someone I don’t know, but today it is especially bad. The boys in their business suits silently scream “I’m important” as they rush to reply before we take flight. The young lad across the aisle is adorable (as most well-behaved children are), filled with the distrait emotions of his happiest holiday and heading home. The couple beside me is exceptionally annoying (but blissfully sweet). She doesn’t have a ring…maybe we should meet, I think to myself. The cool flow of air from the port above tousles my hair, and for a moment I wish it were a soft feminine whisper and not some mechanical process. I long for a hand to hold. I want to wake Her up and tell Her how much I want to jump into the pool of cotton balls just beneath our wings, even if Her quickly closing eyes say She doesn’t care.

I’ve never been quite so disappointed with a safe landing. An hour prior I had convinced myself that a crash landing in the middle of nowhere would have been preferable. I was to be the sole survivor, perhaps sustaining a serious injury in which I would have to self-amputate a foot or begin my journey toward civilization with a broken femur, in proof of my masculinity. For then loneliness would be OK. It was unavoidable—the pilot didn't even survive, nor the ringless girl on my left. Just me and a change of socks and a shattered pelvis on my way back home. Maybe I’d even be noticed at my return, heralded as that guy who did that thing that one time. And maybe, just maybe, the Girl would look at me in the way I want Her to.

By the second leg, thoughts of a crash landing had subsided, along with the lingering longing for love found in a terminal, thanks to a distraction provided by a poorly written but entirely engaging psychology book. As we began our descent the plane creaked and moaned as a ship sinking in a storm. The turbines roared as if the pilot had shifted down four gears too many. We shook violently for what seemed like a thirty-second eternity through what I desperately hoped to be turbulence. Slowly an unrealized fear crept up into my chest and I cursed my earlier thoughts of a crash landing.

In that moment I became grateful. I felt absolutely powerless and out of control, much like I generally do when pursuing a girl. It shook me, and when all my effects had been removed from my pockets, I recognized how fortunate I am. There may be a lot of things that I don’t have that I would like, but I have a greater group of friends than I could have scripted in my wildest story. I have shared with them the life that I do have. I appreciate them for always being there in the good times and the bad. I love how they encourage me to make the most of this one life we have in this turbulent place. I love them. (I love you.)

Introduction

I would like to introduce myself.
My name is danger. I picked that name out myself. It's cuz I'm so dangerous. But fo reel. I thought if I used this name I could get away with more crazy stuff. After all- my name IS danger!
On Saturday last I spent a considerable amount of time at Santana Row outside of San Francisco (p.s. that is not an interesting link- just a link to a mall. Boooooooring ). I spent over 4 hours in three stores! Maybe I was a little bored. Wandering around Anthropologie, I found a book on the ISMS of art. It was a pretty lame read until I got to Post-modernISM. I've never quite thought of myself as post-modernistic, but I essentially was reading the inside of my soul while reading that chapter (over exaggeration). Really it was the chapter on ConceptualISM and Post-concenptualISM that served me my reality. From what I gathered about Post-conceptualISM is the idea that the concept is more important than the actual outcome. They say that, in theory, that if you were to explain a Post-conceptual piece of work to someone, they wouldn't even have to see the physical art in order to fully appreciate it.
I'm all about this "it's the thought that counts" type of art. I think it is a great excuse for sub par craftsmanship, and really brings us back to the power of our minds. But seriously, I have always thought it was near impossible to fully convey an idea through a work of art. This movement realizes that and embraces the fact that no matter what you do, people will read it differently.
Yesterday, my wife and I decided to move to Salt Lake City. I wonder what people will say about that decision. I hope they will want to visit, but who knows what they may be thinking. The great part is that I never know what I'm even thinking about it. I tend to hype things up in my mind. My mind tells me how great it will be, and how life couldn't be better. Maybe it could be though. Maybe I'll get there and my life won't be in a paradigm shift. Maybe the physical reality will not be as devastatingly impactfull as the dream of the same reality- but it's not so much about what comes of the dream, as much as the ream itself, right? See, VERY Post-conceptualistic of me.
Even in writing this blog, I realize that these thoughts sounded much better in my head. When written out, they are actually quite mundane. But then, maybe you got some great life realization from it. Maybe you did, maybe you didn't. Different people, different things. You know how it goes.

Newness

Starting something new always makes me a little nervous. You gotta start with an idea, and then somehow squeeze enough creativity out to bring it to fruition. But not only bring it, but also sustain it.

Writing always makes me anxious. There's always a starting point. But where is that starting point? It first starts with a letter, then a word, then a sentence. And before you know it you have a whole paragraph. You get the picture. But that starting point is sometimes very elusive. And seeking it out makes me anxious.

The idea of starting a new blog totally freaks me out. With the millions of ideas floating around the internet, what makes anything I have to say so unique? Especially since a blog involves words. And we know how words and laying them out makes me feel. But maybe I do have something to offer. Probably not something that will be world changing--maybe not even life changing. But my Creator created words. And he created me to use those words. So I'm going to offer up those words he's given me. They might make me a little nervous as I try to write them out, but hopefully they'll make you laugh (with me or for me, it doesn't really matter) or maybe make you think.

Oh, while on the subject of starting new things, I have just recently become the number two man for the middle school ministry at my church. Basically, I'm the youth pastor when he's not there. I'm in charge of organizing and managing Wednesday night youth group and Sunday School. Middle schoolers are a breed unlike any other. They think, talk, and smell different than any other people group in the world. Nervous? Yes. Excited? Yes. Bring it and sustain it? We'll see.