a worship leader’s prayer

As I regularly converse with God and myself, I often jot down my thoughts and prayers on paper. Writing seems to help me better understand and internalize the Spirit’s whisperings. This morning the only “unusual” aspect of my devotional time was that I was preparing to lead worship at Hillcrest, which I am scheduled to do this coming Sunday. Again, I began to write out whatever words came to mind. The result was a prayer, titled ”A Worship Leader’s Prayer”, which I have copied below.

The prayer includes intercession for the worship leader, the team, the congregation, and the entire praise offering. If you’ve ever served as a worship leader, been part of a praise team, or sung in church this prayer could probably apply to you. I hope it’s a blessing.

Father, have mercy on me, Your servant. Grant me both strength to take on the task that You have set before me and courage to do so boldly. Overcome my weaknesses with Your perfections. Freely draw from the spring of my talents, which You have graciously filled, using my abilities for the gain of Your Church and the glory of Your Son. Keep the spirits of pride and impatience far from me. Give me discernment and eyes that see as You do.

Lord, unite this team under the banner of Your goodness. Continually remind us of Your greatness and our smallness. Let this band be marked by a perpetual desire to use our skills to point to You. Yes, make our voices sweet and our fingers swift, but curse us if we lust for even an ounce glory for ourselves. Help Your servants to lead Your people with humility and integrity.

God, prepare Your Church for the fellowship and praise for which it has gathered this morning. Use Your Spirit to prompt Your people into genuine responses of worship. Convict where sin has taken root. Restore where brothers harbor bitterness. Open the eyes of Your gathered Church to see You at work in our midst. Grant us all an understanding of the words we sing and the teaching we absorb.

Most High, may our praise be to You a fragrant offering, the aroma of Christ emanating from His saints. Accept what we humbly present and show us Your favor.

“Amen! Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be
to our God for ever and ever. Amen!” (Revelation 7:12)

Y’all have a merry Christmas. (:

welcome to chokyotopia / how i lost my ethnic identity

I sometimes forget that right outside of the Biola bubble sprawls one of the country’s most diverse cities. At first glance, LA doesn’t appear to be much more than a carelessly-crafted collage of beaches, freeways, and strip malls, but it’s actually pretty fascinating. And whoever pasted it all together had quite the sense of humor. Here, Little Tokyo neighbors Chinatown and pho houses set up shop next to BBQ joints (of course, they’re both owned by Koreans). Long Beach and Compton are worlds apart, yet separated by only 20 minutes on I-710. LA may be a little rough around the edges – okay, really rough – but if you rub off some of the dust there’s one gem of a city underneath.

What a cool opportunity, to spend time in an area like this. I mean, how often does a guy from Bellingham look around and realize he’s the only whitey in the room? Many Biolans will admit that our peers sometimes look like an army of clones marching around to the same cadence. (Wait a minute, is that another four-on-the-floor beat coming from the chapel band?) Don’t get me wrong, I don’t see any shame in Biolans being as similar as they are. But to leave campus for a few hours and enter some different surroundings is like… a breath of fresh air. *Cough*
Oh right, I’m still in LA.

A dose of diversity does some good for the writing too, I think. Seriously, it’s been a while since I’ve sat down to blog. Right now I’m sitting in Boba Loca in Buena Park. I already finished my first tapioca milk tea, but the heat (79º today) is leaving me thirsty for another…
Okay, I caved. Mmm.

In other news, this semester has been a bit on the crazy side. I suppose that’s to be expected at this point in my Biola career, and I am getting the hang of it so it’s slightly easier and more manageable. In the midst of all these demands (16 units, 13 classes, one girlfriend.. heh), I’ve been working on a list of goals that I’d really like commit to more than I currently do. These things are all completely extracurricular but I still consider each of them pretty important. Take a look:

Write
Running the Songwriter’s Guild at school has been a blast so far, and I’ve even managed to squeeze in more writing time – two songs this semester! I want to keep this up but step it up. A buddy of mine, Wes, says that he tries to write something EVERY DAY. Even if he doesn’t pump out seven complete songs a week it’s still a great habit! Oh, and writing more includes blogging more.

Read
I read quite a bit for class, study my bible almost every day, and have even found time to slowly work through another book (just for fun.. crazy, right?), but I want to take this to next level. I recently came up with a reading list for next year and my goal is to get through the entire list by the end of next year – that is, before January 1, 2012. It includes ”Worship Matters” by Bob Kauflin, ”Hipster Christianity” by Brett McCracken, ”Let the Nations Be Glad!” by John Piper, ”Knowledge of the Holy” by A.W. Tozer, ”Institutes” by John Calvin, ”The Imitation of Christ” by Thomas à Kempis, ”Desiring God” by John Piper, ”Orthodoxy” by G.K. Chesterton, and Joanne Jung’s book on grace, coming out early in 2011.

Invest
There are some pretty awesome people at school who I never spend any time with, including most of the guys on my floor. It’s hard for me to put my studies on the back burner and choose to hang out with people instead but sometimes it needs to be done. I know that I’ll feel like a fool if I graduate with straight As and no friends. (Parents, you probably flinched upon reading this but, come on guys, it’s true!)

Get connected
Another cool thing about LA: great churches. Seriously, I could visit one or two every weekend and find at least one thing that I love every single time. I’ve played guitar at a church a few times this semester, but I’m still hopping around. It’s about time I just settle down somewhere. I’ll be checking out Sovereign Grace Church in Irvine next week. (Which reminds me, Hillcresters, I’ll be leading worship on Sunday December 26th and I’m crazy excited!)

That’s about all I’m working on for now. I’ve already gotten to work on these a little bit this semester, and it’s really making for a great time at school. Busy, yes. Stressful, yes. But God is teaching me to slow down, rest, and prioritize what He wants me to prioritize. And His priorities are always surprising, aren’t they? What a cool thing to learn to align my will with His; apparently things just work out better when you follow the plan of the Creator and Sustainer of the universe. Go figure.

Alright, I’m out of here. I hope to be back soon. Until then, y’all hang in there. Remember this: Hebrews 6:19 says that our hope in Jesus is “an anchor for the soul, firm and secure”, wedged deep in God’s love. The waves are big and mean, never ceasing in their attempts to capsize my little dinghy of a life. The ocean spray soaks the deck, the wind rips away at the sail, and the current tries to nudge me off-course, but I’m not in any trouble with an anchor like this. Amen?
Amen.

“i said boom-chicka-boom!”

It’s been six days, five counties, and 260 miles since I last visited this page to share “the facts” with you. I’m sitting, shirtless, at a campground in Osburn, Idaho, a town of about 2,000 citizens and 2,000,000 flies. It’s just after 4:00 in the afternoon and it’s still a roasting 90 degrees outside. The air is thick and hot, but a light breeze makes lounging in the grass bearable. Let’s be honest, though – days like these are more than bearable.

I spent most of last week (Monday through Friday) with my family at the Fulton’s cabin in Winthrop, Washington. The four of us passed the time playing Bananagrams (Scrabble minus the drudgery and crude point system plus speed and independence), exploring the town, cooking, eating, swimming, and losing at basketball – to Tim, of course. Staying at the “cabin” is far from roughin’ it, really; it’s closer to a vacation home than anything. The windy gravel road, remote location, and lack of both cell service and internet make for a more rustic feel, but it’s really nothing to complain about.

After pampering ourselves at the Fulton’s for a few days we settled down in a more primitive setting: Heyburn State Park, near Plummer, Idaho. The campground (Idaho’s largest and oldest) is set on a lake-verging-on-marsh and is watched over by hundreds of Ponderosa Pine trees. Beautiful.

On our second day at Heyburn (Saturday) we got a late start on a lengthy bike ride. Around 11:00 we set off on the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes – a 70-mile stretch of railroad track converted into a paved bike trail. We rode 42 miles our first (and last day), planning to finish the trail on our remaining days in the area, but the Idaho sun made sure every mile was passed miserably. Foolishly, we refused to put on sunscreen in the 90-degree weather and, boy, are we paying for it now. My thighs are spotted with large, pink rashes and the skin on my back is tight and warm. Trying to get to sleep last night was quite impossible.

Just before bed, however, we enjoyed one of the quirks of vacationing in such… interesting… areas. Heyburn hosted a family-friendly talent show late on Saturday night and Tim and I decided to participate. Most of the contestants were nerve-wrecked seven-year olds who had worked up the courage to tell a familiar joke or squeak their way through an original song. A pair of siblings even attempted a repeat-after-me song, which was entertaining to say the least. The last act seemed a little out of place: two tall, teenage boys lumbered up to the stage to play an instrumental piece with a Celtic groove, one on guitar, the other on a drum practice pad. Oh yeah, that was Tim and me. What the heck – it was a good time.

Today, totally cooked and drained, we’ve spent the entire afternoon lying in the shade, reading and eating. Mom is at the camp stove now preparing pasta as I eat an appetizer of chips and homemade salsa and blog my life away. Tomorrow we may work up the energy to get back on the bikes. On Tuesday we’ll drive to our last campground at Lake Pend Oreille (still in Idaho), where we’ll hang out until we drive home on Wednesday or Thursday.

Mmm, summer has been good to me. I think I’m excited for school to start though… yeah, I am. I’m not ready to go back yet, but almost. There’s certainly a lot to look forward to. For now, I’m just looking forward to one thing: 80-degree weather. Please?

Tim beating himself at Chinese checkers

Wakey wakey…

Timmy on the mini motorcycle

Me on the mini motorcycle

Mother on the mini motorcycle

Father on the mini motorcycle

The cabin from afar

Winthrop town hall

Ice cream in Harrison, Idaho

Patterson Lake… freezing

Brekky

Safety first!

View from the bridge near Heyburn

Müssen in the marshen!

Tim, relaxing at our site in Osburn

“glory, glory what a helluva way to die…” – BTW, day 3

Any Band of Brothers enthusiast should immediately recognize these words as lyrics chanted by the soldiers as they marched from town to town, facing the uncertainty of life and the likelihood of death. Mother, Timmy, and I crooned these same lines as we continued the climb up to Washington Pass yesterday morning. Perhaps like many of the young American soldiers in Europe, we had no idea what we had gotten ourselves into.

We were on the road by 10:00 (just a little behind schedule) and within the first mile an unnerving realization had set in: this was going to be one LONG day. Our first stop was at a viewpoint above Diablo Lake. Riding along the shores of this beautiful mountain lake reminded me why I love cycling – when traveling so slowly, you gain an entirely new perspective on your surroundings. Instead of just racing by the lake, catching a glimpse of it here and there, we enjoyed the subtleties of its beauty as we traced the water’s edge for an hour or so.

By noon our stops became more frequent. The sun was high in the sky, the temperature rose to over 80 degrees, and our water supply was dwindling at a discomforting rate. Still, we continued the climb.

In case there’s any confusion about what I mean by “climb”, allow me to explain. When taking the 20 up to Washington Pass, it is a very steady ascent. We enjoyed two to three brief downhill stretches but, besides those, we were climbing, climbing, climbing for over 30 miles.

By 2:30 our water and food supplies were completely exhausted and we began to stop every twenty minutes or so to rest. Eventually we stopped at a trailhead to beg hikers for a bottle of water. In case I haven’t adequately explained the misery of yesterday, let me tell you: it sucked.

At 4:00 we spotted father coming down the hill towards us. (He had parked the car in Mazama and was riding up from the other side of the pass.) Thankfully, he had thought ahead and brought water and food. We stuffed ourselves with energy bars and began the last, and steepest, part of the climb up to the summit.

Finally, around 4:30, Tim and I spotted a green glimmer of hope. A tall sign sprouted out of the gravelly shoulder: “Washington Pass elevation 5477”, it read. Praise the Lord.

We waited about 15 minutes for mom and dad to catch up and then began the leg of the trip that I had been waiting for: the descent. Eighteen miles of glorious coasting – no breaks, no peddling, just flying. Top speed: 41 miles per hour. Beautiful.

By the time we coasted into Mazama, we were all at a loss for words. The only words that came to mind were “no more”. No more cycling. No more unbearable butt-soreness. No more burning quads and no more cramping calves.

I’ve embarked on a number of challenging adventures in the last few years – the Seattle to Portland Ride (just over 200 miles) and a backpacking trip through Yosemite, to name a couple – but nothing, nothing, compares to cycling 50 miles through a mountain pass.

Hi, my name is Chris and I just climbed a mountain.

Now, we’re at the cabin in Winthrop (thanks Fultons!) doing absolutely nothing. There’s no cell service, no internet, and no television here, so my time will be filled with wonderful things like reading, blogging (into Word documents…), playing board games, eating, and resting.

We’re here until Friday and then we’re off to adventure in Idaho. Maybe by then I’ll actually be excited to get on the bike again. Until then I refuse to even look at it. ;)

Diablo Lake

Climbing, climbing, climbing…

Father to the rescue

The summit

Tim, done

Chris, done

Free toes!

The Xterra, loaded and ready to go

entering maggot country – BTW, day 2

Have you ever eaten one of Pillsbury’s toaster strudels? Talk about a breakfast pastry that is absolutely unparalleled in tastiness. Forget Eggos. Forget croissants, French toast or even pancakes. Who the heck is Mrs. Buttersworth anyway? The toaster strudel is where it’s AT. (Forgive the improper grammar – I’m just trying to make a point.) Underneath countless layers of flaky dough runs a river of steaming hot, fruity sauce that tantalizes even the toughest of taste buds. As if that weren’t enough, each pastry is paired with a packet of creamy frosting. Mmm. Is your mouth watering too?

There is one problem with this picture and it has plagued me for years. Contrary to popular belief, the Doughboy is not a cute, ticklish, little pet. He is a greedy glutton! Yes, he did bless my adolescence with delicious pastries but he has always kept most of the frosting to himself. The packets that I previously described are indeed delectable but they are downright infinitesimal. I’ve squeezed many a packet dry in my day and they are always empty before there is anywhere close to a sufficient amount of frosting decorating the strudel. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, all you want. Where’s the frosting? With the Doughboy.

Today I felt like a packet of Pillsbury frosting in the hands of an eager (and disappointed) 10-year old. We began the climb up to Washington Pass this morning and it took everything we had to make it those 27 miles. We pushed ourselves hard, even at a slow pace, until we finally reached our site, Colonial Creek Campground, late this afternoon. The Pass is another 32 miles up Highway 20 and I’m not too optimistic about tomorrow. Oh we’ll make it, I’m fairly certain of that. My concern is simply this: how long will it take?

Today’s ride took us around four hours with a serious disadvantage: the heat. Foolishly, we didn’t leave until almost 11:00 this morning, so we rode under full sun all four hours. The plan for tomorrow is this:

- Out of the tent by 7:00
- Digesting a cereal breakfast as we get ready for the day at 7:30
- Packing at 8:00
- Riding off no later than 9:00

If we stay on schedule we’ll finish the climb just as the sun is getting hot. After reaching the top (altitude around 5,400 feet, I believe) we’ll begin the descent – my favorite part. Thirty-plus miles of downhill, allllllll the way into Winthrop. I can hardly wait.

Well, besides cycling, what else are we up to…
The camping scene is pretty nice. It’s fun to share the tent, cook and eat all of our meals together, play card games, and so on. We really don’t get to do much of these things at home. Even during the summer we’re all keeping busy. It’s cool (though it can be a bummer) to have a lot of things stripped away when coming out into the middle of nowhere. We don’t have cell service, internet, power, or showers at this campsite. But I’m not complaining.

Earlier today my dad and I were watching an Osprey dive into the water, hunting for fish. It was a pretty awesome sight, really. God has made some incredible things and I love getting to explore them.

That reminds me. I’m hoping to bring a tent and some other camping gear back to school this fall. Who wants to go?

Well, my brain and the rest of my body are totally dead. It’s only just after 7:00 PM on Sunday, but I’m thinking it’s time to head into the tent, start some Uno, and eat more cookies from TJ’s. I’ll do my best to keep the blogging up while I’m away.

Oh, fun fact: this part of Washington is in the Apple Maggot Quarantine Zone. Who knew? :P

Flat Amy and I

Motherrr

A few miles before Diablo

Our humble campsite at Colonial Creek

Colonial Creek

Playing on the dock

Ziploc omelets for breakfast

Mmm

on the road – BTW, day 1

Car back!
On your six.
Slowing…

Ah, the cries of the common cyclist. Phrases such as these were constantly being shouted back and forth over the course of our five-hour, 56-mile ride today. (If you’re starting to do the math in your head, don’t say it. I know 11 miles per hour seems like a pathetic average, but a lot of the ride was uphill. Come on, we’re working our way into mountain passes here.) Timmy, mother, and I left our driveway on our bikes just after 10:00 this morning and began winding our way down back county roads, through forests, over rivers, and into the foothills of the Cascades. What a day.

About 25 miles into the ride we made our first stop in Lyman, Washington. We took advantage of 50% of the town’s amenities: a grocery store and coffee stand. (We left the gas station and grease-pit restaurant – the only other establishments in Lyman – for less sophisticated patrons.) My iced mocha was far below average, but jumpstarted my body for the second half of the ride.

Besides a few bathroom breaks, our only other stop before our destination was in Concrete, where we visited the town’s Saturday market. It was quaint and adorable. Hosted by the Concrete Senior Center, the market was mostly populated by elderly vendors selling handmade goods or the meager harvests from their home gardens. They were all very sweet, curious, and even funny. (When asking an old man if he made the honey at the booth nearest him, he grumbled, “Nah, my bees do.”)

One character in particular stood out to me, for she seemed a little out of place. A young girl played the violin with an open case in front of her. After tossing her a modest tip, I started a brief conversation with her. As it happens, she’ll be entering as a freshman at a school about an hour outside of LA. Stranger yet, one of her close friends is starting his first year at Biola this fall. For such a huge world, it sure is small.

Eventually, we continued on our way. But, wait – no Elliott adventure is complete without at least one minor complication! About two miles outside of our campground, my mom signaled to Tim and I; she was waving at us and yelling, “Flat! Flat!”

The four of us have been riding seriously for just under four years now and never ­– not once – have we gotten a flat tire. Now, in the middle of nowhere and without dad to help us out, was obviously the best time for our first flat. Dad is playing sag wagon this week. His job: beat us to our destination and set up camp before we arrive. Today, however, dad did not beat us. He had left a little late and was about 60 miles away when my mother’s frantic arms beckoned us to her aid.

No problem though – I had taken a bike maintenance class at REI… about two years ago. Ugh. Fortunately, only a few weeks ago my mom and I stopped to help a commuting cyclist who was stuck without a patch kit. I took the opportunity to closely watch him work on his bike. And it all came back to me as I worked on mom’s tire. Ten minutes later we rode away on six full tubes.

Finally, the campground. We rode into Wilderness RV Park (the other places were full…) tired, hot, and hungry. It was about an hour later when dad pulled in with all of our gear and we began to set up camp. After unloading the car, we pitched the tent and I started dinner. On tonight’s menu: smoky-braised sausages and maple-marinated beans. Um, we had hot dogs and a can of beans… seasoned with shrapnel. We forgot a can opener so dad had to butcher the can with my knife. No worries – the coughing isn’t too bad.

Now, I’m lying in our new tent (it’s huge!) blogging into a Word document. I thought about waiting until I actually had an internet connection to write, but I might as well get it out while it’s fresh.

Three signs that all is right and good in the world:
- I just lost three games of Uno to my dad. (He wins everything.)
- The bucket of cookies – Trader Joe’s mini chocolate chip – is already two-thirds of the way gone. (Or is it one-third full?)
- My legs are sore in that good, relaxed, I-just-finished-a-killer-workout kind of way.

Tomorrow: begin the ascent up to the pass. Lots of climbing. We can do it. I know we can. No problem. (We can do it… right?)

Slowing…
Oh, I mean… goodnight. (:

Tim enjoying a blended mocha in Lyman

ME and my iced mocha

Welcome to Concrete

Flat, OWNED

Ghetto campground

Mom and dad after the looong first day

Brotherrrrrs

seeing in sepia

An aura of beige hangs around me. The cream-colored couches and cushions coalesce into the off-white walls of my living room. Yellowish candles sag, melted, in front of me, their hue echoing that of the shell collections to my left and right. The rug beneath my feet is patterned with flowers the shade of sand. Even my guitar and Bible appear fleshy in this light.

After a day as crazy as this, it’s nice to sit and just.. look. I drove several hundred miles today, navigated unfamiliar roads, ate new foods, and waded through a sizable crowd of Asians (my mom and I had lunch at Uwajimaya Asian specialty superstore), so you could say that I have a lot to report. But sometimes I see more value – and perhaps a greater challenge – in crafting a tale out of the simplest of scenes. Can we dwell on that idea for a moment?

Let’s say you’re reading someone’s story. (Well, if you’re going to take everything so literally, yes, I suppose you already are, but pretend it’s not mine.) Some writers will always opt to tell you nothing more than the big picture: “Today I went on a run, tended the radishes – they’re coming in quite nicely – and finally shipped that DVD collection to my Amazon customer. It was a splendid Thursday. All is well.” Okay, okay, we’re happy for you and your vegetables.. but this story is lacking substance. On the other hand, some will occasionally sink into a single setting and take you in deep. You, the reader, are no longer just objectively hearing about the reported events but you are transported into the very moment the spade cuts into the soil and reveals a red jewel in the earth – ah, the first radish of the season. I don’t know about you, but I can already taste a crisp salad.

And THAT, dear reader, is why I write about my living room.

In other news, this has been a pretty exciting week! On Sunday morning my mother and I headed south to drop Tim off at basketball camp in Auburn. We took advantage of the opportunity to do two things we had been waiting to do together. First, we enjoyed some great coffee at Roy Street on Capital Hill: iced double tall mocha for Chris, iced grande soy caramel macchiato for mother. It was a hot day. Then we made our way towards the north end of Lake Washington for a bike ride along the Burke-Gilman trail. Though the pavement was a little bumpy (okay, really bumpy), it was an awesome ride. Perfect weather, beautiful scenery, and, of course, good company.

Monday was far from eventful, but Tuesday was something else. My morning started around 8:00 with an early appointment at Avellino. From there mother and I went to Boxx’s and bought a plentitude of strawberries and raspberries. Our grocery shopping continued at Fred Meyer, preparing us for a day of.. canning! I spent the larger part of the day learning how to make jam and salsa. Everything was deeeelicious. Come to think of it, I’ve totally spoiled my taste-buds this week. That brings us to Wednesday.

What a remarkable day. Ryan and I spent a solid four hours experimenting in the kitchen. Our goal: make mouthwatering sauces for espresso beverages. By 3:00 we had prepared semi-sweet, bittersweet, and white chocolate ganaches, caramel, and dulce de leche. Each of these confections (plus toffee that Ryan had made previously) was added to two shots of espresso and 12 ounces of steamed milk. The results: a fantastic white chocolate mocha and toffee latte and a satisfactory dulce de leche latte. (The rest were, to say the least, undrinkable.) It was a good start for Chrisbucks.

Alas, Thursday has arrived. Today was mostly spent in the car, traveling between Bellingham and Auburn, with stops in Seattle and Burlington. I learned a few interesting tidbits, though. Let’s see.. Apparently Obama’s national health care bill was passed and, with it, a bill proposing that all student loans be tied to the federal government. (As you can see,  I’ve been way out of the loop.) That kind of complicated my call to Wells Fargo today.. I’m not EVEN going to start ranting about politics – not in this post at least. I also learned that Rush Limbaugh likes his iPhone. Hm. Tim taught me how to properly shoot a basketball, too:
- Feet are your base, wide and shoulder-length apart
- Knees are bent
- Legs are your STRENGTH (said in a loud grunt)
- Elbow is over your knee and under the ball
- Wrists are bent until wrinkles can be seen
- Fingers are gripping the seams on the ball
- Guide hand follows all the way through
- Follow through ends with a hand reaching into the imaginary cookie jar

That’s probably all nonsense to you.. it kind of is to me too. But I guess it helps me become a more well-rounded person? Sure. That reminds me: I was thinking today about all of the things that I can see myself doing at some point in my life. It’s quite the list. Here’s a preview – more elaboration on this later.

I want to be a worship leader, in some capacity, for my entire life. I see part of this time being spent working full-time at a church. I’m also interested in church planting and pastoring.

I hope to make part of my living as a contracted guitar player, doing both studio and live work. I don’t see myself doing too much touring though.

I definitely anticipate opening my own coffee shop someday, probably further down the road. (No, it won’t actually be called Chrisbucks. That’s just a lawsuit waiting to happen.) I’m considering San Francisco for the location. I might go to a barista / coffee school for a little more education.

I want to spend some time doing mission work in India, preferably sooner than later. (I’m thinking about leading a Biola team. Thoughts?)

Eventually, I’d like to get my pilot’s license. No reason for this, really.

When I have a few more years under my belt, expect a memoir on bookstore shelves near you – seriously. (:

Yawn. It must be bedtime. I’m off to get some shut-eye and dream in sandy hues. Until next time.

PS. “Next time” might be a while from now, as I’m leaving on Saturday for a 150-mile bike ride to Winthrop, to be proceeded by a cycling tour of Idaho. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.

walking men

This afternoon I was flipping through some original songs and poems. A few were dated a number of years ago while others I had been working on as recently as earlier this summer. Though I’m not exceptionally proud of any of these, one piece in particular stood out as being different from all the rest. It is a prayer titled “Walking Men”. I composed these lines in my head on a long drive home sometime last winter. The words still ring true for me and maybe will for you as well.

Make known the way You’ll have me go
I seek Your will and Yours alone
Lord, I strive this path to keep
Though long, it’s promises are sweet

But if in foolishness I leave
Then, Holy Spirit, my guide be
Return me swiftly back to Him
With gentleness and discipline

If weakness makes my steps grow still
Lord, grant me strength to mount each hill
I need not more than what You give
To breathe, to move, to climb, to live

When fear and doubt have filled each plea
Deliver love and certainty
No voice but Yours can so assure
A soul in need of hope secured

This path I’ll tread ‘til He extends
His arms to all us walking men
Lord knows we strove His path to keep
Though long, it’s promises are sweet

I hope you are blessed by these words. (:

begrudgingly yours…

Let’s begin this long overdue post with a riddle.
I am green, I live in a garbage can, and my first cousin is an industrial mop. Who am I?

If you guessed Oscar the Grouch, congratulations – you possess the unparalleled insight of a 6-year-old. And that’s exactly who I woke up feeling like today (Oscar, not a 6-year-old).

But today’s Oscar the Grouch can hardly relate to the irritable Chris who was awakened by a leaf blower at 9:30 this morning. In 2010, Oscar is all smiles. He carries flowers, waves pleasantly at children through the camera, and even has a pet elephant named Fluffy. It’s a shame that children’s TV shows are no longer what they once were. Even the Cookie Monster is now photographed sipping a carton of milk instead of a munching on a crumbly cookie. At least America’s waistline is growing slimmer. (Scoff.)

I’m sitting at Woods Coffee, facing the calm waters of Bellingham Bay, contemplating Woods’ refill policy. (I finished my iced “cedar” lightly sweetened with cream iced coffee about an hour ago.) Today has gone by quickly. Actually, the whole summer has – I’m about five weeks in with about five more to go. I can’t believe it! I am looking forward to being back in California, but I’m also enjoying the freedom of being home. I spend my days practicing, writing, running, cycling, Skyping, baking, emailing SOSers, drinking coffee, and so on. It’s really not a bad routine, but it’s going to come to an abrupt end all too soon. Here’s a little preview of the semester ahead..

On August 12th I’ll be moving back into Horton with my new roommate, Cody. SOS fall training begins on the evening of the 13th and continues through the 19th. Somewhere in there we’ll go on the fall retreat – nowhere in there will we be sleeping. (If only you could know how true that is.) SOS week kicks off on Friday the 20th and continues through Tuesday the 24th. Classes start on Wednesday the 25th.. and the slaughter begins. Below is my schedule for this fall. I’m pretty excited, but it IS going to be a challenge and a half.

Monday
8:00 AM – 9:15 AM, Music Theory III
10:30 AM – 11:20 AM, Sight-singing and Dictation III
11:30 AM – 12:20 PM, Keyboard III
3:00 PM – 4:15 PM, New Testament

Tuesday
10:30 AM – 11:45 AM, Music History
1:00 PM – 2:20 PM, Worship Seminar
2:30 PM – 3:20 PM, Voice

Wednesday
8:00 AM – 9:15 AM, Music Theory III
10:30 AM – 11:20 AM, Sight-singing and Dictation III
11:30 AM – 12:20 PM, Keyboard III
12:30 PM – 1:00 PM, Music at Noon
3:00 PM – 4:15 PM, New Testament
6:00 PM – 8:00 PM, Worship Ensemble

Thursday
10:30 AM – 11:45 AM, Music History
1:00 PM – 2:20 PM, Worship Seminar
2:30 PM – 3:20 PM, Voice
4:00 PM – 5:40 PM, Spiritual Formation and Worship

Friday
Nada!

Saturday
3-5 ride (every other week), Road Cycling

Boom. A dozen classes plus leading the Songwriter’s Guild with Caleb will make for a full schedule. But that’s quite alright; I love it all – except for keyboard, that is. (Ugh.)

Come to think of it, there’s not a lot that I’m asked to do that I don’t love doing. I’m a blessed guy. God has filled me with passion for some really cool things and given me unique opportunities to pursue these things. I’m realllllly looking forward for the chance to make my coffee shop happen. If I haven’t talked to you about this before – which is unlikely – allow me to explain.

My observations tell me that there are very few surviving coffee shops that cling unflinchingly to the principles of gourmet coffee brewing. These ideals, as defined by Chrisbucks, are as follows:

Superiority
Beverages are prepared with the best ingredients available and to the highest standards attainable in order that no so-called “competition” can come close to making anything as good. And, FYI, excellence takes time. (Don’t you tap your foot at me.)

Simplicity
Because the emphasis of the establishment is to serve superior coffee (not milkshakes, scones, or desserts), menus are designed to supplement this goal – not dilute it. Everything in the cafe – every flavor, every pastry – is there to enhance the taste of the cup of coffee before you. Excessive pumps of syrup may not be added to lattes. Oh, you wanted that blended? Go to Jamba Juice.

With only two ideals, you’d think it would be easy to keep most coffee shops in check. But no! Even my favorite coffee shop, Roy Street Coffee & Tea on Capital Hill, now makes Frappuccinos and sells Via Instant Coffee. That’s right, I said instant coffee. Good for you, Starbucks – you’ve mated with Folgers.

Oh well, what can one do? Just complain, I guess. (If you haven’t noticed, I’m good at that.) I can’t help but miss good ol’ cyncism – it seems to have gone out the window with Oscar’s frown and the Cookie Monster’s cookies. Where’d you go, 1990s?

‘didactically’ speaking…

The room is packed with the usual crowd. Tasteless music from an elusive source is struggling to be heard over a dozen conversations. A buzz, a hiss, the triple-thump – the familiar routine of a bored barista. My elbows rest on the surface of a sticky table (I must’ve left my manners in California). My latte is embellished with a design which reads, in the most elegant cursive, “Welcome home”. Or maybe it’s just a tree.

To the astute reader, the location from which I’m writing is obvious. (To the less savvy, I’m at Avellino.) I think that at one point in the history of this coffee shop a hippy-witch cast a spell on the front door. You see, something mysterious happens when one grasps that small, brass knob and enters. The snobbiest Southside yuppy will suddenly find himself drawn into loud conversation with that decidedly hairy waitress from The Little Cheerful who spends her breaks here. Quite inexplicably, his stride loosens up and he feels no shame in scratching his crotch in public, though he’ll refrain from doing so. Though not affected in exactly the same way, I’m not immune to the magic. Before I know it I’m scouring my iTunes library for folk music (Nickel Creek is my choice) and explaining to the inquisitive hippy-man in line behind me what I think ‘didactical’ might mean – were it an actual word. (According to Mac Dictionary, it’s not.) But hey, that sort of talk is dangerously academic. It’s summer, you know.

My summer break began twenty one days and two punch cards ago, and I’ve been doing everything within my power to keep myself from having a life. Call me lazy, call me anti-social; I’ll tell you I’m weeding out my tendency to over-commit. Seriously though, it’s been a struggle to find the motivation to get out of the house. It’s not that I’m out of reasons – there’s job-hunting to be done and I still have friends in Bellingham (really, I do!) – it’s just.. nothing sounds more appealing than sleeping in and relaxing around the house. Going out requires taking a shower, brushing my teeth, and making myself (somewhat) presentable, and THAT is just too much to ask of a college student on break.

But don’t jump to conclusions, here. I’ve been productive, promise! Cloudy and I have been getting back into our running routine – once around the lake (almost) every other day. I’m practicing guitar a decent amount and I even went to Hillcrest once this week to put in an hour of piano. However, I will admit that I need to spend my time a liiiittle more wisely. (Not much too though.. please?) Something like my interterm syllabus (see my last post, from January 16th of this year) might be a good idea. Let’s put together a rough draft. Goals for the summer include:

- Practice guitar for at least two hours per day
- Practice piano for at least two hours per week
- Finish a few books (I’m hoping to start something of Piper’s.. any recommendations?)
- Keep up the running routine and eventually add some lifting / core work
- Make money.. somehow..
- Write a couple songs
- Post more blogs

Anything else? Oh yeah, let’s shoot for at least two more completed Avellino punch cards. Coffee, anyone?

At some point I’d like to write on this last semester, about which you probably know little to nothing, but we’ll save for that for another rainy day. In posting this I was just hoping to remind you that I am, indeed, still alive and blogging. Now, off to.. something else.. or maybe nothing at all. We’ll see. It’s summer, you know.

Chris

PS. Lest I suffer anyone’s wrath, I owe a few shout-outs:
- Lael, ’twas great to see you again.. I promised I’d mention you in the blog, so.. yay Lael.
- Amy, you’re awesome, and I think that’s reason enough for a shout-out. (: