The other day I was in church and the sermon focused on a particular passage in the Bible’s book of Acts. It was a pretty well known passage in Acts 2 that talks about the first Christians. After Jesus had ascended into heaven, the Spirit of God had empowered the first Christians to do miraculous things, and huge things were happening that caused the explosive growth of the number of believers. The passage goes like this. Continue reading “Translating The Bible”
When I was a kid I remember watching a short Disney cartoon that made an indelible impression on me. It showed a bear named Humphrey, who desperately wanted some fish. He swiped at the lake over and over, and all that he ended up with was a tiny minnow. As he held it above the water, sad that it was so tiny, a bigger fish jumped up and swallowed it whole.
At that point he had an epiphany. He could hold the fish over the water and one by one collect the larger fish that jumped up to eat the minnow. Soon his arms were full of large fish. Just as he was about to walk away a fish bigger than all the others floated by. He dropped all of the other fish and pounced. Continue reading “Humphrey and The Trade”
I come from a long line of talkers. My lineage is filled with teachers and preachers and others known for their speeches. The holiday dinner tables growing up were always a place where the noise never stopped, and if you wanted to get a word in edge-wise you had to jump in at any pause for breath. Of all my relatives, my mom can out talk anyone. I’ve had hour-long phone conversations with her where my only part was “hello…” and she took it from there.
Let’s just say the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. I’m a talker too. I’ve struggled with it my whole life. If they had an anonymous support group, which I suggest calling On-an-on-and-on-annon. I would weekly stand at the front saying, “My name is Ryan, and I’m a talkaholic.”
The other day I was called by a single mom and asked to assemble her son’s shiny new bicycle. It was his birthday gift, and the task of building such a thing was a little beyond her comfort level or ability. Since I have known them both for quite some time, and because I have become somewhat of an expert on handyman-type stuff, I was the guy she called.
The project didn’t take me long at all, with my bag of tools and a glass of iced tea. And as I later stood and looked at the completed bike, I thought back about my own memories of my childhood BMX. Continue reading “Bicycle”
I worked in management for Sears throughout college. It was a good job that treated me well and gave me a great opportunity to build a business management resume that has benefited me throughout my whole adult life. But that was a very different Sears that I have seen over the last 10 years.
Last week, I was on lunch and decided to pull up a YouTube video of Chris Tomlin (a Christian worship music artist) singing a song I’d hurt at church the weekend prior. As most of us know, YouTube regularly plays videos of sponsored content (a.k.a ads) before your chosen video. It is part of the monetization that Google brings to all of its products. When a company pays for an ad to run, they specify all of the criteria that will determine who sees the video. This includes thing like the geographic location of the watcher, the viewer’s history, and the specific thing searched for, as well as everything in between. I’m simplifying the process, but it is nearly infinitely customizable, ensuring that the only people who see your video are the exact people you want to see it.
So, I search for Chris Tomlin and the title of the worship song (I don’t remember right now exactly which song it was) and I click on the video. Before my video starts to play, this is the ad I see (feel free not to watch the whole thing):
I skipped the ad when it gave me a chance and watched my worship video, but the more I thought about it the more upset I became. I can’t think of a YouTube history on my account that would have been pertinent or anything else that makes sense…unless either they were putting that out to everyone, or they were specifically targeting people watching worship videos.
So, I took to Twitter, incredulous that Sears would be so insensitive. The screenshot from my Tweet, and Sears’ response not long after, are below.
It is 2014, know. I am not surprised by a company supporting homosexual marriage. I don’t like it, but I know it happens. I don’t support the homosexual mafia attacking companies like Chik-fil-a simply because their CEO said that he believes a marriage is between a man and a woman. But most of all, I can’t support the incredible rudeness of a company deliberately attacking the morality of Christians in this way. Whether their Tweet to me was an automatic response to mine or not, it doesn’t matter.
I’m not one to start a boycott and get worked up over anything secular. I think that secular complies not guided by Christians will not act Christian. However, companies that deliberately attack Christians is another story altogether.
You know why they do it? They do it because they know that they will insult us and treat us disrespectfully in whatever ways they choose, and we will buy their products just the same. We might post a Facebook complaint and feel like we accomplished something, but as soon as the next sale comes along, we will open up our wallets again.
For me, it stops here. I have drawn a line in the sand. I have a lot of Craftsman tools and a Sears credit card. I’m canceling the card and have bought my last tool from them.
Incidentally, if you want the story behind the video (which I actually haven’t seen in its entirety), Sears sponsored a float in the recent Chicago homosexual parade. On that float they had 4 homosexual couples getting “married” and this video was celebrating that.
Next time you buy a Sears product, know that is where some of your money is going. If you support that, then great. If you don’t, you are supporting it anyway with your money.
The day after I graduated High School, I went to the mission field. During my first summer as a missionary, we had long worship and prayer sessions every evening before our concert. At first I resented these times. They seemed long and boring. I had little reason to resent them. It was felt more than thought, and it was probably spiritual in nature, although I did fixate on the fact that we sang worship songs that I didn’t really know. Therefore, I decided that they must also be worship songs that were not as good as the ones I knew.
But on that mission trip I learned how to worship. I discovered that worship was a skill that came naturally to humans, but that I (like probably most people) had become so used to worship primarily myself and I had to fix that before I could understand how to worship God.
I took a Greyhound bus that August from Butte, Montana to Tacoma, Washington in order to start my freshman year of college. There, I joined the university Christian club, who had weekly worship sessions. I fought with all I had to not resent those times, because now the songs were different than the ones I’d learned as a missionary.
I struggled passionately to keep my intimacy with God. I worshipped with them, learning new songs, but now I had learned how to worship, and I could worship anywhere. I learned the joy of worshipping alone. Some nights I would sneak away to the piano practice rooms in the music building. They were open 24/7. I could sit in a small empty room with a closet and worship by myself.
I would play what little I could, and always faced a resistance at first. But I would press through that, and suddenly I would come to a song that would spark an emotion or a certain heart-string and the tears would flow. All that was me would seem to melt away as I connected with God and felt His presence. That feeling is indescribable really, but all I can say is that it is better. List any good adjective you can think of, and that feeling is better. It was water to my own soul.
It has been a while since I’ve felt that, I must admit. I have taken times worshipping on my own and have even had moments of intimacy, but not like that.
It is my lunch break now, and earlier this morning I was listening to my worship mix from my hard drive as I worked. Tim Hughes He’s Got the Whole Worship in His Hands started playing
When all around is fading
And Nothing seems to last
Each day is filled with Sorrow
Still I know with all my heart
He’s got the whole world in His hands
He’s got the whole world in His hands
I’ll fear no evil, for you are with me
Srong to deliver, mighty to save
He’s got the whole world in His hands
Lately, each day is not filled with sorrow and I feel like I am losing nothing, particularly. I am doing quite well. And yet the tears started to fall as I sang along. All I can describe, the best I can do, is that His having all of it in His hands hit me in a new way. My sin, my joys, the things that I have given up, and the things the enemy has stolen from me, the moments of triumph, and those things I can never undo…all of it, in His hands.
I have nothing to fear. You are with me. You’ve got it all in Your hands. And here I am, better.
Today I ended a two-week marketing contract for a major cellular phone provider that had me spending most days in my car, driving from one location to another. This meant that as the events of today’s school massacre in Connecticut unfolded, I was listening on the radio. I heard all happen right before my ears.
Events like this usually don’t inspire a strong reaction for me. While I am passionate about current events as they pertain to politics and world events, things like the OJ Simpson murders, Casey Anthony, and Virginia Tech just don’t impact me as much for some reason. That is just how I’m geared, but this case is different.
We have heard lately about mall shootings, football player murder/suicides, and the Movie Theater mass shooting in Colorado. Some people, like Bob Costas, have used these opportunities to talk about increased gun control. That may be a good conversation to have, although I personally do not believe that more gun regulations will be the solution.
As the radio told me of the teachers that hid their students in closets and bathrooms, police making the kids leave the school with their eyes closed, and a room full of kids gunned down by hundreds of rounds of ammunition, I became enraged. I can’t think of any other emotion to feel when that kind of evil is present, and I don’t think any other emotion is appropriate.
The Bible says to “be angry, yet do not sin.” It also talks about God’s fury at sin, and particularly those who intentionally hurt His little ones. Yet we live in a world with increasing evil. I don’t care to debate this with anyone: murder rates, violent crimes, and corruption cases are telling, but the simple fact is that evil is becoming far more evil than ever.
I mourn for our country and it’s people. Christians must stand and say, “enough.” We cannot be blamed for things like this. It is not the church’s fault that things like this happen, but evil triumphs when good men do nothing. And that is what we have done. We have hibernated and cloistered while the gates of Hell have advanced, laughing at the impotence of God’s people. We don’t fight our wars with guns or fists, but on our knees and making all else but the gospel secondary. This has not characterized God’s people of late. More church programs and laws won’t stop this advance of evil. More steadfast men of faith will. -Ryan
“…All of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory. And I realize just how beautiful You are, and how great Your affections are for me. Oh how He loves.” –John Mark McMillan
The other day I got into a fight with a butterfly. No, it isn’t as silly a sight as it sounds…well not quite. I was doing some evening gardening and had the garage door open. When I went in to get a rake I noticed a beautiful butterfly fluttering around, trapped inside the garage.
Normally I wouldn’t think too much of this, and have from time to time even pinned butterflies. I am not some overly-indulgent animal lover. But this time I felt a little bit of sadness for the poor creature. To her, she was trapped in some inescapable cave. I took pity on her. I decided it was female, not because of some butterfly expertise, but because I simply cannot imagine a male butterfly, though I know they must actually exist. So with the creature properly personified, I was committed to action.
I grabbed the ladder with the intent of reaching up to the ceiling and gently cupping her in my hand, then releasing her outside. But just at the instant my plan was about to work, she deftly avoided my grasp in the way that only bugs and small children can. This set off a several minute period of me moving the ladder and repeating the procedure repeatedly with utter futility. The butterfly did not appreciate any of my efforts.
As I was pondering the absurdity of the situation and how terrifying this must be to the butterfly, I watched the butterfly frantically moving from ceiling to wall to ceiling and narrowly escaping multiple spider webs. Convinced that I was beaten in the summer butterfly campaign of 2010, I surrendered and retreated to my house in defeat.
In the morning, the butterfly was far from the front of my mind as I opened the door to get in my car, and was surprised to see the butterfly sweep out of the door into the open air. She fluttered about low to the ground above my flower bed, and then climbed into the sky with the semi-inebriated flight style that butterflies seem to enjoy. I smiled. She was free.
So many times, I feel like that butterfly. I sit in situations, toxic and painful, sometimes afraid to move, and bumping around my panic, avoiding traps both real and imagined. I desperately want to find the light, to feel free and supported by fresh air and freedom. I long for hands, caring and immense, to carry me to such a place.
I believe in those hands. I believe that God frantically climbs ladders and reaches for me, but it is often difficult to tell those loving hands from giants bent on my destruction. I know he loves me. I pray for the doors to open so I can sweep into the sky with a clumsy sense of freedom. But right now, I just feel small. And maybe if I quiet myself enough and don’t focus on the walls, I can just feel His hands envelop me.
Hold me and carry me. I long for your immense gentleness to surround me and take me where you will. I miss those hands, and I fear you will give up and let me bump around my prison in the dark. You promise to strengthen your people and give them peace (Psalm 29). Carry me. Let me fly again in your light. -Ryan
We came to Tainan after a very long trip through the island’s mid-section, waiting in long lines of traffic. Tainan is in the southern section of Taiwan and Taipei, where a huge proportion of the people actually reside, is in the very northern tip. While Tainan is one of the largest of the handful of cities in Taiwan, it is decidedly rural. It was raining.
Peichi’s grandmother, spinster aunt, and unmarried uncle live among a clan community in one of the more…um…I guess “suburban” is the right word, parts of Tainan. Life in all of Taiwan, and particularly the more traditional and rural areas is communal and clan oriented. Traditionally, when a woman gets married she comes to live with the husband at his family home. This almost always includes his parents and often some aunts and uncles.
To Western eyes this seems ridiculous. On the whole it has both positives and negatives. First, Taiwan (like almost all cultures I’ve witnessed) is a patriarchal/matriarchal society. The Father typically does no work inside the house, but works a job to bring in money. His after-work time is spent playing gambling games, chatting with the other men, drinking, and smoking. The wife often does not hold an official outside job, but is responsible for the care and keeping of the home. This means that she also by default makes most of the real decisions. Men think they’re in charge, but the women really have more say.
Clan life brings with it a sense of community. It also brings shared resources. This cannot be overlooked. Grandmothers and grandfathers can help take care of young children while their parents work. Conversely, children can take care of their parents when they reach old age. There is also a sense of history and life cycle that is shared in clan life that is missing and often leads to larger societal problems in much of Western culture.
On the other side, clan life lessens social mobility. Children often forgo opportunities out of a sense of obligation to the elder relatives. Money is also never kept for oneself or immediate family, but shared with the larger family, which mitigates much of the possible benefits of new wealth, particularly when it gets spread to those in the family who have little financial responsibility. Further, because of all of this, ambition is not generally seen as a positive trait, as it is in the West.
Whether positive or negative, clan life is central to every aspect of Tainanese culture. Even houses are constructed around clan life. Traditional Taiwanese houses were built as more of a complex, intended to house 4 or more family units within a single building. Each compound was built in a C formation, with a big courtyard in the middle. The courtyard existed as a family meeting place, the location for bathing, and an entryway into the main sections of the structure. In the center of the building was the family idol, where the family worshipped both Taoist idols and their own ancestors.
These homes started falling out of fashion only about 20 years ago, when because of space restrictions, different buildings were built. The new buildings still incorporate much of the same concepts as the old ones, but with each family unit dwelling on a different level of a multi-story structure. Each floor has two or three bedrooms and a bathroom, and the ground level contains the kitchen and common areas. Families still gather outside for fellowship. The family altar is usually on the ground floor at the entrance, or on an enclosed roof patio.