Ben Yancer, Inc.

Skipping Like a Calf

2011-06-21T23:58:00.018-05:00

It's a beautiful night here in Lincoln. I'd been inside for most the evening, so it caught me by surprise when I stepped out to put the recycle bin by the curb at 11 and a steady, cool breeze surrounded me. The kind you don't expect this time of year. The kind that makes everything feel more alive. When I went back in the house I opened a few windows, but that wasn't enough to satisfy what the wind had stirred in me. So I decided to go for a walk, grabbed my iPhone, headphones, and keys, and was quickly out the door. I'm glad I live in a place where walking outside this late at night is safe.

While I walked I listened to the song "Farther Along" by Josh Garrels. (It's from his album Love & War & The Sea in Between that I downloaded for free from Noisetrade yesterday. It's too good to be free. I recommend you download it straight away.) Anyhow, the song was the perfect backdrop for my walk tonight. I've been in a kind of contemplative mood all day, and with the music, the wind, the trees and lush green grass, the porch lights and streetlights lighting my path... I couldn't help but smile and add a skip to my step as I walked and let my senses overpower my thoughts.

Steel Train Touch

2011-05-17T15:06:00.005-05:00

I'm up by 7:55 this morning to give Taleah a ride to work. Her car died on Saturday night. Up in flames. No joke. And don't you worry. The seat-cover rugs survived. Phew.

The AC in the house isn't working this week. Luckily, it also happens to be the first ridiculously hot week of the year, and it's not even summer yet. No one likes this weather. 82 degrees at 11 p.m. is no one's idea of a good time unless they're some sort of jungle cat.

I put the high velocity fan on "super" and pointed it straight at me when I got in bed last night. This seemed like a good idea at the time, highly logical even.

This morning, however, is a different story. Every muscle aches. It's hard to walk straight. I'm certain this is what it feels like to be run over by a train.

That's what I told Taleah at least, when she came downstairs and found me on the couch a few minutes ago. She asked why I was so sore, and bam, just like that, last night's dream came rushing back to me.

There were 20 or so of us on a large fenced in field, playing some sort of organized team sport. The exact details of the game escape me. I know we were broken up into pairs, one person in a car and the other on foot, and the point of the game was to see which person could outrun the other. So of course I was the person on foot, and the game had already begun, and I didn't know what was going on. Then I noticed something moving behind me, so I turned around. Next thing I knew I was running for my life. The car was barreling towards me. The driver's eyes were fierce and cold. I darted to the edge of the field, lept up and latched onto the chain-link fence.

No wonder I woke up this morning feeling so exhausted. Never again with the fan.

Now we're in the car, on our way to Union. Sara Bareilles' Kaleidoscope Heart is playing on the stereo. Probably on track 8 "Basket Case," 'cause I can't get enough of that song.

"Is this Sara?" Taleah asks.

"Yeah, " I say, smiling.

"Change of plans! Drive around for an hour so we can listen!"

In Remembrance

2011-05-05T08:14:00.008-05:00

The other day I was walking out of Target when I noticed across the parking lot a gold Buick Le Sabre just like the one I used to own in high school. My first car. It's been so long ago now, more than ten years, I'd forgotten how well I remember it. But with just one glimpse, it all came back. The feel of the door handle. The smell of the seats. The air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, shaped like a yellow smiley face and smelling like Banana Boat, our sunscreen of choice those endless summer afternoons at the neighborhood pool.

My dad bought the car for $2,000 from our next-door neighbor. We named her "Bessie" because if ever a car was a cow, she was. I think she averaged 0 to 60 in about 30 seconds. But she was mine. I was sixteen and had just passed my driver's test (though I don't know how; midway through I started to drift onto the rumble strip and the woman had to remind me to stay on the road). It was the summer of '99.

I remember the freedom of my first drive all by myself. I remember the heat and the humidity and wishing for an air conditioner but not complaining because I was just happy to have a car of my own. Oh the novelty of hooking my portable CD player to the stereo with my fancy new cassette adapter and cruising the Nashville neighborhoods with my windows down, music blaring, head bobbing to the latest Carolyn Arends album, This Much I Understand. (It's still good; I recommend it.)

Racing to school down Myatt Drive because my sister Emily had made us late yet again, then somehow making the drive in only 7 minutes and feeling frustrated because that meant we would leave even later the next day. Giving our friend Stacey a ride home after school, though it was just down the street, so the three of us could sit and talk in her driveway for hours on end. I remember the daffodils on the hill beside her house and how it was absolutely covered every spring, more daffodils all at once than I'd ever seen. I loved the way they lit up the ground.

~

Last night I woke up afraid. It was after 2 a.m. Not a noise in my room but the gentle drone of the sound machine under my bed. No cause for panic. But the world seemed ominous, and I couldn't fall back asleep. Something in my memory took me to another time when I woke up afraid, years ago.

It was the week after my high school graduation. My dad, sister, and I were at the Nashville house, getting ready to move to Maryland. We'd stayed up most the night packing because my dad wanted to leave that day to make a trip up to Maryland with a truckload. It was late Sunday afternoon. I was too exhausted to keep working, so my dad said I should lay down on the couch and rest for awhile. We would leave whenever we were ready, and it would be okay.

Next thing I knew my sister was standing beside the couch, calling my name, trying to wake me up. It took me awhile to hear her and understand what she was saying. Something about Dad. He'd fallen asleep in the back of the U-Haul and was making a weird noise. She couldn't see him very well, he was up behind some of the boxes, and she was worried he might fall. Still groggy from sleeping, I didn't understand what the big deal was. Emily was insistent. I didn't know what we should do. Mom was in Maryland already, and there was no one else at home. We decided to call our family friend Lorie. She said she'd come right over.

The next thing I remember is the look on Lorie's face when she climbed into the truck and saw my dad and told me to call 911. Then sirens. The ambulance. The hospital.

It still shakes me up when I really think about that day. Not so much the death part, anymore. I've come to terms with that. I've grieved. I've moved forward. But that day... When it's the middle of the night and I'm stuck going through the motions of that day in my mind, I can't shake the feeling of waking up to that uncontrollable moment. It leaves me helpless, and I can't fall back asleep, overwhelmed with the fear of what new nightmare I might wake up to.

~

And then, the fear is gone. I'm not frightened anymore. Somehow I get distracted by a thought, or I forget to remember, and just like that, I'm off somewhere else.

~

This will be my last week working at Union College.

You know, it was never my plan to work at Union. It just kind of happened. I didn't have a job. I loved Union. There was a job opening. Now here it is six years later and it's hard to imagine doing anything else.

A few nights ago at dinner at the Barber's we were talking about life after college. What it was like to transition. How much has changed over the years. Kylie, who just graduated, asked those gathered around the table, "When will it feel real?"

"August," everyone agreed. "When everyone else is going back to school, but you're not."

In that moment it hit me that I haven't had an August yet where I haven't been at Union. And with that realization came a panic.

All wrapped up in my head, of course, too fresh and real to share yet. Out loud I said, "I remember the Friday before graduation is when it started to sink in for me. I got really nostalgic."

"I remember you being depressed," said Ashley.

"Depressed?"

"You were definitely sad."

"Sad. Sure. I agree I was sad."

I wasn't ready to let go. In many ways, I'm still not.

But it's time.

~

A few weeks ago John was visiting Lincoln as part of his cross-country trek. We were driving in my car, probably on our way back from doing something involving food, and I don't remember what exactly we were talking about, but somehow the course of the conversation led me to turn to him and ask, "Is this maturity? Or am I just jaded?"

"You're jaded," said John. He thought another second. "Yes, that's actually a really good word for you."

I just now looked it up. Jaded means "tired, bored, or lacking enthusiasm, typically after having had too much of something."

And that's me, spot on. Dangit.

Crazy Old Plant Man

2011-03-11T09:46:00.004-06:00

This is the plant that sits on the filing cabinet in my office. I saved it from certain death.

Sometime last fall Debbie and I were visiting Buell's new office on the 1st floor of the ad building to steal Angie's old office chairs. (Long story...)

I noticed this plant shoved on top of a bookcase in the corner, forlorn and forgotten.

Since I'm such a plant-crazy old man, I of course scolded everyone in the room, grabbed the nearest water bottle, drug a chair to the bookcase, and climbed up to water the plant.

A few weeks later all three of Buell's student workers showed up at my office, all smiles, carrying the plant. "Here," they said. "This is for you."

I was ecstatic.

It's been on my filing cabinet ever since. All I've done is water it and turn it every couple weeks, and it couldn't be happier.

Closer to the Moon

2010-10-13T15:08:00.004-05:00

We’re sitting in the sanctuary waiting for the Saturday evening Hutchmoot session to begin when Ashley turns to me and asks, “Now, why aren’t you living here?”

I don’t have an answer. Not a good one at least. So I make something up (as I tend to do). She replies. I say more things. You know how a conversation goes. By the end she’s unswayed. “You should move here,” she says, and I can’t disagree.

The next day we visit Michael and Angela at their new home near Nashville, and they’re giving us a tour of the house. Angela leads us down the hall, showing us the master bedroom, the guest bathroom, the linen closet. When we get to the end of the hall she opens a door. “And this is Ben’s room,” she says. She might be kidding, but she’s also serious. And everyone laughs, but only after I do.

The week after Hutchmoot it’s hard to be back in Nebraska. Fall semester is just starting at Union, and our department is busier than ever. Enrollment is up. The TLC’s student numbers have practically doubled. It’s good that there’s so much to do; it doesn’t leave much time for reflection. Still, I know my heart’s not in it.

“Why can’t you just go for a few months and see what happens?” asks Ashley. It’s sunset and she, Ben, and I are walking the dam at Holmes Lake. “You could always come back,” she says.

Ben agrees. “You’re in a unique position. You have nothing tying you down. There’s no reason you can’t go.” Again, I can’t disagree. All that’s holding me here is fear, and that’s just one more reason to go.

A couple weeks later I hire Justin Okimi to write up the detailed plan of my move to Nashville. It will include a stimulus (to get me out of here) and it will be feasible (meaning "capable of being done with means at hand and circumstances as they are”).

When I tell Taleah about hiring Justin, she’s a bit put off. “I already made your plan for you,” she says. It’s one of those times when I’m at work and Taleah comes to visit me and she sits in the chair by my desk and we wax poetic about the days of our lives.

“But you didn’t write it down,” I tell her. “I need a written plan.” I hand her an extra-large Post-it pad and turn my attention back to Facebook and the important matters of the day while she gets to work.

Phase I
1. Put necessities in car.
2. Be sure guitar and cello are in car.
3. Choose 3 plants.
4. Drive to Nashville.
5. Start playing on the street.
6. Enjoy the adventure of being on the road and being a free bird.

Phase II
1. Circumnavigate the world.
2. Write a book.
3. Break even on your book.
4. Feel satisfied.

She hands me the list, and I look it over. “My favorite is the last one,” I tell her. “Feel satisfied. I think any good plan should end with that. I’m going to start adding that to the end of all my plans.”

What I don’t tell her is that her free-bird plan, her follow-the-open-road plan, the longer I let it sit in my mind, the more it feels like acid burning a hole in my skull, and the sides are caving in, and all that’s left is a huge puddle of panic gurgling around where my brain used to be.

Days pass.

John calls me to chat. He’s driving to Portland for an oven presentation, or something food service related like that. We talk a bit about his life, and then the conversation turns to me.

“I feel like I’m nearing the end here,” I tell him. “This is the last year.”

“Haven’t you said that before?” he asks. Dang him and his memory.

“Yes. But this time it’s for real. Even if I don’t have a plan.”

“You need a plan,” he says. He knows me well.

“Well, I’m accepting ideas. Would you like to make a submission? It’s a contest. Maybe you’ll win a T-shirt.”

“A T-shirt?”

“Yeah. We’ll make a T-shirt of whoever’s plan wins.”

We decide we need a shirt that has Ashley’s smiling, supportive face, saying “You can do it, Ben!” Next to her will be John saying, “No, Ben. Get on the treadmill.”

“You should be a session musician,” says John. “I think you would really enjoy that. But you’d have to move to Nashville. Or L.A. But for you...,” he pauses, “Nashville.”

“Agreed.”

“You need to use your connections. You know a lot of people down there. At first you will probably have to play for nothing, just to get your name out. But then one day some band will be in a bind at the last minute and someone will say, ‘Hey, I know this guy. He’s just starting out, but he’s amazing.’”

“Have you been talking to Ashley about this?” I ask.

“No. Why?”

“Your plans are very similar is all.”

His phone loses reception, and just as suddenly as the conversation started, it’s over. Which is just as well. Conversations with John rarely have a true beginning or ending.

The grass in Lincoln is green again these days, but I know it won’t last. I linger in the simple moments. Sitting in the car in the driveway long after I’ve arrived home. Turning up the music. Looking up at the night sky and feeling closer to the moon than I have in years.

Pursuing Artistry: Part One

2010-04-20T09:19:00.009-05:00

I want to be an artist. There, I said it. It sure took me long enough.

I've seen how great I can be. Creative. Organized. Imagine if I put all of my talents and efforts into promoting myself. What might happen?

So far I've been too afraid of failing to even try. I've realized though, why should anyone else believe in me if I don't believe in myself?

I need to suck it up and give this a fair shot. I know I have the talent to succeed. Now I need to believe in myself and get my name out there. I need to share my art and build a community of people who support my artistry.

I'm writing and reading and planning. Much is in the works. Soon I will be taking action and asking for your help. I hope you will be willing.

Reach Out

2010-03-04T07:45:00.003-06:00

I know a girl who likes to imagine
From the moment we're born to the moment we die,
God is only an arm's distance away
She likes to pretend there's an aura,
Sort of like a hoola hoop that surrounds us,
And God cannot move farther away than we can reach

But we all feel the distance
She's the first to admit
It's not a walk in the park
If we're alone in the dark
So make it clear in my mind
That You're right by my side

If I reach out, if I believe
With the whisper of a prayer
Will You always be there?
If I sing loud Your song and I believe

I'm a boy who takes You for granted
When it's easy to trust, then it's easy to see
The lies hold no illusions over me

But there are days I can't see You
When I want to believe
But I get lost in the clouds
Of disillusion and doubt
You seem elusive and sly
Can you please tell me why?

If I reach out, if I believe
With the whisper of a prayer
Will You always be there?
If I sing loud Your song and I believe

I don't want an easy answer just to have something to hold
Why would we have minds to ask if we were never meant to know?

So I reach out and I believe
With the whisper of a prayer
That You'll always be there
If I reach out, when You reach for me
Through the clouds that fill my mind
With disillusions and lies
If I sing loud Your song and I believe
If I sing loud Your song and I believe

More Like Falling in Love

2010-03-04T00:37:00.001-06:00

The Possimpible

2010-01-25T07:03:00.010-06:00

It's possible that all the snow could melt before it (really) snows again. Possible, but I'm not holding onto the hope. I saw the sun yesterday for the first time in a week. It lasted all of ten seconds. The street in front of my house flashed bright and warm, almost yellow; I glimpsed it from the living room before the clouds pulled back together to close us in the gloom. No lingering. Just there and gone, like the sun had never been.

I'm now in week two of P90X. If you ask me why I'm doing it, I won't have a good reason. I don't know. Maybe I'm doing it because I wanted something to do, and so why not? Maybe it feels ambitious, and I could use some ambition in my life. Maybe I don't believe it's possible for me to get ripped, but I want to, so I'm seeing if I can prove myself wrong.

I feel energized...and sore. I can feel every muscle in my body working, when I stand up, or sit down, or raise my leg, or anything. Apparently I used to take all of these simple movements for granted. Never more.

Last week in review: Sunday was great; pull-ups and push-ups are awesome. Monday plyometrics nearly killed me. I was ruined the rest of the week from all the jumping and squatting. Tuesday I was exhausted and sore all day until the workout, then I was energized and in such a good mood. I don't remember Wednesday. Thursday I nearly threw up afterward. Friday I didn't have time to do the whole DVD. Overall, my appetite has increased tremendously. I've stopped eating desserts. I didn't really decide to, it kind of just happened, but I'm not craving them as much, so that's helping. (I had only one cookie all week, and that was a treat on Sabbath. I also gave up my favorite granola bars, the kind with all the corn syrup.) I'm noticing more tone in my chest and abs. I'm sleeping better. Enough reasons for me to stick with this program, even though it's been hard and a huge time commitment. Who has time for an hour to an hour-and-a-half of exercise every day?

I had breakfast an hour ago, but I'm already famished.

It's a sure sign I'm taking the reality of television too seriously when I go to The Week to check the latest headlines half expecting to see news of Kitty McAllister running for congress in California's 54th.

Speaking of TV, do you watch Modern Family? Ben and Ashley got me hooked.

And I'm already counting down the days till spring break...(because winter break will be here and gone before you know it...)

Fat Cats

2010-01-06T12:28:00.004-06:00

“Would you like a cat treat?”

“Why do you have those?”

“Alicia gave me them for when she brings her cat to visit.”

“Oh. Has she brought him by recently?”

“No. Have you seen him? He’s so much bigger.”

“Like teenager cat or fat cat? When they get older they get fat.”

“He’s not fat. He’s lean. Just bigger, all over.”

“I like fat cats. Not too fat, not like the Jordans' cat.”

“It shouldn't look pregnant if it’s not pregnant.”

“That should also be the rule with people.”

Year in Review

2010-01-04T13:47:00.009-06:00

In 2008, I published 105 posts here. In 2009, I published 33. I don't know why I don't write as much as I used to. I want to write more, and I want to follow through. Today I found 9 posts from 2009 that I started but never finished, and today I'm in the mood for finishing things. So consider these finished as we sojourn into the first week of 2010.

3/23/2009
I haven't written lately because I've been tired and grouchy, and just the same as no one wants to be that person, seldom few want to read about it either. Myself included. How's that for honesty?

5/9/2009
This afternoon I ran full-force into a drinking fountain at Pioneers Park while trying to catch a Frisbee. My hip is bruised, tender and aching.

6/4/2009
I realized yesterday that I've been especially blessed by my distant friends this summer. In the last two months, I've spent time with nearly all of them. Which might explain for the lack of posting here.

7/2/2009
Today I'm overwhelmed with apathy.

8/4/2009
Every year Union offers a free blood chemistry test for all its employees. This morning while I was having my blood drawn, I overhead another man asking about the optional prostate and thyroid tests. "What are PSA and TSH?" he asked. The woman drawing my blood must've noticed that I was listening in; she leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "You don't need any of those hon'. You're still just a baby."

8/16/2009
Tomorrow marks the official start of the fall semester at Union, and I'm pretty bummed. Sometimes, when I'm in this kind of mood, it helps to do all my laundry. Everything's clean and hanging neatly in my closet, organized in color order. But tonight it doesn't seem to be helping. So I turn to Deb Talan. Together we sing of loneliness and longing and love and how sometimes we could see how cutting an ear off might be the most productive and satisfying thing to do. I'm tired of feeling misunderstood. It took me most of the night just to come up with that word—"misunderstood"—and strangely, it makes me feel a bit better just having labeled it, this heavy feeling growing inside me. It's hard to fall asleep. I have too much energy; my mind is too active this kind of night. Leslie and I have decided that she and I are very much opposites. She's the ultimate morning person. I clearly am not. Ben at 7 a.m. is a mean, grumpy mess. Ask Leslie. Leslie knows. Ben at 11 p.m. is alert and good to go. Which really sucks. So I lay under my covers in my dark room, and I try to sleep, but instead all I can do is think and worry, worry and think. About tomorrow and the future, of jobs and relationships, old dreams that I lost hold of somewhere along the way and new hopes still young and tender and fresh. I will dream, simple dreams. I will play my guitar and sing. I will hug the ones I love. I will not let myself lose sight of all that I've been given.

8/28/2009
So let's be honest. This hasn't been my most prolific blogging year. Maybe I'm in a rut. Maybe I've used up my allotment of creativity. Or maybe I've lost site of my hopes and aspirations.

10/14/2009
My boss got everyone in our office a big bright red exercise ball. We're supposed to sit on them instead of our desk chairs. At first I was not a fan of this because I thought it looked silly. Now I'm not a fan because my back is aching. Apparently I don't have good posture. I wonder how long I will have to sit on this stupid ball before my body corrects itself.

11/4/2009
Day to day, there's not much of worth for me to share. The little things that fill my 9 to 5 aren't very interesting. Who needs to know that I finally gave in and bought two boxes of shiny new paperclips for the office last week? Who cares if I don't like eating seaweed? I've listened to The Weepies' "All That I Want" about a dozen times this morning, but it doesn't matter.

Classic Conversations

2010-01-03T22:58:00.003-06:00

[A pot of cold, cooked beets is sitting on the stove.]

Leslie: "Should I put the beets in something?"

Ben: "They look like drowned rats."

Leslie: "Drowned rats have heads and tails."

[She peers into the pot and sees the fuzzy tail-like stems of the beets.]

Leslie: "Oh."

______

Ben: "Did you notice my fly was open?"

Leslie: "I try not to look at your crotch. I would appreciate if you would extend me the same courtesy."

This October

2009-11-04T08:02:00.007-06:00

Two Thursday nights ago I helped Emily Carlson lead music for "9 o'clock"—Union's new all-music worship. Just guitars and vocals, no mics, no lights, very low-key. Emily and I lingered in the Rees Hall chapel afterward, and she taught me Starfield's "Cry in My Heart."

As we made our way out I noticed in my peripheral some students gathered around a table in the lobby playing a very loud game of cards. My heart ached.

Years ago I would've been at that table. Those would've been my friends, and if they saw me walk by, they would've called me to join them. But everything passes, and time goes away. I turned and continued walking out of the lobby.

"Ben!"

Kenny and Taleah called after me, waving from the table for me to come join them. Surprised and glad, I turned and walked back, pulled up a chair, and we played "Ghetto UNO" for the next hour. Everyone agreed it was the best game night ever, and we made plans to do it again.

The next night I got to vespers ten minutes late, walked all the way up to the second row from the front, and stood awkwardly in the aisle while Pastor Rich talked about the Sabbath candle and the already full row of friends shifted to make room for me in the middle between Taleah and Emily. "I wanted to sit by you for your iPhone," said Taleah.

And as I sat there in vespers happily squeezed into that row with my friends, it occurred to me that five years ago I didn't know any of them. Five years ago I didn't think I would ever make any new dear friends again.

But I have.

It's like my life at Union has been a TV show, and I'm the lead character, but all the regulars from season one have left the show. These newbies are all a bit younger. They're my support now. I'm invested in them. Still part of me hopes the writers will bring back an old character for a special guest appearance, or maybe have a flashback or some kind of reunion so we can pretend, just for one night, that things are the way they used to be and nothing's changed.

For a few months now Ben Barber and I have been getting together once a week for Music Night. We sit in the Barber's living room till late, playing guitar, singing old songs, learning new ones. Sometimes other friends and family join in; sometimes it's just us. It feels like finding something I forgot I lost.

Last Tuesday my college roommate Justin and I talked on the phone for over an hour. I hadn't heard his voice since May. We're not very good at keeping in touch. There's so much distance, we're both busy, but we still care. So we scheduled a time to connect. It's good to schedule the time.

Friendships evolve; they are not static. We either adapt, or we're left behind. Five years ago I didn't know what that meant. Now I've made and lost enough to understand.

Your Love Is Strong

2009-10-06T15:11:00.000-05:00

Genuosity

2009-10-05T09:01:00.007-05:00

As far as I'm concerned, if when I'm washing my hands I linger under the water a few extra moments just because it feels so good, that means winter has come. I have a feeling it's going to be a long one.

Shawn Boonstra from It Is Written spoke for vespers and church last week. If I hadn't been playing piano for song service Friday night, I probably wouldn't have even gone. And I was in a foul mood when he started speaking, completely distracted, sending texts, not at all focusing on what he was saying, but somehow he pulled me out of it and won me over with his stories and his genuosity. He asked some serious questions that were hard to take in, questions I needed to honestly ask myself.

Which left me all moody and alone-feeling and effectively ruined my weekend. Bleh.

I spent most of yesterday evening practicing my cello. I'm meeting with a professor from UNL on Wednesday, and I'm supposed to have something prepared to play for her. I might start taking private lessons again. For real. We'll see how things progress from there.

In other news, this morning Leslie sent me this text message:

Today, my boss passed me in the hall at work and asked me "Do you have a sec?" I was trying to be flippant and replied "I have tons of secs." We both pretended I didn't say that. MLIA.

At first I thought this had actually happened to her, and I was ready to call Ashley and share the hilarity of it all, but then Leslie told me it was from the site MyLifeIsAverage.com

It's my new favorite thing. Taleah had previously shown us FMyLife.com. But I find MLIA much less crass and therefore funnier. Here are a couple other favorites:

Today, I was in a store pretending to be a mannequin. I saw a little girl running around as her mom tried to leave, yelling, "I haven't said goodbye to everyone!" She proceeded to run down the line of mannequins, hugging them all. When she got to me, I hugged her back. I've never heard anyone scream so hard. MLIA

Today I entered the grocery store, only stepping on the grey tiles. I turned down the cereal aisle and a small child told his mother, "Look mom, He doesn't step on the hot lava either." I high-fived the kid as I walked by. Sadly, I accidentally stepped in the lava. Not wanting to upset the child, I pretended to melt. MLIA

Refusery

2009-09-03T09:52:00.007-05:00

The blazer I'm wearing today has a butt flap. I'm unsure how I feel about this. It seems pretentious. I was going to take a picture with my iPhone to show you, but my phone just died. Stupid iPhone.

Stupid AT&T. It's not like I make a lot of phone calls, so the few calls I do make should be quality and not dropped every 30 seconds. That's all I ask.

I've decided not to buy any more paper clips until I absolutely have to. I've been nearly out of them for at least three weeks now, and yet I haven't actually run out yet. It seems that whenever I absolutely need one, there's one available. As there should be. I mean, really, where do they all go? Compelling thoughts, I know...

I have a slightly sore throat, and I sneezed a few times this morning, and I have very little energy. I refuse to believe this is H1N1. I choose to believe it's because I haven't been sleeping well.

Did you know Pandora only lets you listen to 40 hours of free music per month? I found that out in August. So I'm glad it's September now. If for no other reason than that.

I'm traveling to Maryland this weekend to visit my brother and his family. Hopefully I will update you soon with fun stories, pictures, and such.

Back in the Saddle

2009-07-27T09:00:00.009-05:00

Leslie woke me up this morning and made me cream of wheat with blueberries. This might be what it's like to have a wife. Like a mother, but less nagging.

Now she's standing outside my door describing her gas. "It's like a blanket that wraps around you," she says. She checks her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall, adjusts her collar, and smiles. "God made me special," she says.

I've decided to wear my Peter Pan shorts today. Peter Pan because that's who Leslie likened me to when I came out of the changing room at the Gap. "They make you look like a little boy," she said. But I like them anyway. They're dark green, a greenish grey-brown color, and fall just below my knees. I love the cut of them, and the fabric. Plus they were on clearance. So I bought them, despite Leslie. (Also of note, they're size 28. I wear 30, but these fit perfectly. Curious.)

"I'll see you at work," says Leslie as she heads for the door. I'm still sitting on my bed in my bathrobe in no real rush. "You know, we're living together and working together now," she adds.

"Yes," I reply. "We might be pushing our luck."

Nashville / Reunited

2009-06-04T08:24:00.020-05:00

I recently spent an extended weekend in Nashville, Tennessee. The occasion: Christa Schafer and Wes Campbell's wedding. It was an intimate and beautiful ceremony held in the Japanese Garden at Cheekwood. I played "The Swan" as Christa walked through the bamboo. My friend Michael gave the homily. The air was warm and bright, family was gathered in the secluded garden, and it was perfect.

While I was in Nashville I stayed with my friend Leslie. She's been in Thailand for the last eight months, and it was wonderful to see her. (Thank you Leslie for feeding me and giving me a bed to sleep in and a car to drive.) I also got to spend time with Michael and Angela and Rahel and Kirk, friends I don't see often enough.

The goodbyes were easier this time around. Not because I don't care anymore. Not because I wanted to leave. But because I know I will see these friends again. Even though we're bad at keeping in touch between visits, we visit each other often. These are lifelong friendships. We are so blessed.

(Hover over the pictures for a description; I was too lazy to make captions using CSS.)

Why We Hold On

2009-05-26T12:49:00.006-05:00

The heart holds onto what it wants to hold on to. It's like anything. You do what you're able to do at the time. And I guess, depending on what it is that you're holding on to, if it's something that's keeping you from living your life, then chances are you need to not hold on so tight, and if it's something that adds meaning and value to your life in the present, then I think it's worth holding on to. 'Cause someday we're all gonna have our head on a death bed, someday, and chances are the things that mean the most to us are not gonna be within sight or within reach, but all those things are what made our life valuable. And so why let go of it? Unless it's a real deterrent from embracing what's happening in the moment, my feeling is, what we remember is all we've got. That is what your life is.

Amy Grant, on her song "Missing You"

To Remember

2009-05-25T22:13:00.008-05:00

Wednesday it will be eight years since my dad died. I know I don't mention him much. It's not on purpose, and it's not that I don't think of him. Because I do, often, especially this time of year.

The main reason I don't mention him is because, when it comes to him, words fail me. Which is why this is not going to be a long, heartfelt, reflective kind of post. So don't expect that.

What you can expect is a song. Last year I wrote "Seven Years" to try and capture my thoughts on the anniversary of his death. The experience was so healing and good for me. I wondered if I would be able to repeat that process this year. Not putting too much pressure on a final product, but knowing that music is the way I best express what I'm thinking and feeling. So I sat down at the piano this weekend, set aside some time to find a melody and some lyrics. And I did. The new song is called "A Way to Mend."

I've been making a conscious effort in the last few weeks to mention my dad in conversations when there's opportunity and it's natural. I can share a memory about him when it pops in my head. I can tell my friends about things he did and said. These are things I know how to do, things I can talk about, even when I'm not sure what else to say. So I will.

A Way to Mend

2009-05-25T22:08:00.004-05:00

You never wanted to leave
All the same, I'm here without you
To navigate the distance to the man that I will be

We can't make it on our own
Every son should have a father
So why am I without the only man I really need

I can't replace you, so I'm struggling to find
A way to empty all the longing in my mind

Childish faith thought you would live forever
How I wish I wasn't so mature
I would trade all I know to put us back together
But I'll never know the way things would've been
All I know is how I found a way to mend

Think of all the years we lost
All the things you never taught me
There's so much left to learn, and I'll be learning it alone

As I forget you a bit more or less each day
I beg your memory to stay, please stay

Childish faith thought you would live forever
How I wish I wasn't so mature
I would trade all I know to put us back together
But I'll never know the way things would've been
All I know is how I found a way to mend

The jagged pieces won't sew neat at the seam
But this blanket gives me all the warmth I need

Childish faith thought you would live forever
How I wish I wasn't so mature
I would trade all I know to put us back together
But I'll never know the way things would've been
Maybe I will know the difference in the end
But for now I know I found a way to mend

This Is Where I've Been

2009-05-14T14:11:00.007-05:00

A couple weeks ago I was looking through some old papers, and I found the sheet music for one of my first songs, tucked under the flap of the front cover of a notebook. Looking at it now, it's the most simplistic, feeble attempt at a song. Up and down the scale. Same three chords, over and over. But I remember how proud I was of it back then and how I felt like "I was writing" and "I was playing the piano," at a time when I was so insecure. It would be years before I let myself believe that I was any good at the piano, or that I could write a good song, and even more years before I would dare make these claims to anyone else.

We don't realize how we have grown until we can see the contrast in ourselves. It takes this kind of comparison, cut out of time, looking back from where I am now to where I was then, to fill in the details of the years, the kind of growth you don't see as you're going through it because it's subtle, and you're too close.

It gives me hope. There are many areas of my life right now where I feel just as feeble and simplistic as that first song I wrote. But if I work at it, if I put in the practice and the focus and if I strive toward the goal, in a few years I may be looking back on where I am today, this moment, and I might see the beginnings of what I know has come to completion, and I might achieve all the things that I have dreamed of for so long.

Just About Time

2009-05-14T00:53:00.004-05:00

I'm a believer in new beginnings. Not just that they can happen, but that they should, and that they are good. You have no idea how far I've come to be able to say that and mean it.

I hate change. Hate, hate, hate it. The beginning and ending of each school year has always been a trying time for me. I can remember hiding away with my friend Gina Jacob in her apartment on campus at the beginning of my junior year at Union, not because we didn't want to see our friends, but because we needed a chance to catch our breath. After spending a quiet summer in Lincoln, only socializing with a handful of people, suddenly seeing so many friends in one place was overwhelming.

And somehow, still, I forget, every year. And what's crazier, right now what I miss, what I'm looking for is to be overwhelmed like that. By people and activities and socialization. It's too quiet in Lincoln during the summer, and I'm having a hard time transitioning. I miss friends. I miss the busy of Campus Ministries at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning. I miss getting visitors at work. I miss having plans every night of the week.

My friend Katie and I were chatting about this yesterday morning.

"I'm especially feeling the lack of that right now because most friends have left for the summer, so there aren't many people around," I said.

She agreed. "This can be kind of a ghost town, socially, in the summer."

"Or maybe there are people," I said. "Just few I see consistently..."

"Yeah."

"My normal routines of seeing people have been pulled out from under me."

"Yup, and that's kind of unsettling at first. However, that's one of the things I like about academics—your schedule changes drastically three times a year, so there's always variety."

I'm trying to put my energy into other outlets. I've started exercising more. I've been working in the yard, reading actual books, listening to podcasts, relaxing.

I have learned that life comes in seasons. Granted, they don't always come the way we want them to, or look the way we expect. For some changes, it's just about time. For others, you don't even see them coming.

Today

2009-05-11T19:42:00.004-05:00

Today I did things I hadn't done in many years. I bought new white socks (all of mine had huge wholes in the heels). I bought vitamins. I went running (for 24 whole minutes).

I also did things I hadn't done in many weeks. I washed my sheets. I listened to This American Life. I bought raw almonds. I trimmed the portulacaria (all eight of them).

I should have cleaned the bathroom, and I should have practiced my cello, and the sun's still up, so it's possible I could add those to the list, but, alas, I just don't want to.

At least I can say I blogged.

Surprised by Africa

2009-05-04T08:27:00.005-05:00

A few weeks ago my friend Kylie Schnell came to visit me at work. I think she was bringing me something. Money, maybe. Yeah, for her Jars of Clay ticket. So she stood outside my office window, payed me off, and we chatted it up.

"You were in my dream last night," she said.

"Really? That's fun," I said. "What was it about?"

"Well, let me tell you," she said. Then she related to me one of the weirdest, most detailed dreams I've ever known anyone to have dreamed.

Lucky for you, Kylie has granted permission for her dream to be featured here, so you too may experience it. I'll let Kylie share it in her own words, in the present tense, so as to be more suspenseful. Enjoy, and give thanks to Kylie.

I am in Africa with a group of people, something like a field trip. We are driving around in safari jeeps looking for animals with Dr. Webb (physics teacher at Union). There is an area with huge rocks (bigger than the jeeps), and we try to get over them, but it's not going well. So Webb says that he is going to use his physics knowledge to figure something out.

While waiting, a girl and I come across this random table laying on the ground. (You know those tables where the legs fold down and they can go flat?) Webb tells us to get on the table, and we are quite surprised when the table lifts from the ground and starts flying us around like the magic carpet from Aladdin. (Pretty sure there was no singing of "A Whole New World" though.) We ride around for some time, screaming at first and then transitioning to gleeful and excited yelps (of joy . . .). Oddly enough, there were lots of animals to see while we were on the magic carpet even though we didn't see any earlier in the excursion.

The carpet—oh wait, it's a table—stops semi-suddenly and our landing is not so smooth. Randomly we are back where the group of people was, but only Webb remains (Now that I look back, it only makes sense that the lions ate the rest of the people while we were in the air). A new addition to the scene is the presence of a giant stage—in the middle of the African savanna. All I remember is that it had red curtains pulled to the side and a wooden floor.

My friend from the table ride and I decide to go explore the stage. While we're up there, we hear Webb yell and realize that there are three lions running towards us. The girl and I try to fight them off. She is wailing, and I'm yelling and trying to smash their heads. At one point they stop focusing on her (so she runs to Webb) and I'm left with a stick and three lions. I see her and Webb get into the jeep, and I realize that I'm going to die, so I lay down and gaze up into the sky. (I think I'm still on the stage.) Lion faces block the lovely blue sky, and as they start chewing my face I realize that there is a lion above my head that is chewing on my left eyeball (which has popped out) . . . and I'm going to die.

Suddenly I'm alive again and in College View church. As I walk through the foyer I see bodies hanging limply along the stained glass windows. There is some sort of transition, and I'm now sitting in the sanctuary next to Ben Yancer and Barack Obama. There are strange Arab men (not trying to be racist, just writing the truth) standing on some landing way above the organ, and they are dressed in those long Arab robes. All of them are wearing cheap sunglasses, and they keep clinking their glasses of lemonade as a person at the front of the church reads off the names of those people who have been killed.

When the person at the front finishes reading names, he makes an announcement about the men with the lemonade. "They are not done killing," he says. "You need to stay in the church if you want to be safe." Well, apparently that seemed bogus to me, since there were bodies hanging in the foyer, so Ben and I decide we're going to leave. There is a big field near the church, and I have a blue jeep waiting there. Considering the situation, we don't seem to be in much of a rush and even take time to open the trunk of the jeep and sit in there and chat about the men with lemonade.

Suddenly I hear a little roar. My mind reflects back to my horrible death in Africa and my missing eye. I see three little baby lions running towards the blue jeep and while Ben seems to be relatively calm, I rush to the middle of the field and strike some heroic pose as if to scare them. They keep coming, and my mind is frantically running through ideas of how to fight them.

AND THEN THE POPCORN STARTS TO FALL FROM THE SKY! Lots of it. Not like a blizzard though. Sort of a slow motion, surreal shower of puffy whiteness. "Hooray," I think to myself. Without a second thought, I scoop popcorn into my hands and start pelting it at the little cubs (as if it would hurt them). You know the scene in Shrek where he is running through a field and there are flowers in the air as he runs in slow motion? That is me—except there is popcorn instead . . . and little lions.

And that is the end. I hope I lived.