07/30/14

The living God does not allow himself to be known "objectively," that is, as an object of human manipulation.

The unbelieving marrow of the capricious man cannot perceive anything but unbelief and caprice, positing ends and devising means. His world is devoid of sacrifice and grace, encounter and presence, but shot through with ends and means.

Christian faith is made to appear attractive from the worldly point of view, this probably means that faith has somehow been emptied of the possibility of any real encounter with the living God, and so has really ceased to be faith at all.

If we do not read, and if we do not pray, what else can this mean except that we have lost confidence in God's willingness - and perhaps even in his ability - to keep the conversation going?

While he constantly confirms and demonstrates his gracious presence to those who place their trust in him, God refuses to adhere to merely human criteria for demonstrability.

Man lives quite well by bread alone so long as he can be distracted - by means of entertainment and therapy - from asking imponderable religious questions.

-Toward a Theology of Personhood by Craig M. Gay

What is it to have faith?
How do we begin to have faith?
How do I believe without sight?
How do I deny my senses when they seem so real and pursue that which claims to be true reality beyond the physical?
Life is certainly more than ends and means.

God is love and love is real.

No, I don't know if I know
though some, with certainty insist
'no certainty exists'
well I'm certain enough of this:
...Day's run, days set plot
our compass shot
we sailed waywardly on
singing out midnight archer songs
until well past dawn
it's still dark in the deck of our boat
haphazardly blown broken bows
our aimless arrow-words
don't mean a thing
so by now I think
it's pretty obvious that there's no God
and there's definitely a God!
-mewithoutYou

What a strange world we live in.
In this balance between doubt and faith.

I choose to believe.

The Tallest Man on Earth - Revelation Blues

07/28/14

her face digging into my chest her nose pressed against me

ripping weeds, pulling, grabbing, sweat pouring down my face and back, keep working, keep pulling, endless weeds makes for endless work.

Her bare feet, tiny soft steps closer and closer towards me arms opening face smiling as radiant as the sun.

Get on the plane, get the fuck out of here, Ireland, the ocean, mountains, fish and chips.

Her laugh rings loud in my ears perfectly unique forcing a smile of mine at every new gasp for breath

The Louvre, the Eiffel tower, kick off my shoes feel the french grass beneath my feet as the bottle of wine is passed and sipped the sun setting peaceful finally lay back in the grass feel the blades tickle my body

her fingers approaching me with that evil grin as she corners me on the couch my mind inches away from hysteria as she will not relent as she tickles me OH SHIT

come back from the Coliseum, come back from Europe, the Ocean, the sun on my skin the waves underneath me, the Atlantic, the sand everywhere, my life long friends around me, cheap beer and even cheaper food, coolers, sandwiches, jokes, stories, tents, eyes shut in our sleeping bags, the sounds of the ocean

her brown eyes lit by the flickering street lamp above us, 4 a.m.? 7 a.m.? where did the night go? work tomorrow, I don't care, being here, listening, talking, sharing one seat in the car, holding tight, she asks to be held tighter and tighter, the stiff cold blanket wrapped around us, our breath filling the car WHAT THE FUCK!!!!

Norwood, Erin, Robert, coffee, conversation, God, garden, Caden laying by my feet,

her giant coats and sweaters, her car filled with stories inside and out, her lips smiling yet not showing teeth, her eyes closed, palms up, her eyes open fix themselves on mine she's about to say something, could be anything... and I've never seen anything so beautiful.

What the hell is wrong with me?
I stuff it, I ignore it, I embrace it, I admit it, I give up, I put my hand to the plow and keep my eyes forward. 10 months... 10 months? God 10 months? Why? What has happened to me? When did this happen? What the hell is wrong with me? She doesn't want this. 10 months God?! Europe, Ocean, Garden, I can't get away, I can't stop my senseless heart. Shower after shower, soap after soap I can't wash her face off my chest, I can't wash her arms off my waist, I can't get her lips off mine. What is this? idolatry? obsession? pathetic? romantic? stupid? hopeless? wrong? right? I am so confused. How much more until she is gone? How much longer? what is this love? How do I move forward? What has happened to me?

Where do I go from here?
What do I do with this?
Will I ever see her again?
Will she ever speak to me again?
I need to talk to Toni again. What will Toni say to me?

"I am finding freedom in the waiting.
We don't consistently see beauty in the same places. What I wait for in expectation is something another may have in full, and what I take for granted, another may long for."

"In classical usage the term for "patience" meant "to stay behind" and carried the fateful military connotation of standing one's ground and remaining steadfast in the face of the enemy, even in the face of certain defeat."

"One might even say that the subjective awareness of love appears first as awareness of the necessity of waiting."

As much as my head knows she is gone and she will not speak to me again nor will my eyes meet hers I cannot hide my vulnerability and reality in this truth: I still miss her. As much as it pains me to write this letter to You oh, God to withhold it would be the greater sin for to deny is to live in captivity. To dodge truth and resist it's powers to set free would be to not live in reality but in some self created world in which I have no feelings towards her. I long for that world but it remains, I do not live in that world.

This old wound has been ripped open by Erin and Robert's questions with one foot out the door yesterday I heard her name spoken. I stopped, turned back towards the beautiful couple and the feelings I thought I had suppressed came flowing back into my heart like blood returning to grasp oxygen.

"We haven't talked, I think she's back with her exboyfriend"
"Oh well you never know, have you tried to reach out to her? I mean love is a risk like we talked about"
"Erin please don't plant that hope, I'm just trying to let go of everything, that's why I'm growing the beard. I'm learning letting go."

I hugged them and thanked them once again for one of the most beautiful weekends of my life. As I walked down the steps at the sidewalk I stopped closed my eyes took a deep breath and turned towards my car. I know this car won't be able to go fast enough to undo what Erin and Robert just reopened. Here I am writing to You Jesus. Erin said You give us feelings for a reason maybe she's as big of a romantic as I am but is this true? What am I supposed to do with these feelings? Why give them to me? I don't want them. She hasn't even so much as texted me since March. I haven't seen her since she turned 22.

I miss her very much so.

Give me peace Jesus.
Give me peace.
Hakuna matata.

Teach me how to trust you Jesus
free her heart
heal Bea
heal me

Birdy - Tee Shirt

07/27/14

The Man Who Planted Trees

07/23/14

The external restraint which love practices is often a mark of its freedom from internal limit. Love does not lay down the condition that it must be allowed freedom to express itself, nor limit its activity to those circumstances in which it may freely act. Love accepts without limit the discipline of circumstances. Although it always aspires to enlarge its own activity, it sometimes finds its most generous enlargement in the acceptance of restraint. Love must sometimes express itself in the renunciation of not disclosing itself.

That which love withholds is withheld for the sake of the other who is loved - so that it may not harm her, so that it may be used for a more timely service or so that it may mature into a richer gift. A person who loves holds nothing for himself: he reserves nothing as of right. That which he holds, he holds either on trust or as gift. He holds on trust that which awaits its own maturity or the need or capacity of the other to receive it: he holds as gift that which is returned to him in response of the other who is loved.

The authenticity of love must imply a totality of giving - that which we call the giving of self or self-giving. The self is the totality of what a man has and is: and it is no less than this that is offered or made available in love.

Love is activity for the sake of an other: and where the object of love is wholly under the control of the one who loves, that object is no longer an other. It is a part or extension of the professed lover - an extension of himself. Love has become distorted by the assurance of possession and control.

Where the object of love is truly an ‘other’, the activity of love is always precarious. Between the self and the other there always exists, as it were, a ‘gap’ which the aspiration of love may fail to bridge or transcend. That which love would do or give or express may fail to ‘arrive’ - through misjudgement, through misunderstanding or through rejection. Love may be ‘frustrated’: its most earnest aspirations may ‘come to nothing’: the greatness of what is offered in love may be wholly disproportionate to the smallness of that, if anything, which is received. Herein lies the poignancy of love, and its potential tragedy. The activity of love contains no assurance or certainty of completion: much may be expended and little achieved. The progress of love must always be by tentative and precarious steps: and each step that is taken, whether it ‘succeeds’ or ‘fails’, becomes the basis for the next, and equally precarious, step which must follow.

Love proceeds by no assured programme. Each step of love is a step of risk; and each step taken generates the need for another and equally precarious step.

The precariousness of love’s activity appears equally clearly in the field of artistic creation. It may be said of the artist that he is always stretching his powers beyond their known limit. If he works within his limit, proceeding by an assured programme and doing only that which he knows himself able to do, then he is no longer a creative artist: and his work falls into the category of reproduction or manufacture. In his activity the artist discovers his own capacity: but his capacity is not to be thought of as a fixed quantity, nor his activity as an experiment to detect the limit of that quantity. His work is not experiment but engagement - engagement which enlarges that which it employs by the risk of extending it beyond its known capacity. As the artist exceeds his known powers, his work is precariously poised between success and failure, between triumph and tragedy: it may be that the work of art is marred beyond redemption, or it may be that powers hitherto unknown will prove adequate to the completion and triumph of the work. As we watch a painter at work, or as we follow the unfolding of a poet’s theme, there comes the moment of the bold brushstroke or the adventurous image: and at that moment the work as a whole is thrown out of balance. The brushstroke seems excessively heavy, the image merely bizarre. If creative activity should be interrupted at that point, we should see the whole work marred, and the artist fall victim to his excess of boldness. But often it is precisely at that moment that we see the greatness of the artist: we see him able to triumph through his apparent excess - to use the brushstroke as the beginning of a new area of depth or radiance within the picture, to develop the image so that it becomes integral to an enlarged vision.

We see at the moment of lost control, the most intense endeavour of the artist: and his greatness lies in his ability to discover ever-new reserves of power to meet each challenge of precarious adventure - each challenge of power exceeded and of control lost.

In artistic creation, as in human relationships, the authenticity of love is denied by the assurance of control. Love aspires to reach that which, being truly an ‘other’ cannot be controlled. The aspiration of love is that the other, which cannot be controlled, may receive: and the greatness of love lies in its endless and unfailing improvisation in hope that the other may receive. As aspiration, love never fails: for there is no internal limit to its will to endeavour, to venture and to expend. But as specific achievement, love must often fail: and each step it takes is poignant for the possibility of failure.

The Precariousness of love is experienced, subjectively, in the tense passivity of ‘waiting’. For the completion of its endeavour, for its outcome as triumph or as tragedy, love must wait. One might even say that the subjective awareness of love appears first as awareness of the necessity of waiting. It is important to see that that for which the lover or the artist waits is not some gain or goal which might have been attained by different means, or some ‘reward’ for his devoted activity. The ‘reward’ for which he waits is nothing else than the completion of his own activity - the response of receiving which is the completion of his own activity of giving. For this the lover or the artist must wait: and the necessity of waiting brings home to him the precariousness of his love’s endeavour - its lack of final control over that situation which it has itself created. Where control is complete, and exercised in complete assurance, the falsity of love is exposed.

To that which is loved power is given which it would not otherwise possess and which otherwise would be unaccountable. It is ‘power of meaning’ - the power of having meaning to, or value for, the one who loves. It is the power of affecting the one who loves. Love is vulnerable in and through the beloved in the sense that in her its issue is at stake - its completion or frustration, its triumph or tragedy. He who loves surrendered into other hands the issue and outcome of his own aspiration its denouncement as triumph or as tragedy.

We are describing not that which any man has known or experienced but that towards which every man, at the depth of his being which is more profound than language, gropes and aspires.

-The Phenomenology of Love, W.H. Vanstone

Brett Dennen - Nothing last forever

07/19/14

#YearoftheBeard14

I am in the 29th week of 2014.

Then God said, “Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us. They will reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the wild animals on the earth, and the small animals that scurry along the ground.” So God created human beings[d] in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. Then God blessed them and said, “Be fruitful and multiply. Fill the earth and govern it. Reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, and all the animals that scurry along the ground.”
-Genesis 1

Then the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground. He breathed the breath of life into the man’s nostrils, and the man became a living person.
-Genesis 2

So Hanun seized David’s ambassadors and shaved off half of each man’s beard, cut off their robes at the buttocks, and sent them back to David in shame.When David heard what had happened, he sent messengers to tell the men, “Stay at Jericho until your beards grow out, and then come back.” For they felt deep shame because of their appearance.
-2 Samuel 10

You will become pregnant and give birth to a son, and his hair must never be cut. For he will be dedicated to God as a Nazirite from birth. He will begin to rescue Israel from the Philistines.
-Judges 13

Do not trim off the hair on your temples or trim your beards.
-Leviticus 19

The priests must not shave their heads or trim their beards or cut their bodies. They must be set apart as holy to their God and must never bring shame on the name of God. They must be holy, for they are the ones who present the special gifts to the Lord, gifts of food for their God.
-Leviticus 21

I have been growing a lot as I've grown this beard. Now being a little over halfway down with the year I begin reflecting.

As my beard and hair continue to grow I find myself receiving comments about how I look like Jesus, or Noah, or other biblical persons. I often respond by saying Jesus isn't white or Jesus doesn't have blonde hair.

But the beard was never for others. Growing it out wasn't to show others.

This year, this beard has been an experience with God.

Who do You say that I am?
Who is Adam?
What would I look like if I let go?

Jesus always teaches to give up and die. What would it look like in this simple sense of grooming?

I think the beard has been many things for me.

I've grown it to grow closer to God.
I've grown it to see how people treat me if I don't look as culturally handsome as I could.

I've grown it in solidarity with my homeless friends. I want to sit beside them during meals and the lines between money, addictions, pain, loneliness, and sin disappear. I don't want to stand on the opposite side of the counter scooping handouts to them. I want to stand beside them receiving along with my brothers and sisters. I want volunteers to greet me gently as if I am one of "those people" I want to blur the line between serving and served.

We are all sinners.
We are all saints.

It isn't by our bank accounts or our "security" that we are made clean. It isn't by our clean shirt or smooth chin that we are made clean. It is by Jesus and Jesus alone. A man who is not white and who had a very large beard.

I often look at my face in the mirror and I think back to Genesis. I think back to the beginning. The creation. The garden.

I think about Adam.

God created man and man can grow a beard. Not women. Not children. Men. What a strange thing to think about.

I look at myself in the mirror and I see a man created in the image of God. I see what I would look like if I were a Nazirite. I see what I would look like as a gentile who is among God's chosen people.

The painting of Adam show him shaved and clean but I doubt the first man looked so well kept.

The Torah commands men not to shave their beards.

As I grow mine I think of David his long beard as he ruled God's people.
I think of Sampson as he pulled the pillars down.
Noah
Moses
Isaiah
Jeremiah
Hosea
Elisha
...Adam
...Jesus

Why only men? Why hair out of our faces?

We live in a culture where we try so hard not to seem mortal. Not to be an animal. But while all of humanity is trying to escape these bodies trying to cheat death trying to deny limitations deny we are connected to this world and it's animals, as humans run towards the spiritual God run towards the human. Jesus chose to be mortal, Jesus chose to die, while we choose to hide death.

I am told I look like a wild man.
I am told I look like castaway.

What people are saying is I am losing my humanity. The lines between animal and man are blurring and it isn't good.

But I disagree and I believe God does as well.

I believe the native people of this country had more wisdom than the scientists of today. I believe the native people 500 years ago knew more about life, love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control than all the psychologists of today.

One glance at those people and the "civilized" labeled them "savages" but I believe the plank was very large in their eye.

Here I am God. You ask me to give up. You ask me to die. You ask me to let go. This is me letting go of my appearance. This is me letting go of my mortal denial.

I am a human. I am dust. I will die.

This year, this beard halfway complete is a reminder that I and this planet are connected.
We need to work together. We need to communicate. I need to receive what it gives and not simply take what I want. I need the fruit of the Great Spirit like the natives of this land once had.

Who do You say that I am?

Chvrches - The Mother We Share

07/14/14

There is a picture hanging in the Fruit of the Vine. It is a young person holding fishes and loaves.

I love the picture. It is beautiful.

I love the story of Jesus asking his disciples how much they had and them having only a little gave it to him. Jesus asks what we have and we respond "not much" Jesus takes what little we have and He feeds thousands.

All God asks of us is to come with what we have. Be human. Be finite. Be limited. Be honest. Bring to Jesus whatever you have whatever it looks like no matter how ugly or useless or broken or tiny it may seem to you bring it.

It is in this that Jesus looks at us, us sinners and he sees what we have and with a beautiful smile and a laugh he speaks to our hearts "I can make that work" and out come an abundance. Not simply enough but rather left overs.

I love God for many many reasons and one of them being this. Beauty from ashes, abundance from little. Making all things new.

When I look into this painting I think about Norwood. I think about Parish Farming. I think about how small I am. I think about communion. I think about sharing. I think about love. I think about Jesus. I think about how simple yet profound sharing a meal can be. I think about the miracle of new life from a seed to plant. I love God. God is love and love is life and life is good. I think about the Arawak Garden.

The Arawak Garden is a place the city has rejected. It is an empty lot the city doesn't know what to do with. It is vacant. It is worthless. It was turned into a garden by some anarchists but even they neglected it. Even to the forgotten it was forgotten. Renegade farmers began to sew and reap from this place still without ownership without meaning.

Then one day it started to become something. Slowly bit by bit. It started with an e-mail. It started with an idea. We arrived on that chilly autumn day overwhelmed by the work that needed to be done yet at the same time overwhelmed by the hope that was hidden inside the labor.

Winter came and it was a harsh winter. The weather reached record lows and the snow fell at record amounts. Along with the weather life had changed. Plans crumbled. Fear, pain, uncertainty during the cold dark winter months. But during all of this God was with us. God was standing in the snow up to his knees well below freezing at the Arawak Garden God can see beauty in the dead of winter. God was with me through tears, through questions, through growth. God can see beauty in pain and confusion.

Slowly bit by bit the snow began to melt. The days slowly grew longer and longer. The sun gained its strength back and the soil began to soften. What was underneath the snow again looked laborious and doubtful. But God turned ashes to beauty.

One sunny day in late April God showed me his love through friends, through spring. God showed me life out of death.

As we were all working side by side pulling weeds spreading compost and planting seeds I had to stop for a minute and take it in. Over 20 people had showed up that day and my heart could barely take it. Here in the forgotten plot of land that no one wanted. In this land that the city thought held no value, I had a wealth that exceeded value.

God stood there in the same place that He had during that frigid winter smiling in the sun. I had my own plans for 2014. I had my own plans for the Pantry, for the Garden. God spoke to me and said if I take from you will you still pursue those plans? Will you still pursue that dream, that vision? Am I enough?

Painfully I pushed on. Week by week I showed up to that garden watching the weeds we had just pulled up grow back twofold. As I sat there hour after hour week after week month after month pulling weeds sitting with God I was slowly healing.

I was pulling the weeds of the garden while God tended to the garden of my soul. Am I enough? God asked as I often thought about someone not by my side. Am I enough? Yes God You are enough. Weed after weed slowly with my bare hands. Soil under my fingernails. Thinking about how the first Adam was made from soil and the first weeds made from sin. Now, this Adam pulling weeds out of soil, God pulling sin out of man.

Standing there hungry asking God for nourishment God looked at me and asked how much I have and I respond "not much" He spoke to my heart "I can make that work"

I returned from Europe to find the garden exploding with food begging to be harvested. I raced home with buckets and buckets of vegetables panicking about what to do about all this food hoping it wasn't too late that it hadn't gotten bitter missing the best harvest time.

I called my Franklinton Garden friends begging for help. This community coming beside me giving me peace with a glass of wine. I began to wash the lettuce as they chopped the chard.

I remember the feeling carrying that first batch of greens into the pantry. I was hooked.

Now it is my weekly sanctuary in my own kitchen like a bird learning to fly on its own I now stand chopping, washing, slicing, seasoning, frying, stirring on my own.

Sunday night the sun is slowly setting the tiny green clock on the coffee maker reads 7:00 in it's robotic duty. I begin by hauling up the bucket of fresh food.

Yesterday I recall harvesting and examining the plants one by one as I pluck and as I resist, knowing God's timing and faithfulness will ripen those not yet ready. I water and harvest as I meet Zane the Coffman Cross Country Atheist turned Christian. He comes from Veritas to volunteer. My heart swells at the though of many churches coming together working along side each other.

Once the bucket is in the kitchen with me I open the windows inviting nature into the kitchen the cool summer breeze wafting in. I place my phone, set to the Avett Brothers Pandora channel, on the sill of the window above the sink as it begins to fill with cold water. I plunge the rainbow chard into the water washing each and every leaf. I feel the refreshing water and the beautifully green leaves. I am transported back into the kitchen of Moriah Pie in Norwood as I clean the leaves of the salad prior to serving.

Each leaf different. It is marvelous. I begin to cut the stems off counting 8 9 10 then rolling the stacks of ten slicing them into ribbons and splitting those ribbons. The tiny green clock reads 8:00 and the chard isn't even finished yet.

My shoulders begin to ache as my back is bent over the sink
washing
drying
cutting
slicing
splitting
stacking

Draining the sink I run my hands in the brown soil water. Filling the sink again I continue.
Next the lamb's quarters one by one I pluck the leaves and stack them in the strainer The music softly playing I imagine the faces of my brothers and sisters at the pantry. I recall them asking for more last week. I remember their compliments. I remember their smiles as they tried what I had prepared.

After the sink is drained again I reach into the bucket again to pull out what's left
beans
carrots
onions from Franklinton Gardens
mustard greens
acorn squash
zucchini
peppers

The meal is filling with color! I can smell the fresh vegetables on my fingers as I scoop them into the pile. Three months ago all of this every bit of it was nothing but a collection of tiny seeds. Here my counter top is covered with food that did not exist in any way three months ago. Six months ago the garden was a dead winter snow pile. But God is faithful. God did not worry nor was God surprised at the piles of food in my kitchen. I stood there shocked and laughing as I sang along to the music as my back hurt as the clock read 9:18.

How could I have known back in the fall during that work day that I would be here in Clintonville standing in my kitchen using knowledge I had learned from Franklinton Gardens and Norwood Ohio to prepare food for my friends at the pantry? How could I have guessed?

I use to never stay back in the kitchen on Monday nights now I see the beauty in preparing the food. As I think about the years I've spent in the Pantry I think about how I've come to love each and every part of it and the importance of every role.

I've stood and preached.
I've sat and ate
I've mopped and swept
I've set up tables
I've taken them down
I've cried beside brothers
I've laughed among sisters
and now for the first time I've experienced the beauty of cooking and watching those who are hungry eat what I have prepared.

I've watched the snow melt
I've watched the weeds get pulled
I've watched my friends push seeds into soil
I've watched God water them from the clouds
I've watched those seeds turn to plants turn to vegetables
I've harvested those vegetables
I've washed them
I've chopped them

and now here I stand as the stove heats up I begin to cook them.
Sauce
seasoning
spices

The sun is completely gone the only light is the pull chain bulb above the sink. The cool breeze has been replaced by the stoves heat. Stirring mixing the smell is fantastic!

My legs are tired of standing but my body pushing through to see this meal to completion. The coffee maker reads 10:30 at the moment I stretch the foil over the pan.

It is complete.

A free meal for my family at a high cost of time, energy, sweet, research, help, and so much more. But as I stand there thinking about the price I wouldn't have it any other way. Gandhi once said "be the change that you wish to see in the world.” I wish to see a world where everything is free where people work hard and give way the fruits of their labor. I wish to see a world where we help each other. I wish to see a world of natural tasty plants and food. I think about the world I wish to see. I think about the work put into this tiny amount of food and I think to myself "I wouldn't have it any other way" I want to freely give.

I think about this tiny tray of food and I see God standing next to me smiling asking what do we have and I respond "not much" and he sees what we have and with a beautiful smile and a laugh he speaks to my heart "I can make that work"

It is well with my soul. As I watch my brothers and sisters fill up on food I've prepared I realize I am being filled up. My heart is filled. My soul is satisfied.

I love God for many many reasons and one of them being this.

The Avett Brothers - January Wedding

07/12/14

Before anyone ever cared where I would play basketball, I was a kid from Northeast Ohio. It’s where I walked. It’s where I ran. It’s where I cried. It’s where I bled. It holds a special place in my heart. People there have seen me grow up. I sometimes feel like I’m their son. Their passion can be overwhelming. But it drives me. I want to give them hope when I can. I want to inspire them when I can. My relationship with Northeast Ohio is bigger than basketball. I didn’t realize that four years ago. I do now.

Remember when I was sitting up there at the Boys & Girls Club in 2010? I was thinking, This is really tough. I could feel it. I was leaving something I had spent a long time creating. If I had to do it all over again, I’d obviously do things differently, but I’d still have left. Miami, for me, has been almost like college for other kids. These past four years helped raise me into who I am. I became a better player and a better man. I learned from a franchise that had been where I wanted to go. I will always think of Miami as my second home. Without the experiences I had there, I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m doing today.

I went to Miami because of D-Wade and CB. We made sacrifices to keep UD. I loved becoming a big bro to Rio. I believed we could do something magical if we came together. And that’s exactly what we did! The hardest thing to leave is what I built with those guys. I’ve talked to some of them and will talk to others. Nothing will ever change what we accomplished. We are brothers for life. I also want to thank Micky Arison and Pat Riley for giving me an amazing four years.

I’m doing this essay because I want an opportunity to explain myself uninterrupted. I don’t want anyone thinking: He and Erik Spoelstra didn’t get along. … He and Riles didn’t get along. … The Heat couldn’t put the right team together. That’s absolutely not true.

I’m not having a press conference or a party. After this, it’s time to get to work.

When I left Cleveland, I was on a mission. I was seeking championships, and we won two. But Miami already knew that feeling. Our city hasn’t had that feeling in a long, long, long time. My goal is still to win as many titles as possible, no question. But what’s most important for me is bringing one trophy back to Northeast Ohio.

I always believed that I’d return to Cleveland and finish my career there. I just didn’t know when. After the season, free agency wasn’t even a thought. But I have two boys and my wife, Savannah, is pregnant with a girl. I started thinking about what it would be like to raise my family in my hometown. I looked at other teams, but I wasn’t going to leave Miami for anywhere except Cleveland. The more time passed, the more it felt right. This is what makes me happy.

To make the move I needed the support of my wife and my mom, who can be very tough. The letter from Dan Gilbert, the booing of the Cleveland fans, the jerseys being burned -- seeing all that was hard for them. My emotions were more mixed. It was easy to say, “OK, I don’t want to deal with these people ever again.” But then you think about the other side. What if I were a kid who looked up to an athlete, and that athlete made me want to do better in my own life, and then he left? How would I react? I’ve met with Dan, face-to-face, man-to-man. We’ve talked it out. Everybody makes mistakes. I’ve made mistakes as well. Who am I to hold a grudge?

I’m not promising a championship. I know how hard that is to deliver. We’re not ready right now. No way. Of course, I want to win next year, but I’m realistic. It will be a long process, much longer than it was in 2010. My patience will get tested. I know that. I’m going into a situation with a young team and a new coach. I will be the old head. But I get a thrill out of bringing a group together and helping them reach a place they didn’t know they could go. I see myself as a mentor now and I’m excited to lead some of these talented young guys. I think I can help Kyrie Irving become one of the best point guards in our league. I think I can help elevate Tristan Thompson and Dion Waiters. And I can’t wait to reunite with Anderson Varejao, one of my favorite teammates.

But this is not about the roster or the organization. I feel my calling here goes above basketball. I have a responsibility to lead, in more ways than one, and I take that very seriously. My presence can make a difference in Miami, but I think it can mean more where I’m from. I want kids in Northeast Ohio, like the hundreds of Akron third-graders I sponsor through my foundation, to realize that there’s no better place to grow up. Maybe some of them will come home after college and start a family or open a business. That would make me smile. Our community, which has struggled so much, needs all the talent it can get.

In Northeast Ohio, nothing is given. Everything is earned. You work for what you have.

I’m ready to accept the challenge. I’m coming home.
-LeBron James

I've never been much of a LeBron fan.
I've never been much of an NBA fan.

But this essay is seriously moving.

I can't believe LeBron would come back to Cleveland after the way the city treated him when he left.

I am amazed at his wisdom, forgiveness, and love towards Northeast Ohio.

Today I became a LeBron fan. The man has been under the spotlight since he was a high schooler. He grew up without his father and he didn't ask for all the media and fame.

LeBron under this massive spotlight and with all this money has composed this essay. He's only 29 and been in the NBA 11 of those years.

He could choose anywhere in the country to play basketball. New York, L.A. Miami, Chicago, anywhere and he chose Cleveland Ohio not to advance his career, not to win but simply because he loves home. He loves Ohio. I'm blown away.

As I watched the Cavs fans talk more and more about LeBron coming home my immediate thoughts were they were just setting themselves up for disappointment. What are the chances he would return?

Then it happened.

In the most poetic way possible, LeBron wrote a heartfelt letter to the area of NE Ohio and said he's coming home.

Life doesn't seem to work out this way normally.
Normally he's gone.
Normally there is no second chance.
Normally what's done is done.

But here it is right in front of me.
Hope fulfilled.

I wonder what it is about home that makes everyone feel this way.

Reading Lebron talk about how this is where he learned to walk, where he bled.
Listening to Travis talk about Wauseon
or other friends talk about their house growing up.

There is something powerful about home.
What it represents
What it feels like

Science can try to label it with some psychoanalysis or biological reason but it seems like more than that.

Hope
Home

These strong forces in our lives, they can make us do illogical and inefficient actions.

Life is more than logic and efficiency.

To live is to love and

Life is good.

The Griswolds - Beware the Dog

07/09/14

The longer I live in Clintonville the more I find myself walking places.

I love to walk.

While in Europe I always preferred walking to the metro or the buses.

There is something about walking.

Life should be lived at a walking pace.

It's calming.
It's not busy.
It opens up time to think time to be with God.

When I walk I can experience existence.

I can feel the sun on my face
I can hear the birds
I can see the trees
I can smell the flowers

Walking opens up the journey. It is more than making good time. It is more than efficiency.

We miss so many things at 30mph with our windows up and our music on.
We miss life.
We miss God.

Walking I am reminded of my limits of how small I am. It limits my travel options. But it opens possibilities.

There is so much anger on the roads. So much rage, pride, control.

There is peace on the sidewalk. There is time and life crawling below and soaring above.

Life is good.

The Milk Carton Kids - Michigan

07/05/14

I finished reading "Letter to a Christian Nation" by Sam Harris

I could go through and respond page by page but a lot of what Harris wrote I agree with.

However we fundamentally disagree on some things which makes his arguments agreeable yet irrelevant to me.

Questions of morality are questions about happiness and suffering. This is why you and I do not have moral obligations towards rocks. To the degree that our actions can affect the experience of other creatures positively or negatively, questions of morality apply.
-Sam Harris

I think at this point in the letter, on page 8, Harris based his whole argument off this definition of morality which I do not agree with. Because of this linchpin point I found myself agreeing with him along with finding his points irrelevant.

If morality is simply about increasing happiness and decreasing suffering then our world would one day look exactly like the world of Wall E.

Morality is more than eliminating suffering and increasing happiness. What a horribly awful existence we would live in a world where morality was defined by Sam Harris. Everything would be rated by less suffering and more efficient.

Growth is in the suffering.
Growth is in the rain.
Growth is in the pain.
Growth is in the drops like stars.

I am opposed to suffering for the sake of suffering but dodging pain only to increase happiness or at the cost of our environment and others I would not consider morality. Telling me the only purpose of my being here is to stay a bit longer.

Harris does make some sort of attempt to disprove the existence of God in a very strange way. First he attempts to make the point that if we were created by Intelligent design it is not very intelligent. This is a strange point because it would mean that intelligence is dependent on efficiency. What Harris is saying is instead creation wasn't efficiency designed which is very different from intelligently. The Sistine Chapel wasn't efficiently designed but it certainly was intelligently, beautifully.

The other point he tries to make has to do with the contents of the bible:

A book written by an omniscient being could contain a chapter on mathematics that, after two thousand years of continuous use, would still be the richest source of mathematical insight humanity has ever known...Why doesn't the Bible say anything about electricity, or about DNA, or about the actual age and size of the universe? What about a cure for cancer? When we fully understand the biology of cancer, this understanding will be easily summarized in a few pages of text. Why aren't these pages, or anything remotely like them, found in the Bible?
-Sam Harris

Mathematics and cures in the bible? What sort of existence would we be living in if God functioned this way? There is so much more to life than math and cures. So much more to life can prolonging existence and making everyone comfortable.

I do agree with a lot of what Sam Harris believes as far as our "Christian Nation" goes. As I've been reading my July packet for the Parish Farming Internship I found exactly what Harris is trying to say written by Christians.

If they cannot play fair and persuade or convert everyone else in America to their point of view, they will force all of us to adopt their view through legislation...Christian ethics only make sense from the point of view of what we believe has happened in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth.
-Resident Aliens: A Provocative Christian Assessment of Culture and Ministry for People Who Know that Something is Wrong by Stanley Hauerwas and William H. Willimon

I agree with Harris that it isn't right to throw your weight around as a religion in legislation because you have the votes and the money to do so. We as Christians should live out or convictions without forcing those who do not value the same ethics to do the same by means of controlling the laws of the nation in which we all live.

Love does not demand its own way
-1 Corinthians 13

Wild Child - This Place

07/02/14

The Parish Farming Internship 2014



I've only had two out of the five sessions of the internship and my heart has already had more than it can take. When I first arrived at the Oak House in March walking into that place with candles lit and passover waiting to be shared it felt like home.

Last year's interns' potatoes, amazing poems and prayers, vienna sausage candles, hot coffee, long talks, hot days, planting, harvesting, learning, listening, reading, writing, This internship is so much more than I can bare to take.

In May we harvested chickens. I journaled about it in my notebook. Swinging the ax it was a sobering, sanctifying experience. Out of death life is sustained. Only through death can life exist.

The details of each strawberry, the flavor, the juice, the faithfulness of God as sprouts push through soil. The thankfulness as each bite is taken and savored. The servanthood of waiting tables at Moriah Pie. Reclining at the table after a meal listening to the others talk sipping homemade wine. The candles burning low. The sound of laughter filling the room. The tension of both serious somber conversation mixed perfectly with lighthearted joking.

This is the pace of life my heart longs for. This is the community. This is the service. My heart swells in Norwood Ohio. Watching Robert and Erin's marriage, long talks about love with Robert as we prep for the pizza. Learning and asking those who have experienced such different things than me. Cracking black walnuts to make a cake. Digging in compost to expose the rat nest. Washing the dishes. collecting maple sap to make syrup. Reading those perfect literature compilations. Writing so many notes of so much wisdom. My soul agreeing and resting in such a peace.

I want to cry when I walk up the steps of that porch. I want to cry when they all greet me. I want to cry when I listen to our discussions. Why is it so beautiful?!

Why is EVERYTHING so beautiful?!
God you are good. Life is good.
So many many things and thoughts!

Shakey Graves - Roll the Bones