Old Tokens

Slow & Steady Wins The Race

In the past two weeks, two men have walked into the lobby of my work and I’ve ended up talking to them for a while. Last week it was a drunk guy named Joe. His world was falling apart and a few other guys and I ended up talking to him for a while, trying to find a way to help. It was a very sad interaction and in the end, I felt like we didn’t accomplish much in helping Joe.

Today, when I got to work, a homeless man was standing in the lobby talking to the receptionists. I could tell he was making them nervous, so I stuck around to keep an eye on the situation. I ended up talking to the guy for a long time when he tried to go into the shower stall of the men’s bathroom. He seemed relatively sane, quite articulate about his faith and focused on what he wanted to accomplish as a “homeless evangelist”. By the time he left, I felt like all I did was make the man angry and feel like he was unwanted in our building.

Once he left, I made my way back to my office to get to work. I checked my email first and had a letter from a dear friend of mine who is going through a hard time in life. Their world recently got turned upside down and my heart broke for my friend. I sat at my computer for a long…long time trying to come up with the words to comfort this person and let them know they had someone who loved them and cared about them. I hit send and immediately felt like I had completely failed in saying anything right.

The first thing I needed to do for work was run a DVD of some interviews we just recorded this week for a series we’ll be airing on the book of Job. I cued up the footage and routed the DVD recorder and hit play. The first interview was of a man who lost his 16 year old son last year in a 4-wheeling accident…followed by other interviews of equally tragic magnitude.

This was the start of my day…as I sat there in my office practically in tears, I felt almost guilty for how fortunate I am. I quickly realized that guilt was not the appropriate emotion, but rather I should feel gratitude and humility for the life I have. But I felt guilty…that’s just the fact.

I sat there for a long time thinking about all of those people–how Jesus might react to all of them. Each one of them certainly falls under the category of “the least of these”…so I’m pretty sure I know where Jesus stands on how to react with those people. I don’t know if I managed to be Jesus to any of those people but I do think that, if nothing else, next time I’ll see the opportunity a lot sooner and might be able to do more.

I think I need to listen to some Pedro the Lion for a few days. This has been one hell of a week.

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oldtokens, January 27th 2010 | Posted in Meloncholy, Old Tokens

Worth the Memory

There’s a place in South Anchorage called Potter’s Marsh. It’s off the side of the road just as you’re leaving town on the Seward Highway toward Beluga Point. It’s a bird refuge or something like that. Whatever it is, the parks department built a long boardwalk that spans out over the swampy bog that allows people to stroll through the preserve, admiring wildlife of land, air and water along the way.

Potter’s Marsh lies just off the shore of Turnagain Arm, so as you stroll along the boardwalk, the smell of the ocean blows through. Seagulls call out to each other in the distance and the breeze rushes over making the trees whistle as it climbs the hill toward Rabbit Creek.

When I lived in Anchorage, I used to go sit on the wood railing of the boardwalk and let the cool foggy mist of a summer night wash over me. I’d shuffle my feet on the wooden planks because I loved how it sounded. I’d stay there for a long time, creating songs from from the sounds around me. My footsteps were the percussion, the gulls were brass horns, the wind was my string section. No need for words, no use for voices.

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oldtokens, January 8th 2010 | Posted in Meloncholy, Nostalgia, Whisical

GREENER…COOLER…WETTER

There are rolling green hills near my house right now. That’s not normal for where I live. Usually they are brown and crusty from the lack of rain. In the spring, weeds and desert scrub crop up all over hillsides. During the summer it all turns brown. In the Fall, when the wind blows the dried up plants just right, it looks like wheat fields. But I think the fire department mowed down all the weeds recently. Now, thanks to our beloved El Niño there are new plants popping out of the ground all over the hills and they look majestic.

Every morning I stop at the top of our stairs and gaze out the big window toward Mount Miguel. Recently there have been gray clouds hovering over it, making it look bigger, more menacing and cold. I get excited by the view and put on a sweater. I know that as I drive my route to work, I’ll see those green hills rising up, flirting with the puffy gray clouds of the morning. I play Sigur Rós on my iPod and pretend, for a few minutes, that I live somewhere greener, cooler, wetter. For a few minutes I think I can understand the singer…despite the fact that his vocals are all in Icelandic or gibberish.

By the time I get to work, the sun has made its final stand- burning off what remains of the morning fog and cloud cover. I get out of my truck and am met by warmth. My sweater is no longer needed and I feel stupid for having put it on. It begins too look and feel like the stereotypical day in Southern California by then. Warm, sunny with no signs of clouds anywhere.

Then I go into my office…it’s dark…the walls are made of blue soundproofing material. It’s kind of gloomy in there. The air conditioner cools my room so that I need to put my sweater back on. I’m happy about that. I turn on more Sigur Rós…and if not that, I rob the sound effects library of all the tracks labeled “Rain Storm”. Shuffle and repeat those tracks for the rest of the day and I’ve effectively fooled myself into thinking I live somewhere greener, cooler, wetter.