The Law of Unintended Consequences

 I went DOWN this evening.  

We are building a shed in our backyard.  Its been sitting at the back end of the driveway since May.  I just haven't had the time or the weather.  I had planned for next weekend, but the weather this weekend was gorgeous!  Well, the walls are up, gable ends in, and roof supports done.  My goal was to start the roof before ending for the night.  Mission accomplished.  I was able to place one roof panel where it belongs, and tighten it down.  My wife told me dinner was ready, time to relax before an early bedtime.  Long day at work tomorrow.

We cleaned up the trash laying around.  Threw away a 10' tape measure that didn't want to recoil.  Picked up the cardboard from the packing material.  Put away all the screws and miscellaneous parts that come with diy shed builds.   Tools in the toolbox.  The stepladder was still in the shed.  My wife was in the shed picking up the last of the parts.  I collapsed the stepladder, picked it up, and headed out.

I had stacked a few pavers on the ground in front of the door to work as a step until I can make something more permanent.  I'm not sure what went wrong.  I tilted the stepladder down and forward, ducked under the front door opening, and stepped out on the pavers.  Something didn't work right.  Either the ladder hit something, or a paver slipped, or my foot slipped, but I pitched forward.  As I fell forward, something weird happened, something I just didn't expect, didn't anticipate...  Time slowed down.

Well, it felt like it slowed down.  I saw the ground rushing to meet me.  My brain wanted to figure out what went wrong, but muscle memory took over.  The ladder was pushed aside, I picked a side of my body, tucked my shoulder under, and went for my best tuck roll.  If there hadn't been an old fence post with a round concrete base laying on its side directly beneath me, the tuck roll would have been el perfecto!  A 10 from the Olympic judges.  I would have stood strong, arched my back and victoriously thrown my hands in the air.  A perfect dismount!  Instead, my thigh hit the concrete post base and threw me off a bit.  I still accomplished the tuck roll, and stood victorious, albeit without a hint of grace.  

My wife stared in disbelief.  "Are you ok?"  I could only exclaim how awesome it was!  You have to understand where it all came from.  When I fall riding a unicycle, I try my best to run it out and not go down.  Sometimes, you just go down.  In that moment, a tuck roll is my best friend.  Its something I have practiced numerous times while riding.  Not intentionally.  I never intentionally fall.  But I do fall.  I have practiced falling quite a bit.  

Tripping out of the shed and going down, I knew what to do.  Let me be clear:  it wasn't instinct, it was practice.  I even considered the soft grass, and knew the landing wouldn't hurt as much as an asphalt street.  All of those thoughts occurring in a split second.  I'm not gonna lie, I feel a little giddy.  I didn't mean to trip out of the shed.  But my training took over, even if it isn't the goal of riding a unicycle.  The goal is to not fall down.  But I do.  Experiencing that thought/reaction process was really, really cool.  Having my unicycle riding experience benefit me in ways I haven't intended is a blessing.  I didn't get hurt, except I may have a bruise on my thigh where it hit the concrete and ruined my perfect score.

I could trip tomorrow and really get hurt.  That would be life, and through the pain, I would have to laugh at the irony.  But I didn't get hurt today, and its all because the unintended consequences of riding a unicycle worked in my favor.  Practice being young, and it will help keep you from aging too quickly.  Grace is optional.

I See Your Failure, and Raise You...

 I failed today.  It was a little failure, but it caught someone's attention.

I rode hard today.  Pushed myself while riding my unicycle, and my legs got tired.  That usually ends up in a fall, which it did.  Down to my knees, side tuck roll, a little scrape.  The car driving up behind me had a clear view of my failure, and stopped to make sure I was ok.  After numerous assurances that I was fine, they drove off.  I do wonder if I ever make someone's facebook post:  "Saw an old man fall off a unicycle today.  Buying a dashcam tonight."

While writing my "Mantra..." blog, I wondered about that failure.  I wondered when was the last time someone saw me fail, and not just falling off of a unicycle.  I then wondered when was the last time I saw anyone fail.  Well, there have been one or two recently, and they were big ones, but I'm thinking in general.  I typically don't fail in public, and rarely see another fail as well.

I see fails in social media all the time.  Usually they are captured by video, and posted for all generations to marvel at.  But by and large, I don't see it.  Not that I want to see more failures...  or do I?

The question occurred to me:  Why?  Why don't I see people failing?  Are people less adventurous today, less willing to take risks?  Are the consequences of failure greater?  Is the embarrassment too much to bear?  Are people today less tolerant of failure?  Is failure something to be avoided at all costs?  

I suppose all the questions are valid at some point, in some way.  What strikes me today as being the most relevant comes from my own personal experience.  I pushed myself hard today, fell, got back on, and finished my ride.  I was wondering where all the others were, who were pushing themselves, risking the failure, finishing the ride...  and it occurred to me as I am writing this paragraph...  its me.  I am not in the proper place to see the others.  I can't expect to see failures and finishes when I am not in the company of those taking the risks.

I wasn't really expecting a concrete answer, but there we go.  That was genuinely unexpected, and pleasantly surprising.  Found an answer while writing.  Huh.  

I need to make some changes.  

A Mantra, a Little Blood, and a Lame Insult

Third day back on the unicycle.  Why I ever quit riding, I just can't fathom.  Felt better the first day.  Felt great the second day.  Missed two days for work/weather.  So I'm cruising today.  I'm doing the usual half-mile-break-half-mile-back ride.  If I haven't ridden in a while, this is the typical warm-up.  But no, before the break, I decided to go further.  Around the mall is 1.7 miles with varying terrain.  Just do it!  So I don't break, I turn the corner and keep going.  This is gonna be great!  I feel amazing!

My focus on the first two days was staying on and not falling.  My focus today was on my mantra.  I created a rhythmic chant years ago to keep me focused.  "Sit in seat, chin up, wiggle fingers, breathe."  It sounds simplistic.  For me, it is powerful.

"Sit in seat" is critical for a unicyclist.  If I'm not sitting, all of my weight is on my legs while trying to pedal, balance, and support myself.  Legs burn out fast this way.  Sitting on the seat takes a lot of the support factor away from my legs, and they can better focus on balance and pedaling.  Of course, on a unicycle, I'm sitting on a singular point, with the capacity to fall in any direction.  This engages the core in a way few exercises do.  

"Chin up" is one I struggle with.  Any little bump in the road, any crack, a small twig, a pine cone...  anything unexpected under the tire can disrupt balance.  To anticipate this, I look down a lot.  Today was a concentrated effort on looking ahead.  Lifting my chin does this.  What it also does is straighten and strengthen my posture.  Hunched over is no way to ride a unicycle.  To enjoy the ride, I need to look around, enjoy the scenery, and feel like I'm riding as well as I can.

"Wiggle fingers" is how I deal with all the stress caused by every other part of my body except maybe my head.  The legs are pumping, the core is adjusting to all the bumps, the torso is tall and strong, the arms are flailing to maintain balance...  and the hands are tight, fingers are tense.  To relieve the tension, not just in my hands, but as a reminder to relax my whole body, I wiggle my fingers.  It works.

"Breathe".  Lots of things in life make us forget to breathe.  My wife often asks me if I'm breathing when life gets me stressed.  During strenuous exercise, I do breathe deeper, but not always properly.  Telling myself to breathe reminds me to open up my lungs, and really stretch my diaphragm when I inhale.  And exhaling, to push hard, get all the old air out.

So here I am, feeling good about the ride, feeling good about the decision to push further.  I'm about halfway done.  BOOM!  UPD.  That's unplanned dismount, or fall in unispeak.  Typical tuck-roll.  Scraped my right knee just above the knee-pad.  The smallest of scrapes, just a little blood.  This is why I wear protective gear - helmet, knee pads, and wrist guards.  Yes, I pushed myself further than I should have.  Yes, I should have taken a break by that point.  My legs aren't accustomed to that much exercise yet.  And yes, I am a stubborn 20 year old in a 56 year old body.  The car that was coming up behind me stopped, rolled down the windows, a man and woman in their late twenties, very concerned.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm great."

"No, really."

"Yes, great.  Been doing this for forty years."

"So you're sure you're ok?"

"Yup.  What's life without a little blood?"

Part of the ride is on the sidewalk along Boston Road, a very busy road.  I did smarten up, and took a few rests.  My final rest, I'm sitting on a cement post at an intersection.  A car slowly passes through the green light.  A man opens his door and yells, "Get a real bike!"  Closed his door, and was gone.  Wished I had had a second to respond, "Get a real core!"  I've ridden bikes all my life.  Riding a unicycle is so far above riding a bike in workout terms.  Can't even possibly compare.  As usual, those who have never done criticize those who do.  

Walked up the three stairs to my porch with much effort.  When my legs shake that much, I know it was a good ride.  I wasn't physically ready for it, but I pushed myself, challenged myself, paid for it with a little blood and a lame insult.

I could, at this point, compare each of my four mantra points with deeper meanings in life.  Not today.  As I type...  as I reach down and brush part of Fernbank Rd off of my leg...  as I look outside at the sun, feel the breeze wafting through the windows...  I decide I'm not done with today.  I'm done unicycling, but I've sat here long enough.  Its the perfect weather for another adventure.

God of the Whole Journey

Crazy.  This last year I have worked more hours in a single year than at any point in my entire life.  Odd that a pandemic would provide such opportunity.  Well, its odd if you don't understand my source.  I thank God for providing, as He always has, and this was an opportunity for me to break out of a debt hole.  A recent week-long vacation allowed me to stop and rest, relax, reflect, and look forward.  One day back from vacation, and I already feel run over, but a 16-hour overnight shift will do that.

Because of the abundance of work, I was able to pay off my credit cards, then my vehicles, then do a few home improvement projects.  The mortgage is still a mountain of debt, but I can finally set my sights on tackling it.  During all those years of struggle, I really never doubted God was there.  I looked at our bleak situation and blamed myself for decisions that could have been handled differently.  I could have been more frugal.  But never God's fault.  In fact, there were times that I would just scratch my head in disbelief that we made it yet another week.  All the time, God keeping us from drowning, and me unsure of why, except knowing that He loves me, and even then still asking why.

Often, I felt like I was drowning in debt.  No longer able to swim, the proverbial fist above the water signaling a one, or a two, and on rare occasions, a three.  Finally we sat, in the smallest of boats, bouyant on the sea of debt.  Like a kayak on the ocean.  A tiny vessel, floating, able to paddle about when the sea is calm, struggling to maintain uprightness when the slightest wave approached.  In the distance, there were five points of land.  Which one to paddle towards?  Pick one, start paddling.  Fight the wind and waves to maintain direction.  The closer I got to one, the further from the others I became, and hoped my decision was the right one, or at least a good one.

There are struggles to look back on.  Times of hope, and times of despair.  Moments when I question how God will get me through.  Not doubting that He will, just knowing that my finite brain cannot fathom His infinite ways.  A friend wrote about how faith can be tested by standing in the valley and looking at the mountain.  The mountain looks immense, dark, unscaleable.  Then God lays a path at my feet, and I have to have faith and take that step.  There is a test of faith taking that first step.  There is a test of faith in every step, for the climb can be brutal.

In my little kayak, there's a test of faith with every paddle.  Every wave.  Every drop of water landing in the little boat is a threat to capsize and drown.  Danger lurks everywhere.  (Interestingly, I watched the movie "Jaws" last night.  As I started writing this yesterday morning, maybe that was more than just a random choice?)  Storms, creatures of the water, creatures of the night.  Even the life-refreshing sun and salt water work against me.  Clouds can be my friends until they aren't my friends.  Paddle right, paddle left.  Maintain course.  Over and over.

Then I achieve landfall.  I fall down and kiss the sand.  I survey my little island, my self intact, my safety assured, at least for the moment.  I stare back at the ocean and think, "Not this time."  The ocean smiles back and says, "Sure, ok, but for how long can you survive on a small island?"  It has a point.

I haven't reached the mainland, just a small island.  There's plenty of ocean to traverse, but that's tomorrow.  It was enough of a struggle to get here, and I must rest.  All along the way, I have questioned my decisions and my choices, but never doubted that God was with me.  Standing atop my little island, and looking around triumphantly, I can honestly say that there is a temptation to claim victory.  Maybe not for everything, but for some of it.  I must have been responsible for some of it, right?  At that point, my true test of faith, maybe my greatest test of faith, is to stand at the top and give every success, whether enormous or miniscule, to God.  He didn't just guide me...  He held me up through every stroke I swam, every stroke I paddled.  He nourished me through every physical demand.  He sheltered me through every storm.  He held at bay the seen and unseen forces that would have defeated me.  If I for one moment think that I was responsible for, or even capable of, not failing before the first step, then I am a liar and a usurper of God's due glory.

Perspective is a beautiful thing.  We see things from an angle that is uniquely our own.  Whether in the water, on the beach, in the valley, or on the mountaintop, whatever is my view, I should see Jesus first in all things.  And for those standing near or far, sharing our journey or grinding through their own, we should see Jesus first in them.  God is the originator of perspective.  Acknowledging that can be trying at times, but immersed in it is to love others the way He does.

Always A Destination, Never A Journey

I grabbed the doorknob, went to turn it, and no go.  The door was locked.  I had driven there to pay for a class I need to take, and the door was locked.  It was 11:00 on a Friday morning.  Who isn't in the office at 11:00 on a Friday morning?  Apparently, them.  I called the office from their lobby, left a message, and departed.

Yes, I could have called them from home, and saved myself a trip.  It was a little cold out, but sunny and dry.  A nice day to get me out of the house for a bit.  Driving home, I felt a little frustrated.  Driving always helps me think, so it wasn't hard to determine the source of frustration.  It wasn't the wasted trip, as I stated above.  It was waiting to pay for the class.  I didn't know if there would even be a class.  If a minimum number of persons haven't signed up, there wouldn't be a class.  I'm prepared for that, if it happens.

The source of the frustration was, indeed, having to hold the money in my bank account, waiting to find out what will happen to it.  Will it get paid towards a class?  When will it get paid, and clear from my account?  If there won't be a class, it will instead get dumped onto a credit card bill, but when?  The not knowing and waiting part drives me crazy.

My wife and I discuss our finances at least once a week.  I get paid every two weeks, but we "do bills" every week, just to keep tabs on things.  This week we discussed our new car loan, credit card bills, and the upcoming tax season.  Again, a bit of frustration, because I don't know how much our tax refund will be this year, so its hard to plan.

I always want to get "there".  I always want to "arrive".  There's always a plan, there's always a goal.  There's always a destination.  Its hard to see the journey.  Its hard to differentiate between a destination and a step.  My trouble is how I perceive the physical world.  Everything I know needs to be summed up in an Excel spreadsheet, and I have to see everything on the screen.  Scrolling is bad.  Everything has to be visible, to line up, to make sense.  (I solved part of this issue two years ago when I bought a bigger, 24" monitor.)

If my trouble is my perception of how the world should work, my frustration is that I am human, and frequently don't live up to my own expectations of how things should work.  Its easier for me to see results, good or bad, so I can react accordingly.  The waiting game just gives me time in my head, second guessing everything.  After seeing my spreadsheet work for the past 16 years, I have come to trust my processes, and know that they are effective.  Its that headspace, that lifetime of humanity that always makes me uneasy.

Taking another, separate action today.  Its been on the books for over a month.  At least it will make my spreadsheet look a little cleaner.  Don't know if its a step, a landing, or the top of a staircase.  I'll have to wait to find out.  Ugh. 

A Colossal Piece of Crap

I forgot about ebay.  I had an auction going on a French horn.  The bidding was at $40.00, and that was a great price.  The horn wasn't beautiful, and certainly wasn't new, but it was advertised as all parts functioning, and looks decent.  My maximum bid sat at $46.00.  I waited patiently, until I got busy, and completely forgot about the auction.  Fifteen minutes after it closed, someone asked me what time it was.  I pulled out my phone and realized the auction had ended.  I quickly pulled up ebay, only to see the auction had indeed ended fifteen minutes earlier, with the winning bid at $47.00.  I hadn't lost to the other bidder.  I had lost to my own distractions.

I told my wife I wouldn't bid on another French horn.  I would wait, and be happy with what I already had, which was an old army bugle, and a trumpet.  The bugle had come from a flea market, and the trumpet off of Amazon.  At $40.00, I had gotten a brand new trumpet, quite a bargain.  As I was posting this information on facebook, someone asked me what my apparent sudden interest was in brass instruments.  I explained I was working on some creative ideas for passive amplification, or amplification without an external power source.  I have spent some time on youtube, watching many videos on how to make amplifiers from old instruments, build them out of wood, and use other miscellaneous materials.  The base idea is simply to not have to plug in, or charge, yet another device.  Just build a cradle for my cellphone, attach the cradle to the instrument where the mouthpiece would be inserted, and have loud, clear music.

But I couldn't help myself.  I sneaked a peek on ebay, and saw a French horn for $28.00.  The brass lacquer was ugly, and the valves didn't work properly.  It was an item that was better of as parts only.  Given my purpose, that suited me just fine.  What I really wanted was an instrument with a bell a good bit larger than a trumpet, so I could compare the quality of sound between the two bell sizes.  I learned my lesson from the last failed auction.  I set a timer on my cellphone to alert me when there were five minutes left in the auction.  I won the auction.  I had just won a French horn for $29.00!  Upon hearing my elation, my wife said, "That's nice, honey", and rolled her eyes in support. 

The UPS truck pulled up across the street.  He carried a box to the yard where I met him with great anticipation.  Signed, sealed, delivered!  I ran in the house and ripped the box open like it was Christmas morning.  There it was, a black instrument case.  I played both trumpet and trombone in school, and was very familiar with instrument cases.  When I opened it up, the smell of stale valve oil filled the air.  Took me back 40 years.  And there, sitting under the lights, was a colossal piece of crap.  It looked worse than the photographs on ebay.  It was filled with dents.  The brass lacquer was a mess, easily more mess than brass.  I pressed on the valves, and sure enough, one was completely broken, while the other two barely moved.  I could not have cared less.  I whipped out my cellphone, pulled up a song, and no, I can't remember which one.  My wife stared on with bleak interest.  She had seen this routine before. 

I played the music on the cellphone while holding it away from the French horn.  Then I moved the cellphone speaker onto the tube where the mouthpiece would be inserted.  Sound emanated from the bell, but I could still hear music coming from the cellphone.  I wrapped my hand around the bottom of the cellphone, and as tightly around the tube as possible.  When all avenues of escape were closed off, the music played directly into the horn, and the sound coming out of the bell was magnificent.  My face shone.  The French horn may have been a colossal piece of crap, but using it this way, it sounded better than I had hoped for!

I have yet to build a cradle for my phone.  That will happen soon.  So this story would have waited for the finished product, except...

I was in church this morning.  God gently let me know that I am much like an instrument being used as a passive amplifier.  I am getting older.  I have been used a lot.  There are dents and dings that are often visible.  My lacquer doesn't shine like it used to.  I am, just so you know, fighting the aging process.  My diet has improved dramatically.  I am really trying to turn an inconsistent gym habit into a consistent one.  I am not a new model, but I can still play.  Unfortunately, there are moments when Father Time shows up, and that can be difficult to bear.  There are many elderly Christians in my life.  Those who used to be strong, and now fight just to be healthy.  Some with parts that are beyond repair.  Those who have retired, and are simply yearning for a purpose.  Some that look old and tarnished, with a stale smell.  That's a road I'm walking down, and a time that's closer than I like to admit.

And at every age, I have failed Him.  I have been broken.  Unyielding.  Unable to see the repairs He was attempting to perform on me.  Unable to see the shine He desired to refinish on me.  I have been resistant to the change He wanted to advance in me, therefore unwilling to participate.  I spent too much time viewing myself as a colossal piece of crap. 

Yet, though my multiple parts have failed, and will fail, if I focus...  if I tighten my grip on His Word...  if I allow His breath to flow through me...  His magnificence can and will still shine.  He made me for a single purpose, and that purpose is to glorify him.  As long as I exist, as long as I allow Him to breathe through me, His voice can still be heard, and hopefully, loud and clear. 

"Lima Charlie, Five by Five!"
Psalm 150:6  "Let everything that has breath, praise the Lord.  Praise the Lord!"

Getting Close to the Source

I've lost thirty pounds in seven months.

The trigger came when I changed jobs.  My entire life became different.  One job instead of two.  Forty hours a week instead of somewhere between forty-eight and sixty-six.  A set eight-hour-per-day schedule instead of nebulous hours.  The list is long, and all of it has played a part in my enjoying an overall healthier lifestyle.

Have you ever heard of a CSA?  It stands for Community Supported Agriculture.  Its basically a farm share program.  The farm charges a set amount, and you can pick up fresh vegetables and fruit throughout the growing season.  My new employer affords the opportunity to participate, so my wife and I decided to give it a go.  For twenty-two weeks, we picked up between twelve to thirty pounds of vegetables, fresh and organic.  Some fruit and herbs were pick-your-own.

In the beginning, we weren't prepared for the onslaught of vegetables.  For example, three heads of lettuce per week, and these were not small heads.  My wife has spent the past months figuring out how to either use or preserve the plethora of fresh veggies coming through the front door.  She is an amazing cook, and has canned and preserved food previously.  This season gave her a run for the money.

My part in this was collecting the bounty, then eating more fresh veggies.  I like veggies.  Certain ones, others not so much, and yet others I had never tried.  The basics like lettuce, tomato, cucumber... no problem.  I liked celery in tuna fish, or cooked in a soup, but no way did I eat it raw.  Other veggies I couldn't stand.  But if I wanted to eat a more healthy diet, this was the way to go.

This new job has thrown some light on my thinking.  I always figured I needed the gym at least five times a week to improve my physical situation.  Recent opinion says weight loss is eighty percent diet, twenty percent exercise.  After this season, I am inclined to agree.  I haven't lifted a finger to exercise.

My diet has changed drastically.  I found hummus a while back.  Ate it when it was convenient, but not as a staple in my diet.  Wanting to increase my vegetable intake, I started using hummus as a veggie dip.  I can't fathom how much raw celery I've eaten this year.  Carrots.  Bell peppers.  Radishes.  Wait, radishes?  I don't think I've ever eaten a radish in my entire life, and now I love them.  Especially the white ones.  And my wife...  the soups...  Carrot soup.  Butternut squash soup.  This and That soup.  Sweep the Fridge soup.  Etcetera Etcetera Etcetera.  On and on and on.

And don't forget the fruit.  I am eating half an avocado five days a week.  Yes, I now like raw avocado.  Half a pomegranate as well.  Grapefruit.  Pick-your-own blueberries from July are waiting in the freezer.  I feel amazing!

So yes, I've lost thirty pounds.  When I started my new job back in the waning days of March, I weighed 254 pounds.  As of last week, I hit the 224 mark.  I hope to hit 220 by Thanksgiving.  I've always wanted to get back to my high school weight of 210, but now, with this new diet, I would like to hit 204 by next March 24th.  A goal of fifty pounds lost weight in a year.  I never would have thought that, but now it seems reasonable.

I have dieted previously.  I have looked at many diets, only to go back to the old habits, and gain the weight again.  A few medical symptoms of being overweight persist, but the one that bugs me the most is my doctor's diagnosis of Metabolic Syndrome, a mix of different symptoms that overall means I'm fat and unhealthy.  My highest weight of 282 pounds was definitely a problem, but was I really fat at my normal 240?  I've been around that size for a good number of years now.  Yeah, there was some pudge, but I felt pretty good.  Most of the time.

Add up all the diets, the conventional wisdom over the past few decades, add in the unconventional wisdom over the past few decades, and what we have is a hodge-podge of knowledge and opinion that settles down to this:  eat food as close to its natural state as possible.  Get close to the source.  The least processed, the better.  The best I can do is pick a blueberry, or any other fruit or veggie, from a plant and eat it.  Hallelujah, problem solved.  Of course, that doesn't work for all food.  I've never seen or heard of anyone peeling an eggplant, then sinking their teeth in and going to town.  Some food needs processing.  Cooking.  How much cooking and processing, and what we add or take away becomes the issue.  If I have to rinse a food like quinoa before I cook it, is that considered processed?  It all comes down to learning about the food you put in your mouth.

As I pondered all this, another thought became apparent.  Take a restaurant, for example.  If its a small, cozy place, and the menu is fresh and variable, then the cook can cater to the needs of the diners.  If the produce is locally sourced and highly available, the food can be freshly cooked and prepared according to the desires of the patrons.  As the restaurant grows in size, feeding more and more people every day, the local sources may not be able to keep up with the demand, there may come a need to travel further to acquire adequate stock, which requires longer storage and more processing to preserve the food and meet the diner's needs.  Maybe the restaurant becomes huge.  It can no longer cater to the individual desires of each patron.  The menu is set, the cook makes each dish the same way, as fast and efficiently as possible.  More processing, less individuality, and the food generally becomes less and less healthy as the size of the restaurant grows.  What was great for the individual patron in the beginning has become more processed and less nutritious.

The part B to the above paragraph is the behavior of the patron.  It isn't just about the food to be eaten.  Its also about the person who is eating it, and sometimes, how many friends are with them.  The choice of restaurant may be directed by social agenda.  After all, we are social beings, and it is good to participate in life with others.  But do the friends always desire the large restaurant?  If the patron wants to be social, then they must eat at the large, less healthy restaurant to be part of the crowd.  Maybe that's worth it socially, although not the best choice nutritionally.  If the patron were to find a smaller dining establishment that catered a higher degree of nutrition, but had to go alone, would it be worth the social sacrifice?

The rest of this blog entry is of a religious nature.  If you are finished here, I wish you health and good eating!. 

I'm calling this part "The Processed Gospel". 

Like food is our physical source of life, the Gospel of Jesus Christ is our spiritual source of life.  The knowledge of Christ comes from the Holy Bible.  It is available to us as individuals, in a very personal manner.  When we take in what we read, the Holy Spirit brings the words to life in our spirit, feeding us and filling us with God's truth.  Reading the Bible, prayer, and worship brings us as close to the source of Life as we can be. 

In our society, church has become the most well-known method of having a religious social experience.  Our primary purpose for attendance should be to hear Biblical teaching from someone who is more experienced than ourselves in religious matters, along with corporate prayer and worship.  In my experience, the pastor teaches what God leads, the worship leader chooses songs to nourish and inspire, and prayer is a few minutes of corporate spiritual agreement. 

Much like food, our spiritual health should comprise a mixture of personal sustenance and corporate nourishment.  Much like the restaurants above, where the cook is in control of what we eat, we should be mindful of who is speaking into our spirits. 

If people gather together in small groups, such as Bible studies, there is plenty of opportunity for two-way conversation and questions.  There is room and time for exploration and growth, both Biblically and relationally.  

As the groups grow in size, the conversation becomes more structured, more one-sided, more teaching instead of discussion, until it reaches church level.  To efficiently fit a Gospel message into a tight window on a Sunday morning, the preacher must create a message that is at the same time appropriate for attention span, appealing to a diverse audience, and delivered with precision and clarity. 

Just like a cook in a large restaurant.  A processed Gospel.

I'm not down on church.  I've been attending church for 53 years, so I must think it is beneficial.  I just want to be aware of my spiritual health, and what my spirit needs to be completely nourished.  It boils down to this:  I should feed often, and as close to the Source as possible. 

(I had this blog in my mind for a while, going in a certain direction, and this morning everything changed.  My apologies if it isn't as clear as it could be.  Thanks for tolerating this mess.  Let's try this:  Close to the source personal feedings, both spiritual and physical, should be the norm.  The larger and more processed a feeding becomes, the more infrequent it should be.  Eating one large meal at a big restaurant will not nourish a body for a week.  Going to church and being religious once a week might minimally sustain a person, but greater spiritual health is easily possible.)