A Time When I Felt Supremely Loved - STC

             The way I receive love from others most easily and most often is through quality time. And by that I mean, any amount of time in which someone is interested in me or what I have to say. When someone asks me, “How are you doing? Tell me about your day,” what I hear is, “I love you. For reals.” The second best way for me to feel loved is if someone touches me. When someone gives me a good solid hug or pats my knee, I hear, “You are one loveable person.” Now when someone rubs by back while asking, “What’s going on in your life?” they have successfully sequestered my heart.

            Once a year, however, there is a day in which I need an act of service in order to really feel loved. That day is my birthday. And that act of service is a party; or at least some kind of celebration in my honor. Full body contact and ten hours of questioning about my thoughts and feelings couldn’t do for me what a party can on my birthday. So when on the day I was turning 19, my roommates brought me to a friend’s house where there were half-deflated balloons hanging on the walls from someone else’s party two days before, and was asked, “So what do you wanna do?”, I felt like crawling back in the womb.

            Feeling terrible about my plight, my mom, from whom I sought sympathy, wanted to make sure I didn’t have to experience such lack again. So when my 20^th was rolling around she somehow got in contact with a new friend of mine who she knew could throw a good party.

“Hey Jenna, I heard you’re the party girl.”

“Huh?”

“Well, not like that. But you know. Anyways, I was wondering if you could throw Aaron a party for his birthday that’s coming up in a month. His wasn’t too great last year.”

Jenna, thinking, “You know Aaron and I just met the other day right?” but not being able to say no to mother’s request for her pitiful son said, “Ya sure I can do that.”

She started off by finding a mutual friend to help her with the planning and went right to it gathering ideas and supplies to make this birthday of mine something to remember.

One Sunday afternoon I met her and the mutual friend on a five foot by five foot grassy area in the middle of a blue apartment complex. The grass was mostly meant for show but Jenna needed sunlight and didn’t want to sit on asphalt so this was the compromise. They were busy making the invitations, which were cut outs of pictures from newspapers. All the details for the party would go on the back side and on the picture side they’d try to write a witty caption. I picked up one Jenna had already made. It was a picture of someone inspecting a horse’s knee for injury. Her caption read, “Yep, it’s a Charlie horse”. “This girl’s a keeper,” I thought.

The day was approaching and secrecy was in the air. Since it couldn’t be a surprise party, she decided to make the theme a surprise. Every time I asked and she declined to answer it made me feel all warm inside. When the night finally rolled around I was waiting in the living room for my roommates to get ready. The party was taking place at the mutual friend’s house and the clock on the microwave was approaching seven. Dan was taking extra long to get ready upstairs. I assumed his crush would be there. Mike was in the bathroom and Luke was on the computer. 6:40. I have a high value for being on time if I can so I always leave fifteen minutes early when I’m going somewhere in Redding. When I lived in Phoenix it was thirty minutes. 6:45. Dan’s ready, Mike is ready and Luke is still on the computer. What gives?            

“Hey Luke, you almost ready to go?”

“Yeah I just have to finish uploading this video.”

I had no idea what video could possibly be important enough to make us late but I could feel the 19 year-old victim of a birthday uncherished rising up in me. I thought of some guilt trips I could lay on him and was about to settle on, “Dude, this is my birthday. Can’t you finish your video later?” I’d stress the word “video” to make it obvious that it was only such and therefore nowhere near as important as what it was making us late for. 6:50. We pile in the car.

I arrived to the blue apartments finding it completely packed with mostly people I knew. The sign on the door as we walked in read, “Since Aaron is already in his second year at school and has not yet found a girlfriend, we thought we’d help ‘Chick him out’”. Inside the apartment, giant, colorful displays with baby chicks on them covered the walls. Apparently Jenna had raided the dumpster behind Target as soon as its Easter sales push was over.

I schmoozed the crowd for a while. “Heeyyyy” hug “…thanks so much for coming...I know this looks so cool huh…Oh thanks…Yeah I had no idea it was gonna to be like this.”

About twenty minutes in, Jenna gathers everyone in the living around the TV. “The boys have made a little something in honor of Aaron’s birthday.” I was surprised and eager to see what it was they could’ve made for me without me knowing. Up came a rap video they written and filmed about me turning 20. In gangster attire and beats they sang, “Yo, Aaron! That’s right! He’s dope and cool. He likes Julia Roberts but he ain’t no fool!” I was rolling, along with everyone else in the room. I thought back to just before we had left and realized that this was what was taking Luke so long. “Man I am so glad I didn’t say anything!”

After a few games of “Pin the girl on Aaron’s arm” in which blindfolded friends tried to pin pictures of girls I knew to an “X” drawn on my arm, they brought out a giant present. Everyone quieted down and I reached for the ribbon. Suddenly, Dan popped out of the box dressed like Ron Burgandy, sat on my lap with a glass of Scotch and cigarette in one hand and a microphone in the other and sang, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President”.

Gifts, ice cream Sundays, laughter and flirting came and went and the night came to a close. My heart had never been more full. As I finished talking to the last guest, I saw Jenna take off out the door. “Excuse me for a second.” I ran out after her, “Jenna!” She looked back as she opened her car door. I wanted to tell her how much it all meant to me but all that came out was “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” got in her car and left.

Later that night she sent me a text, “Let’s meet up. I want to do some post-party processing.” I

didn’t know what that meant but I didn't care because I wanted to be around her more. Not just for planning an amazing party for me but because I was starting to see how amazing she was.

            I picked her up from her house. “Starbucks?” I asked. “I don’t like hot beverages,” she answered. “Alright then.” So we sat in my car.

            She turned to me, “I just wanted to tell you the reason why I agreed to throw the party for you.”

            “Ok.”

            “God told me He wanted to make sure you were honored.”

            My heart leaped up into my throat and my eyes got warm. I didn’t have any idea this was coming. “God wanted to honor me?”

            “Yeah and so did I. Throughout the process of planning this, I feel like I’ve gotten to see who you really are and I wanted you to know that you deserve to be celebrated. Especially on your birthday.”

            I didn’t know what to say. In fact I knew that if I said anything I might start crying. I couldn’t handle the love I was feeling poured out to me at that moment. Luke and Mike working for a week on the video, Dan making a fool out of himself singing, God telling Jenna to make sure I was honored and Jenna giving three weeks of her life specifically to making sure all of this happened.

           When I finally able to speak I said, “Wanna get breakfast tomorrow?”

            “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The Fall of the Númenoreans - STC hazing

In Sindarin - the elvish language

I’ lanta en’ Númenoreans

e’ i’ minya yen

en’ Eru noa

i’ lanta ve’ Adam

i’ Dúnedain

en’ edhel ar’ apanonar

auta ed’ cair lakilea a’ Númenor

ron ndor

nan’ ‘ksh lambe

en’ Valar nosse

glak i’ corm en’ i’ aran

ar’ a’ apanonar i’ alkar gurth

quern gorga, coi ten’oio quern irm

Aman, tur

nuquern i’ Valar

aran auta nan’ il i’ n’nir

Ilúvatar yel

Arda sii’ laara’

sii’ morgil

ar’ Númenor tumba luin

Rakt rast

no’ Middle-Earth

i’ voronda hyarya coi

Sauron usin

nan’ wanwa quenat

ten’oio thang Elendil chil

nan’ sal’ hary

e’ i’ corm en’ n’nir

a’ man quessir ar’ apanonar kwar

Tanya lanta

karn mori sii’

Yassen winya yen rakt winya estela

In English

The Fall of the Númenoreans

In the Second Age

Of Eru’s design

Came a fall likened to Adam

The Dúnedain

Of Elf and Men

Sailed victorious to Númenor

Their island

But a wicked tongue

Of Valar descent

Poisoned the heart of the king

And to Men the glory of life restricted

Became fear; undying of envy

Aman, the goal

And for the Valar’s defeat

The king set sail, save the hearts of the Few

But Ilúvatar beseeched

Arda once a plain

Became globe

And Númenor deep blue

Washed ashore

Upon Middle-Earth

The loyal, Faithful spared

Sauron escaped

Though lost Maiar form

Forever opposing Elendil’s heir

But still remains

In the hearts of some

To which Elves and Men take note

That though a fall

Can darken for now

With a new age arrives new hope

Conflict

            No great story is without conflict. We know this and have even come to expect it in the movies we see and books we read; but it is not the conflict itself that draws us back each time. It’s what the conflict produces. When conflict arises, it may scare or upset us at first but by the end we know the reason the story was worth telling.

In the beginning of our relationship, it seemed that all my wife and I ever did was work out issues. A hurtful word here, a misinterpreted situation there and a smorgasbord of insecurities made for some pretty good practice in our problem-solving skills. What was interesting though was that instead of all of these driving us apart, we just became closer and closer. At one point, we both caught on to this phenomenon and began to secretly rejoice whenever conflict arose because we knew that by the end of it we’d reach another level of intimacy we hadn’t experienced before.

None of us can change the fact that conflict either does or will exist in our relationships at times. We can however change the way we see it when it does come. If we believe that conflict is a threat, then our energies will be spent in avoiding or denying its existence; both of which produce anxiety, not peace. But if we realize that conflict is an invitation to intimacy, though it may scare or upset us at first, we can find out why our own      story is worth telling.

How to Manipulate God (what I learned and practiced throughout childhood)

     Let's say you have an exciting day coming up, a date, going to a theme park or seeing that movie you've wanted to see like forever; but you are worried Jesus will return and steal that joyous moment from you. Well worry no more! The Bible says that no one knows the day or time of Jesus' second coming. Not even Jesus Himself. Therefore all you have to do is consciously think or say, "Jesus is coming back on this day or at this time," and God is contractually obligated to withhold sending Him. And if you play your cards right, you can hold Him off long enough for you to get married and have sex.
     Does this really work? Well, I'll let my 100% success rate do the talking.

No One Has Ever Questioned My Ethnicity

     Ever since Jenna and I first met, she has been insisting that a sunny day not be wasted by sitting inside. And if we absolutely must, then, "Please open the blinds and curtains. It feels like a cave in here!"
     Jenna grew up on the beach. And having been to her hometown and seen her in her natural element, I can say with confidence she has spent at least a third of her life literally on the beach, in the sand, in the sun. Her dark skin is a testament to that. When we first met I asked her what ethnicity she was. "My dad's half black," she answered untruthfully. I nodded in response, "I knew it."
     I grew up in the desert of Phoenix, AZ. We hid from the sun for survival. A "cave" was a retreat center from which we could enjoy everyday life. And my skin color is a testament to that. No one has ever questioned my ethnicity. So by the time we were married, I was mostly acquainted with this set of ideals that were so contrary to mine. I mean, we actually have some very decent sunny days here in Northern California. Then by a year and a half, I was fully converted, indoctrinated and even evangelistic about seizing the sunlight. The only downside to this belief was the shame that came along whenever I chose the cave to watch a movie instead of taking a walk by the river or the anxiety in my chest whenever I had to stay inside because of work or school. Those are the days I'd like to renounce my faith. Because I actually really enjoy movies and sometimes there is nothing you can do about the locational requirements of work or school. And some days I miss the cave. I mean, I was raised in a cave. My first kiss was in a cave. The first time I saw Fight Club was in a cave. You know ... the milestones.
     Then there are days like today. It's pouring rain, there is no more blue in the sky and I have no choice but to hide. On these days I remember the good ol' times caves afforded me. I've got a steaming coffee in one hand, a good book in the other and a shelf full of my favorite movies just in case. I'm rediscovering my roots.
     God did make the sunlight, what with its Vitamin D and all, but He also made caves. He could've made every mountainside flat and only given us the ability to build glass houses, but He didn't. He carved out little retreats centers with Welcome Home mats ushering you in.
    

Jump Into the Whirlpool

Danny spoke on Momentum today. Leaving an inheritance and creating a momentum for the future generations to step into. Like a whirlpool. Even the people who join later on get to benefit from the work that the first people did.

            When Mike and I went to a youth internship in Colorado, they took us to a hotel’s pool one night to swim. There was about 30 of us in one pool and it was fairly crowded and flirty. I had an idea while talking to Mike and decided to shout it out, “Let’s start a whirlpool!” So we did. All of us. It was fantastic and I felt like a champ for having started it, though I’m sure no one really cared who’s idea it was or even remembered for that matter. And that’s alright. It’s probably even better that way.

            My dad has given, been giving and is continually giving to me an inheritance . What’s he’s already given me is a life where the supernatural is normal. Encounters with angels. Divine appointments where people think you are the angel sent to them. Waters parting so save his life. Being transported from one location to another just because he asked God what it would be like. People being healed left and right from incurable pain and disease. Miraculous provision. Money given at the exact moment of need with the exact amount needed. God showing up just because He can and He loves us.

My dad has shown me a life where God speaks all the time and I can actually hear Him. He would tell me his conversations with God all the time. And the best part was when he said with such confidence and conviction, “And then God told me…”

He’s taught me that it’s ok and even masculine to be able to say, “You are right. I’m sorry.” Once when we were about to leave the house my dad noticed my brother’s bike leaning against the wall (something he had specifically told him not to do because it messes up the paint on the wall). “Nick, I thought I told you not to lean your bike against the wall.” Nick replied, “I didn’t. Look it’s on not even touching the wall. It’s leaning on the kick stand,” which was true. Now in my experience at many of my friend’s houses or at school, adults didn’t like to be wrong. It was an insecurity. If they weren’t right and the kids were, then what wouls they possibly have over them? So even if they realized point blank that they were incorrect and that they reacted to a situation wrong, they would come up with an excuse as to why the kid still deserved scorning. But contrary to my experience, my dad’s countenance instantly changed with realization and he said, “Oh you are right. I’m sorry.” And that was that. Nick was empowered to stand up for himself because he was rewarded in doing so and I was empowered to be wrong and not be insecure about it. To bravely admit it because that’s just who I am. Because that's just who my dad is. Honorable.

He’s taught me that you can hope even in the midst of debilitating pain. In telling me of a time where he prayed for a guy with Carpel Tunnel Syndrome, he recalled sharing the empathy he had for this man, “He was in pain and I was glad to pray for him because I know pain.” My dad has known pain. These last seven or eight years since his rheumatoid arthritis started eating away at him, he has known pain. It’s like an unwelcome guest that decides to stay and you can’t do anything about it. You just learn to live, work and love around it. We told it to leave and sometimes it would. But then it’d come back bringing friends with it. Bastard. It’s gone from unwelcome guest to a Goliath, taunting a man set apart by the living God. And Goliath will be slain again.

Currently he is giving me the understanding of chivalry and that it is only dead as long as you do nothing to carry it on. Every time he able, he opens the door for my mom. And if he happens to forget or is unable to for whatever reason, he apologizes. It makes my mom feel like a queen. Now she’ll stand by the car door waiting for my dad to open it with a smile of knowing that says, “I am valued and taken care of.”

He’s given me a few mannerisms and phrases that make me chuckle every time I realize I’m doing them. I’ll put my fist to my mouth and let my index finger rest against my cheek as if it’s supporting it. He would always do this during movies. I remember sitting next to him as a kid watching Aliens together; me studying this interesting hand gesture that looked so grown up and serious. Now I use it when I’m watching a movie or sitting and listening to someone talk. I think it makes me look like smart and inquisitive.

I’ve inherited his phrase, “And then it dawned on me…” The frequency with which he uses this phrase says so much about him. He’s a man of continual revelation. Always discovering something new about the Lord, about himself, about life. It wasn’t until the very first time I used this phrase myself that “it dawned on me” what it was implying. The dawn has come. The sun is up. There is now light to see what I previously could not. It’s just so much more rich than saying, “I realized.”

I haven’t quite adopted this next quirk of my dad’s but I’ve always been amused by it. He has an uncanny ability to always end a phone conversation with the same three lines, “Ok. Alrighty. Buh bye.” Without fail! The only person who has ever been able to thwart this closer is my wife who has an extreme dislike for fluff. “If you’re done talking about what you needed to talk about then end it.” And she will immediately. But seriously, how does he do this? It seems it would require participation of the other party to make at least two closing requests to which he could then respond: First request—“Ok”—second request—“Alrighty”, and finally the mutual “Buh bye’s”. Maybe it’s not that unusual but I enjoy noticing it.

One of my favorite qualities of my dad’s that I have inherited is his generosity. He has always made it a point to give away his time, his energy or his money. Many times, all three at once. He’s been so good at this that even my little brother at the age of ten would find money and immediately start pondering about who he could give it to. He once found forty dollars and immediately decided to give it away. The story actually begins with him wanting to give money to a specific offering at church. He checked his pockets but didn’t have any so he left it up to God. A few minutes later checked his pockets again with an unusual hopefulness and found a twenty dollar bill in it. He started celebrating what he knew was a miracle and put the twenty in the offering. He then checked his other pocket for no other reason than, “What if?” and pulled out another twenty dollar bill! This he decided would go to an orphanage in Africa. My dad is the one who instilled in Nick the ability to hope for the supernatural, to believe for miracles and to have a desire to give away what he could’ve easily used on himself. That’s just who my dad is. It’s become just who Nick is. And it’s become just who I am.

Wanderlust, finally

            For the first time in my life I have experienced Wanderlust. This, you must understand, is an incredible triumph for me. In the first, and past, two years of marriage, Jenna and I have been at (loving and respectful) odds with each other over the different opinions we share in how to spend our next few childless years as a couple. She, in world travel and making memories; myself, in our nice quiet home…making a child. At times these conversations were rough and at other times they were therapeutic and connection-building. But through many many silent conversations with the Lord, reading novels where the good guy either is or becomes adventurous, and long talks with faith-filled, vagabond friends like Jon and Linda, I’ve come to a place where I can say to Jenna with sincere enthusiasm, “Let’s go somewhere!” Now to balance this out, I must add that Jenna also recently said to me, “Maybe—keyword maybe—we can start trying for a baby next year.” I nodded in understanding, trying to appear nonchalant, while thinking, "One point, Team Aaron!" But I digress.

            It first happened a week after we got back from visiting Jenna's parents in North Carolina. I was going about my day, doing whatever I do when I’m going about something, and I suddenly thought, “I wish I was at an airport right now.” Now to most people, that thought is closer to lunacy than victory. But to me it was all that and a revelation: I really enjoy traveling. I’m not sure where all of my anxiety used to stem from concerning travel but I simply wasn’t connecting with it anymore.

            The next time it happened I was driving down the I-5 on my way to work when I had the sudden urge to keep driving past my exit. I felt that there were places this road could take me that I've never been before; and it got me excited. Ryan Sprenger once prophetically told me over a beer that he could see me raising Jenna’s anxiety one day with all the risk-taking, adventurous ideas I'd be coming up with. I was skeptical at first because it’s normally the other way around, but now I can see it. And even if I’m not necessarily scaring her with wild initiatives, I can at least make her say, “I never thought I’d hear you say that. Thank you, Jesus! Let’s do it!”

            So in lieu of all that, my next step is to buy a giant map and start going on adventures so grand and full of life-giving memories, Jenna will throw up her hands and say, “That’s it! We’re making some babies,” just to settle me down.