The Summer of Biking

Through a random series of thoughts and events, I recently bought a bicycle. I haven't had a working bike in years, so this was a departure in itself. I thought it would be a fun way for my two sons and I to spend some time together doing something active and manly in the outdoors. This desire coincided with a sudden windfall, so I decided to invest the money in a bike.

I first went to a real bike shop in town and quickly knew I was out of my league and out of my price range. These bikes started at $400, which may not be much in the grand scheme of bikes and biking today, but was much more than I could spend. I had also been looking bikes at Academy, most of these being within my price range. Through some honest reflection, I realized that if I insisted in waiting on a nicer, more expensive bike I would probably never get one. This project seemed important enough, so I swallowed my pride and bought a Chinese-made bike (It is made by a company that rhymes with "Duffy"). It was initially apparent that the standard saddle would prove inadequate for my ample caboose, so I upgraded it. I bought other things, too: a rack for the back, tools for a tool kit (one that would satisfy me with its adequacy, not the little Swiss-Army-knife type of tool kit), a CO2 inflator, flat repair items, a lock, and a tool bag to hold all of these essentials on my rack.

The shakedown cruise took place on a camping trip the family took to Lake Ray Roberts. The boys and I spent a good amount of time riding the trails, some improved (concrete), and others more rustic. I liked the bike and continued to try and adjust here and there for a more comfortable and well-functioning ride. We had a lot of fun that weekend, and I realized that I had a mouthful in having adopted this project. I was in pretty poor shape, so the trees swayed to and fro with my every breath and wheeze. This, I hoped, would improve.


A couple of weeks after this trip, the boys and I went to Lake Mineral Wells State Park for a camping/biking trip. The LMWSP Trailway runs from downtown Mineral Wells to Weatherford, some 20 miles away. The trailway is an old railway bed, so longer uphill grades and shallow curves were the norm. We rode for about 3 hours, covering a distance of around 8 miles when we decided to stop for lunch and to turn around for the return trip. This is a great, fatiguing bike trip. Round trip would be a bit much for all but the most advanced and in-shape of bikers, but most of the trail is remote and winds through farming land and wilderness. It is all crushed limestone, which is more resistant than concrete or asphalt, but on the whole it is a great ride. Take lots of water and/or Gatorade. You'll be glad you did.

One evening within the last week, I rode back-and-forth down a 3.5 mile stretch of the Trinity Trails, an improved path along the Trinity River in Fort Worth. The Trinity Trails is a rather extensive network that follows the different forks that make up the Trinity within the confines of Fort Worth. I biked from University to Bryant Irvin and back, about 7 miles round trip. It was a nice ride also. On this day, the paths were populated with runners, walkers, other bikers and on one occasion, a couple skating and pushing a stroller. The bikers were mostly the serious types:  expensive bikes, the strange biking apparel, helmets and other things that communicate, "I'm more serious about biking than you, so get out of my way!" However, there were a few that were more in line with the boys and I: out for fun, sun and perhaps a little fitness.

The serious bikers are also much faster than my boys and I are. Our top speed could be classified as "Leisurely". These guys were usually passing us at what I would call "Testing the Laws of Physics" speed. I believe I usually heard a sneer as they passed, though I could have mistaken the sound of the rushing wind for the sound of derision. I also could not see when they rolled their eyes at us--they were always wearing some type of trendy sunglasses, most of this eyewear costing more than my entire bike. In spite of all the differences, I think we can coexist. We need to cultivate the Biker Wave thing like the motorcyclists do: you wave at a passing motorcyclist, no matter what they're riding, be it Harley, BMW or a rice burner, crotch rocket or cruiser. Us bikers need that kind of esprit de corps.
The Summer of Biking is just beginning. Another road trip is in the works, and perhaps a few more local outings on the Trinity Trails. In about a month, I'm planning on taking us to Lake Somerville to ride their bike paths. We'll camp a couple of nights there and see the sights from the seat of our two-wheelers. I'm also hoping to lure my brother and another friend and his son to Somerville for certain biking adventures. Who the heck knows! I may just loose a few pounds and end up in better shape because of this. As far as the boys and I are concerned, it's already a success.

The Greatness of a Normal Life

My Uncle Richard died last Saturday. The fifth of my mother's seven brothers, he was easily my favorite uncle (Tell any of my surviving uncles this and I'll deny it and claim my weblog was hacked). Uncle Richard was a great man, and I will miss him greatly.

I grew up closer to Uncle Richard than I was to my other uncles. A goodly portion of my childhood was spent in the company of my cousin, Mark, who was Uncle Richard's only son. My closeness with Mark in those days brought me in frequent contact with Uncle Richard. As cousins, our times together were not always spent pursuing noble tasks, and I remember our foolishness and how it would occasionally raise Uncle Richard's hackles. The waters of time have run over these rough places though, and some 40 years later, it seems smoother and less coarse than it may have actually been.

The Uncle Richard I remember best is the one of my adult years. Somewhere between then and now, he came to know his Maker in an intimate way. Every time I was in town and would stop by and see him, he would talk about how good the Lord had been to him. Even later, when his lung cancer had zapped him of much of his vitality, he was always positive and upbeat, exuding a firm and true faith in the God that had loved him and had forgiven him.

Not only did he love his Lord; he loved his family, too. He loved my Aunt Brenda faithfully for the 51 years that they were married. He loved his children, Renee and Mark. He loved their children and their children's children. He loved his brothers and their families, his only sister and her family (That is where I come in). He loved my stepfather, which was a task that I found nearly impossible myself. He loved everyone, and his love was sincere, without a smidgen of falseness.

My infrequent trips back home for visits would, whenever possible, include a stop at Uncle Richard and Aunt Brenda's house. I was always welcome and was always offered a cup of coffee. These visits would always be among the high points of every trip. Those times when I was unable to stop by, for whatever reason, were always accompanied by regret at not having done so.

My favorite times with Uncle Richard were talking about the one passion we shared: woodworking. We would wander around his shop or he would show me his projects scattered around his home. On July 2, 2007 at 1:40pm, I took the above picture as we toured his shop. I had my camera and asked that he pose for a picture there in the midst of his domain. He gladly obliged. His arms rest atop a cedar chest that he was in the process of finishing.

Our most recent visit was in early August of last year, about 8 months ago. We were in town for my father's 70th birthday and I stopped by for a visit. It would be the last time I saw him. We just sat in his living room and talked. Eventually, Aunt Brenda returned from her errand-running and joined the conversation. That's a great memory of time spent with one of my favorite people.
 
It was Uncle Richard that called me to tell me that my mother had died. I remember his soft, tender voice, softened even more by his own heartfelt tears. It was Uncle Richard that called to tell me that my stepfather had died, and he did it with a tenderness and respect that I found absent in my own heart.

Uncle Richard loved God's creation. He loved gardening. He loved the outdoors. He loved the mountains. He would tell me about his trips, often marveling again and again at how beautiful this place or that place was. I can only imagine the joy he is now experiencing, walking around the magnum opus that God has created in eternity for his faithful ones.

Uncle Richard's life would not be considered great by the standards of this world, but he was a great man. He took the plain and ordinary things of his life and handled them with an extraordinary love and care. He saw God's hand in these simple things and accorded them the respect they deserved, having been divinely touched. He was an example of what true greatness is, and that it is not found in great deeds but in humble deeds done with great love.

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With little of substance to go on, I like to let my imagination run wild when I think about Heaven. I love imagining people walking in the gates of the Celestial City, beholding for the first time the unimaginable glories of God's home.

I imagine there at the end, he drew that last breath, his lungs refusing to draw another. Then, with a renewed strength, he drew another breath, yet he knew this breath was different. The air was...perfect. It filled him with an energy that made him believe his old body had been replaced with a new one. When he opened his eyes, he saw a hand reaching out--a hand with a wound that never healed. He grabbed it and was lifted to his feet to find himself standing at the gates of New Jerusalem.

A cheer goes up as he enters the gates, and the residents of this great and glorious community swarm around him to greet him and welcome him. At the front of the line are those he has loved that have gone before him. Mom is there. She gives him a long hug and says, "Richard: It's as good as you have imagined, and better! You won't believe it! You just won't believe it!"

Not long from then, the call will go up that a new arrival is at the gates. It will be one of us, and he'll be there with that big, loving smile on his face, pushing his way to the front of that line of greeters, waiting for the go-ahead to rush the gates.

Uncle Richard: Enjoy your reward, good and faithful servant. Thank you for your example. Thank you for being a mirror in which we can see God's love reflected. We love you and will see you soon. Just not soon enough.

That's Not the Name, Folks...

I read an article today about how showbiz folks, from Lady Gaga to Eminem to Snoop Dogg to Diddy/P-Diddy/Sean Combs/(enter current name here), have invoked the name of God, giving him the nod for their fame, in some cases giving him credit, and in other cases, professing belief that God had a purpose for their fame.

Granted, their acknowledgement of their creator is shallow at best, and is most likely insincere and rooted in an ignorance of who God is and what he expects of us. There is a tendency among all of us to squeeze and mold God into a shape we like, as if he were made of Play-Doh. We formulate our ideals based on whims and fancies. Notions are planted in our heads over a lifetime by people with the same shallow perception of God, and our own perceptions are often patchwork quilts of the parts of these ideas we like, mainly because they don't offend us or make us uncomfortable about who we are.

It's easy for these people to invoke the name of God. People have no problem calling Him by name, except for a few rebellious folks out there whose rejection of the Creator is very active. Relatively speaking, people don't have a problem believing in God; they just have a problem submitting to Him. There is often a general skepticism of the Bible and how authoritative it is, or some other rejection of whatever absolutes might pin them down in what they consider unfriendly territory. In the absence of an absolute standard, they construct one out of Lego blocks. Some have built faith structures that might look impressive in a monochromatic world, but in reality the colors are mismatched and it looks just like it is: a patched together mess of incongruous parts.

A refusal to acknowledge the Bible as authoritative or an ignorance of what it says guarantees that many will absolutely miss one of the most important messages the Bible has to share, namely this:

 ⁵ In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:

 ⁶ Who, being in very nature God,
   did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
⁷ rather, he made himself nothing
   by taking the very nature of a servant,
   being made in human likeness.
⁸ And being found in appearance as a man,
   he humbled himself
   by becoming obedient to death—
      even death on a cross!

 ⁹ Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
   and gave him the name that is above every name,
¹⁰ that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
   in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
¹¹ and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
   to the glory of God the Father.

(Philippians 2, emphasis mine)

Reflecting on this, you might be able to conclude what I have: people have a much harder time calling the name of Christ and professing their allegiance to Him than they do to God. This is too bad, because it is Christ's name that is the highest and greatest and most worthy of worship and praise. God the Father has said so Himself.

I don't believe it bothers God when his name is maligned as much as it does when the name of His Son is. God the Father decreed that it be this way--that Jesus's name be the one above every other name. So many people just don't understand that God prefers obedience to half-hearted worship or fleeting mention in an acceptance speech or liner notes. Obedience, in particular, to His command to place the name of Christ in the place of utmost reverence and worship.

There's no need to fret though, those of you who are believers and sorrow at the lack of faith that surrounds us. One day everyone will believe, and that's not a Universalist proclamation. Remember:

Every knee will bow...every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Unfortunately, for most people it will be too little and too late to make any difference for eternity.

Chronic Imperfection

My daughter brought home a book entitled, "Messy Spirituality". The subtitle summed it all up: "God's Annoying Love for Imperfect People." When I saw this sitting on the couch, when I saw the title, I knew I had to read it. I am one of those imperfect people.

It seems that all my efforts to reform myself, to make myself more perfect, are doomed to fall short of the goal. Failure is assumed. When you live such a defeated life, you can turn in a couple of directions. You can consider yourself as a perpetual loser, always falling short of the mark, never being good enough at anything you do, never setting lofty goals or having dreams or aiming high. The other option is to understand and work within your failure, not letting it disable you. I choose the latter.

Striving for perfection seems to require a healthy dose of denial. In spite of our successes, we are all failures in one regard or another. Success in one area doesn't negate failure in other areas, and even the most perfect of lives is built around a core of moral failure. We are all sinners. We are all losers (cue up Beck). It's just that some of us don't see it or some of us refuse to acknowledge it.

I see it. I see my failures. I'll never be the kind of Christian I want to be. I'll never be able to chat up theology with the best and the brightest. I seriously doubt that I'll ever be able to have a consistent time of personal Bible study. I'll probably never have the rich prayer life I desire. I try, again and again, and I just can't do it. That doesn't mean I give up. I keep trying. More than likely, I'll keep failing.

My efforts center on certain realizations. First is realizing who I am. Second is realizing who God is.

I am a sinner. Being forgiven doesn't mean I've been recast in a perfect, flawless mold. The "new man" is not of flesh and bone in that way. I still have the same old flesh and bones. I still have a heart with some dark, inhospitable corners. It's like the old man took on a roommate, the new man, and the two are incompatible in every way. The new man tries to influence the old man to better himself and the old man does change in small ways, yet his core remains unpleasant and is prone to temper tantrums, cuss fits, vile thoughts and other unpleasantness that makes the new man not want to invite friends over.

The attitude of an optimist comes in handy here. I must look at the glass as half full. What keeps me thinking optimistic thoughts is that I know I serve a God who loves me in spite of my failures. He doesn't want me to fail, nor does he want me to give up striving for perfection. I know that when I fail, I can return home and He'll meet me at the door. He won't give me the cold shoulder. He won't change the locks. He gives me a hug and says, "Hey, there! Come on in and let's talk about your day." I'm ashamed at first. After all, I can live through a whole day without thinking about Him. Yet here He is, and it's like He couldn't wait for me to get home. I come in, we talk, and I always leave our conversations wanting to be better, somehow believing that perfection is within my grasp. 

Something to Think About

It's nice to have those centering moments, those when you evaluate your life and where you stand in the cosmos and give yourself new direction when necessary. It's also nice to be assured that these moments make you a better person. For me, it's not necessarily a quest for self-improvement. It's a quest to focus on what's important and what's not.

Putting things in perspective helps. If you realize that this entire universe, in its immensity and infinity, sits in a dark corner of God's eye, it gives you perspective. When you consider that the Creator could make such a universe, limitless in size, and that this universe would still be miniscule in comparison to His greatness, this gives you perspective. I find it unbelievable that so many can invert this notion, making themselves bigger and more important that God. Though I wish on no one eternal judgement, I find such a sentence just in light of the violation. Remember the perspective.

With regularity, I also try and remind myself that I am here for God's purposes. This makes a lot of things that seem important really pointless and cheap. We give a lot of thought to clothes, houses, cars, phones and other things. These things won't even exist in eternity. They barely exist here, most having such a short useful life. Yet we give them preeminence over things that are more weighty, more lasting, more important. The things that last forever, we push aside. If our priorities were in the right place, we would put all of our energy and all of our resources into people. That "we" most assuredly includes me. I spend most of my time thinking about how I dislike people and how much I like things that don't talk. In trying to maintain this perspective that places people first, I feel like I walk a narrow path which falls off steeply on both sides. One step to the left or the right and I find myself scrambling for all I'm worth to get back on top. Most of the time, I'm content just to roll to the bottom and stay there.

Yet here I sit at my desk. I look around me and in all corners I see things, not people. It's easy to lose perspective. When I'm surrounded by people, I'm not thinking about them as people though. I'm thinking about them as obstacles, traffic cones to be steered around. Yet what I'm really thinking is that I'm bigger than they are. My goals, the tasks at my hand, are more important. Then, if I have a moment of clarity, I notice that I'm looking through the binoculars backwards like a doofus. I pull them away from my eyes and see that we--myself and those around me--are the same size. We are crossing paths on the way from our Points A to our Points B and we all have our eyes fixed on Point B. I look back and see a hand resting on my shoulder, having just shaken me awake. This wasn't my great idea, putting people first. I would never have such a thought. Yet it is a good idea and I'll do what I can to move in that direction.

So what do you do when you make your way through the teeming masses, everyone with their head to the ground, plowing their way through the throng? What I try to do is to make contact with these people. Eye contact is a first. You have to be actively searching for this, too. Verbal contact, when possible, is next. I'm not talking about establishing deep, lasting friendships with all or any of these people. What I'm talking about is acknowledging that they exist and forcing them to acknowledge that you exist. Add value to their life by noticing it. Toss out a friendly word and see if the cat licks it up.

Many years ago, I saw a commercial that I remember with clarity (I wasted quite a lot of time looking for it this morning with zero success). An old woman, matronly in figure, obviously not getting about with the ease of her younger years, is walking down the sidewalk. She passes a young, nice-looking man who catches her eye and says, "Hey there, good looking!" In the next scene, you see her, spirits buoyed by the contact, telling her friend on the phone about the encounter. During all of this, a voice-over is selling long distance service, insurance, investment brokering or Mormonism, but that's not the important part of the commercial. The message is obvious: you can make someone's day with a simple word and simply noticing they are there. I've wanted to try this, but I just don't think I can pull it off. I'm not really sure how important the young, good-looking man aspect is in the equation. Since I don't meet that requirement, if I tried, I'd probably get a face full of pepper spray. One of these days, I'll try it anyway. No guts, no glory, right?

So I offer you this challenge: as you move about, going from A to B, take notice of those around you. As you purposely seek eye contact, when you find it, say "Hi" to that person. Any other variation will work, too: "Hi there", "Howdy", "Hey", or for the truly bold, "Hey there, good looking!".

 

Wedding Shoot #2

A couple of weekends ago today, I had just finished photographing my third wedding. With only three weddings under my belt, one being so long ago as to not be relevant, I am far from a veteran of the wedding shoot, but I'm getting there, closer and closer with every opportunity. This wedding found me more educated than the last, and the next will hopefully not be so far in the future that my experience will not remain beneficial.

(Photo to right: Me catching the maiden of honor as my assistant caught me.)

I did one thing at this wedding that I had read about, and the results were good enough that I will defininitely try it again. I set up a photo booth between the receiving line and the reception where I took a quick snap of all the wedding guests. I decided that table shots were a less-than-ideal way to photograph the guests. You always are catching someone with a mouth full of cake, or you have people on the wrong side of the table. You are also always asking someone to move around and do a better job of getting into the picture. I have always sensed that many people in that context consider the photograph to be a violation of their privacy, and if not that, then at least a disturbance of their peace. Circling the reception like a vulture, camera in hand, I feel like the unwanted guest of the wanted guests.

The photo booth was a success with only one slight exception. It was a last minute adaptation and I didn't have the opportunity to create or find a suitable backdrop. Instead, I used a utilitarian one: a wide spot in the hallway on the way to the reception hall. It worked. The controlled environment created some consistency in quality and some control, though you wouldn't believe how differences in skin color and the color of clothing can jerk things around, exposure-wise. There is nothing that will fool you camera's meter better than dark skin. The next time, I'd like to have the classic white backdrop or maybe a nice muslin. We'll see.

I turned a DVD over to the family today. There were 754 images that made the final cut. I could have cut more out, but I was satisfied with what was in that group. I realize that there is no way they will print all, or even most, of that 754, so I am happy with the overkill. Actually, I started editing with almost 1200 images. I had an assistant on this shoot, and between me and her, we were certainly victims of Digital Overkill*. After cutting the ones with soft focus (what a photographer calls those images he took which are out of focus, for whatever reason) and after cutting the ones that seemed particularly bad or unnecessary, I was left with 754 that I was unashamed of. The final word will be when the family reports back, either satisfied or dissatisfied. I will try and get an untainted opinion by not asking what they think, begging for a compliment.

Once again, this wedding shoot proved to be a marathon. I arrived at the church at 10:30am and left at around 5:30pm. Afterward, I let my camera sit untouched for two days, not looking at a single image until then. The culling/editing process took time. Photography is, after all, moonlighting for me, so I don't have huge slabs of time to devote to editing between gigs. Like the tortoise, slow and sure does the job. I finally finished and all that remains is to see if the family is satisfied.

Fingers are still crossed. I am, in all regards, still a novice.

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* - Digital Overkill: The tendency to shoot far more exposures than is necessary due to the ease of doing so with a digital camera. With film, photographers tended to be more judicious because of the cost of shooting, processing and printing lots of film. Digital cameras allow us to blast away, typically resulting in huge exposure count.

Wanting Things

It seems in life there should be some balance between lustful materialism and totally austere anti-materialism. After all, we need things to live, perhaps not as much as we have, but we still need things. The balance probably falls somewhere between never being satisfied with what you have and being satisfied with having nothing.

Morally speaking, I have done some soul searching and don't think that I have an unhealthy appetite for More and Better. I may be delusional, but when I want something, it is, most often, a something that will equip me to do another something, i.e., a tool of some kind. There have been other times when I realize the "tools" I have at present are so shoddily poor that I want to improve on what I have to hopefully improve my output. Generally, I am just happy if I have something that works.

I was having a discussion with Dale the other day. He asked me something that alluded to whether my wish list still had a bass guitar of some kind on it. I told him that since I had gotten the Lakland, I stopped looking at guitars. I told him that was sort of like marrying the right woman: when you find her, you know you've found her and you stop looking.

I recently purchased a new amp: a Gallien-Krueger MB-115. It is a 200-watt combo with one 15-inch speaker and a switchable horn (for high freqs). I played through one at Guitar Center a few months ago and loved its sound. I have barely used it, so I don't really have a good opinion, but I like it so far. Having this amplifier will hopefully mean that I stop looking at amps, too.

The gnostic notion that all material is bad and that we are spirits trapped in an evil, material world is silly and I don't hold to that at all.  However, I do believe that there is Christian teaching that counters materialism. It centers on the notion that God is our provider, that he both created and sustains life. When we think that we exist because of our own ingenuity and due to our own wits, we are deluded. Granted, we have responsibilities, but we make a grave mistake when we believe that we are self-made men. Since God is our provider and since he is sovereign over all things and since he is omniscient and knows all things, then he knows what we need and will provide for all our needs "according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:19).  He also provides us with the skills, gifts and the raw materials to do our own work, so ultimately nothing we do is of ourselves. By wanting more and more, we are saying that we are dissatisfied with God's provision. We are saying that we know better what it is we need than He does.

Truthfully, I didn't need either a Lakland 55-01 or a Gallien-Krueger MB-115. There are a lot of things in my life that are there, not out of necessity or need, but because they make life a little more enjoyable. I don't believe that life should be austere and that there is no room for pleasure and enjoyment. I just believe that in the midst of my consumption of the material bounty often found in this life, I should be both thankful and content: thankful to the Provider, and content that what he has provided is good enough.