Boldness (or "the lost art of nose picking")

I desire to be a bold person, to speak out against injustice and declare truth even when the whole world stands against me. I want to defy conventions and rebel against the status quo that exists purely for the sake of existing. I like to think I am bold. I've spent my life reading about bold men in the Bible and playing with action figures that typified boldness. So I know a thing or two about it. But I admit I am not always the boldest crayon in the box (that works right?).

This whole idea comes out of left field I will admit it. I haven't thought on the topic of boldness or reflected on my personal level or ranking on said topic in some time. But the thought came screaming out to me two days ago when I saw the greatest display of boldness since Teddy Roosevelt dug that huge hole in Panama.

But before we discuss that, a tangent:

The other night I was hanging out with some friends when a girl quickly stuck her finger up her nose to give the inner wall a little scratch. She wasn't digging for anything, it was quick and very ninja like, but it was clear she did it. She was just stealth enough that it could have been that she was not wanting anyone to see her dirty deed. At first I dismissed it as a nose ring adjustment until I realized her nose ring was on the other side of her nose. Then I realized what had happened. But was I going to call her out on it? No way! Propriety and a fear of being beaten up by a girl kept my mouth shut. I was going to leave her unrebuked for her nose picking ways. Then she got called out on it by a girl who lacked both my propriety and fear of bodily harm.

"You just picked your nose!" The girl declared.

"Yeah..." The nose picker retorted. "You don't? Everyone does. People just act like they don't. I'm not ashamed. Look everyone does it... Soandso, you pick your nose?" Soandso nods. "Whatsherface, you pick your nose?" Whatsherface blushes and looks away. "Tyler you pick your nose?"

I boldly respond "Hu? Oh, I was... well... not with... I'm... I don't really... Dude, I'm not gonna answer that."

"See? Everyone picks their nose." As she restates her thesis everyone else recontemplated their whole world view.

End tangent.

The next day I am heading off to the east coast to see my parents for the holidays. For a myriad of reasons I am sleepless and tired. I braved a day of table waiting, packing, driving through tremendous rain storms (they weren't so bad, I'm just trying to stack the deck here), a sleepless night with Mel Brookes' classic films, and airport security to get where I am now: my gate at the airport.

Needless to say I'm tired. People are doing that thing where they rudely put their suitcase on the chair to their left and their jacket on the chair to their right (I'd judge them but I was doing the same thing before nature beckoned me to her porcelain temple) so there are no available seats. I'm fading in and out of consciousness where I stand.

When my eyes jerk open to right sleeplessness I am looking into the face of a little Asian woman.* She is picking her noise. She is really going at it. This isn't a gentle scratching of the surface. This is a throwback to the gold rush. This lady is digging like she's trying to win an Olympic medal.

As I witness this my mind fades for an unknown amount of time to the conversation about nose picking at the party. I think about playing Apples to Apples. I think about how true it is that everyone picks their nose. Sometimes its a necessity. And sometimes its just feels good. I think about how everyone says you shouldn't do it, but everyone does. Whether you're rich or poor, everyone has had a finger venture up the mountain's tunnels to see what they might find. I thought of the phrase everyone picks their nose. Which led me to think about the phrase everyone poops. Which made me think of the children's book with its profound yet simple message. There should be a book about nose picking. Should I do my own illustrations? Could their be a Christian message in it? Could it be a series? Could it make me enough money to buy a minivan with automatic locks? Could it make me enough money to buy a automobile that isn't a van so girls won't laugh when they see me? Too much to hope for. Why is it always the pretty girls who are comfortable with nose picking? Why does picking my noise feel so good when society tells me its so bad? Are each of our index fingers specially designed by God to perfectly fit our nostril?

I come back to reality to find the lady is still picking her nose. She hasn't quit. And it dawns on me: she is looking right at me! She has been looking at me this whole time. And I've been looking at her! This whole time my mind has been wandering into the land of nose picking philosophy I've been looking at this little Asian lady as she aggressively digs up her nose. She knows I'm looking at her and she picks her nose all the same.

This must be how the Grinch felt when Christmas morning came and Christmas came all the same (without packages or bows, etc) and all the Whos down in Whoville were singing their Whocarols.

Me looking at her should have sent her into a proverbial tailspin of self consciousness and doubt. She should have pulled that little finger out of her nose and ran to the other side of the room to avoid eye contact with me forever. There she could spend the remainder of our time waiting for the plane praying she isn't in a seat next to mine. But she doesn't.

SHE DOESN'T!!!

She picks her nose like she is daring me to judge her for it. With every little twist of her hand she defies cultural norms and my watching. With that simple upward thrust of her index finger she tells the world and little me sitting in the middle of it "I know how you want me to behave, but I will not do it. I will not conform to your arbitrary standards. We all pick our noses, I'm just bold enough to do it freely, without fear of judgement or rejection. If this world can not respect me for the nose picker I am then I want no part of this world and its restrictions. I want to be free."

Since then I've thought about my own boldness in life. I don't know how courageous I can be in the face of adversity, but I pray for the strength to be myself, stand by my convictions and fight injustice no matter the cost. I want to take a stand, not sit on the sidelines whiles others do all the work.

I haven't picked my nose in public yet, but I've thought about it, and that's a start.

*race accomplishes nothing more than providing a picture. I am not accusing all Asians of being nose pickers.

Silence (or johnny cage, john cage and the one thing i learned from a history of american music class)

Growing up Johnny Cage was the cool kickboxer in Mortal Kombat who cared as much how he looked as how he fought. He had his styling early 90's raybands and an attitude to match. To be honest I was alway parshal to Subzero, but I was often accused of cheating by mercilessly freezing my opponants and then kicking them in the face-what in fighting game vinacular was called being "cheap." When my brother or friends would get sick of this they'd force me to pick someone other than the masked ice-cold dinamo who could manifest coldness at will (insert cold hearted girl parallel joke if you so choose). I was tempted to pick Scorpion with his skeleton head and that rope that flew out of his hand, but since he was Subzero's rival and sworn enemy it didn't feel right. I couldn't cheat on my prized fighter. So I turned to Johnny Cage. The professional actor who got his jollies by kicking people in the head in illegal tournaments to the death.

Fast foward 8 years. My Sega Genesis gathered dust (yeah I had a N64 but everyone knew not to play Mortal Kombat on that, there was no blood.), and I was off to college.To get music credits I took a history of American music class. Early in the class we were told to pick an individual musician to do a research report on. Now my knowledge of American music at this time was pretty much relegated to screaming and punk rock angst, so I had no idea who I was picking. I would let chance be my guide... or was it fortuidous?

The way I picked my subject was simple, he had to meet three criteria: 1) he had to be someone who was scheduled late in the semester to maximize my ability to procrastinate. 2) He had to not have anyone else sign up for him so I wouldn't have to partner with a weirdo. 3) He had to have a cool sounding name.

Enter Johnny Cage, the ficticious kickboxing superstar of my youth.Okay his name was actually John Cage but it was close enough. And if he was cool enough for the creators of Mortal Kombat to name a character after him then he was cool enough for me (I may have been giving the creators too much credit in being cultured, I've found no proof that he was intentionally named after the musician John Cage, it could just be a coincidence...).

John Cage was a professional musician who was also a philosopher and adapter of his own form of Buddhism that bares only slight resemblances to the easter religion. He was, what could be described as a rouge musician/composer. He developed his own rules and used his music to communicate his philosophies on life, art, and existance.

At one performance he created a piece that was named after the measure of time it was to be performed in. The thing was he had no music. He sat at the piano and counted the time, at the appropriate moment he would turn the page of nonexistent music, all the while sitting in utter silence. Certainly many people were uncomfortable with this unorthodox performance. Some people must have assumed a joke was being performed on them. Others, completely terrified by silence shuffled in their seats as they waited for eternity to pass.

What was the point? Cage wanted people to hear the music in silence. He claimed that silence was never silent as all, that there was music in the rustling of seats and heavy breathing of patrons. Even when no external noise can be found at all the body provides a symphony of its own: heart pounding, lungs sucking in oxygen and pushing out carbon dioxide, and stomach churching in gluttonous hunger. Music was everywhere. There was beauty in the beats of life. There was beauty in silence.

The weeks that have passed have been busy ones. There is always something to distract me, entertain me, or challenge me everywhere I turn. I can fill my life with noise quite easily until I pass out from exhaustion. Even then I'm half tempted to doze off into darkness to the toon of Further Seems Forever or Johnny Cash's My Mother's Hymnal album.

I have friends who need to talk to me, and friends with whom I desperately need to speak. I have an endless supply of sound at my disposal.

Then I broke down. Not in any dramatic way, this wasn't anything fit for a soap opera. My body just had enough. I went to my barn and laid in silence. I sat alone. I was quietly. The rhythm of the fan my only companion.I listened to my heard beat and felt my brain pulsate in my temples. Wind crept through the broken screen creating a faint whistle. And I remembered John Cage.

I remembered that there was music in silence. That silence could energize me and refresh me. I could, if I allowed myself, be covered in the silence of my apartment and there find rest.

In that silence I found not only music, but miracles to inspire. As I breathed in I was a witness to a personal miracle, life continuing. In the chaos of day to day life I take advantage of breathing, I'm not a doctor but I know enough to understand that the whole breathing thing happens pretty much on its own, without my willful contribution. As I'm dealing with disgruntled customers at work, or teenagers in need of time and care at church I continue breathing like its my business.

Every breath reminded me that I'm still alive, here by a will external to my own. In that silence as I listened to the music of my own breathing I was reminded that God isn't finished with me yet. Each breath is a miracle given by the Lord, and eventually those will cease. Eventually those breaths which have been numbered since my birth will end and I will go home. I don't fear that day. And I don't watch for it with morbid curiousity. But I am aware its coming. The music of silence shows me that time has not yet come. There is still work to do. I'm still living.

I believe our culture acts against us when it makes us uncomfortable with silence. With so much entertainment and noise at our disposal silence feels like the enemy. But this is a trap. This is a lie. The enemy wants us surrounded by noise to keep out the time of silent reflection. To keep us from enjoying the sound of our own heart beat, and the reminder that our creator has not given up on us. It keeps us from enjoying the music of silence, which is a great tragedy.

Poopeology (the theology of pooping)

Pooping is God's gracious gift to we sinners that reminds us of the sin from which we have been saved and of the salvation that we have undeservedly found in Christ. We are shown, in subtlety, the depths of our own depravity; seeing what we, unconsciously, are able to manifest through the simple activity of eating and passage of time. We can see in these moments, if we allow ourselves to, that we are truly great sinners. And there is no answer to being a great sinner than to find a far superior Savior. So when we find ourselves in these moments of release we should not let time pass idly, rather we should allow it to remind us yet again the great depth of sin in which we have found ourselves, and the great salvation that is brought to us through Christ.

If we allow ourselves to, we can be reminded of our great salvation even in the minutest of activities.

[this blog is dedicated to Brandon, Wes and Jerod who requested this blog be written... blame them!]

Standing on the Shoulders of Giants (what i learned from Moody and Spurgeon)

There is an old wives' tale I heard. It is an old wives' tale because I haven't seen any written record of it anywhere-not that I've looked too hard. Whether or not its true it is a compelling story. It involves two of my heroes, DL Moody and Charles Spurgeon. Both men were famous Evangelists in the late 19th century. Mr. Moody from the US, and Spurgeon from the UK. On multiple occasions their paths crossed as they had evangelical crusades on either side of the pond. They were life long friends and corresponded frequently.

The story goes that the two men were walking together (after some event I'm sure) down a street, I like to picture that it was cobblestoned, when Spurgeon lit of a cigar. He was well known for being an eloquent speaker and his cigar chomping ways, as Moody was known for his eloquent speaking and rotund midsection. As he lit the cigar Mr. Moody asked, "When am I going to be able to get you to quit those."

Spurgeon responded, "As soon as I get you to stop over-eating." Oh snap! He got told.

The story resounded with me and my friends. For one it was an example of witty banter between two of the brightest and best to come out of the Evangelical movement. It also showed that neither man was perfect, but had his own particular vice. Shamefully it also rang true for us because it appealed to the "don't judge me and I won't judge you mentality" that we as a society are so keen on. Mr. Moody showed disapproval and Surgeon wittily sent some disapproval right back.

I hear the most popular quoted Scripture these days is "judge not, lest you be judged." Who is anyone to tell me how to live my life?! The western, democratic idea of independence wins the day. This story screamed that principle and made us feel like we were free to judge ourselves and do our work, and each man's particular proclivity was his own. Black and white became grey and "if it doesn't hurt anyone..." became the great justifier of any indiscretion.

Then I heard another story. Spurgeon is back in England this time and he is all by himself. Mr. Moody is off on some evangelical mission or starting a school or whatever else... he was a busy boy. So he's not in the picture on this one. Spurgeon goes into a cigar shop to pick up his favorite jaw cancer stick when he sees that they are advertised with his name attached. "The same cigars Spurgeon smokes while he preaches" proclaimed the add.

Spurgeon was shocked. While he never believed smoking cigars to be sin (and this writer would agree) he did not expect that they would be attached to his personality. His life became (unbenounced to him) a ringing endorsement of cigar smoking, and worse yet of smoking a particular brand. He was the posterboy, the Marlboro man of jolly England. And that he could not stand.

According to this wives' tale he quit smoking then and there.

See the issue wasn't that smoking was bad. It was an issue with what was he endorsing and what was he known for. Mr. Moody and Spurgeon would fit the moniker I like to ascribe to myself, they were Raging Evangelicals. Their whole life was about the Gospel. Their lives had been changed by the saving work of Christ, so they made it their life's mission to share the hope of Christ with the world and see many come to repentance and faith in their Lord and Savior Christ Jesus.

Mr. Moody sidestepped popular social issues in the Church often. He gave little time to the temperance movement (although he did give a little, I got a paper on that if you're interested...) because it detracted from the real goal: making disciples. Neither man was interested in making people act Christianly in a social sense. They wanted people to be transformed by Christ.

As much as they didn't want to be know for social issues of the day, they didn't want to be known for worldly habits either. Their identity was in Christ, not in worldly pleasures. Spurgeon did not want to be a posterboy for cigars, he was a minister of the Gospel.

As much of the Bible warns each of us not to judge (well... judge faultily, judging sin and declaring sin as such is very much a part of Christianity) it also warns against causing another brother to stumble. It would be better to tie a millstone around your neck and jump into deep water than to lead another Christian to stumble into sin, to be an endorser of a practice that violates another man's conscience. Spurgeon knew this. So he quit smoking. Not because it was sin but because he knew by smoking he was endorsing an act that would violate another man's conscience.

That one hurt. The first story was an amusing anecdote that was just fun history nerd speak. It had no real consequence. And it doesn't matter if its true or not, its just a funny story. The second, however, required deep reflection.

I have thought in great depth about liberties and restrictions as a Christian man. It's practically required of any person who desires to serve Christ but wants to enjoy the life he's been given here on earth. I've heard all kinds of arguments about liberties and our rights as those freed from sin by Christ. A lot of these arguments are compelling and made by people far smarter than I. Some of them are made by well intentioned people trying to serve Christ and live in His grace, and some are trying to stamp "liberty" on every activity that seems amusing to them at the time.

I know my identity is in Christ. That I am righteous because of the work He did on the cross and not because of any thing I have done. I know my liberties. But I also know I cannot rub those liberties in anyone's face. My heart is to bring the Gospel to people. I am not evangelist about exercising "rights", I am an evangelist for the Gospel of Christ that frees those who are imprisoned to sin, guilt, and death. I want to be know for the Gospel that has saved me, not for my slick argumentation for my rights.

Did Spurgeon have a right to keep smoking? Certainly. But he gave up that right so he wouldn't make anyone else stumble. He gave it up to be a better minister of the Gospel. He gave it up because he had the liberty to do so! He didn't have to smoke. He could easily give it up because his identity wasn't in the gratification of his own desires, but in Christ who saved Him.

May we all be so courageous and our hearts so moldable.

The Lever that is Flushing American Down the Toilet (its always the ones you don't expect)

Many people are saying we are in a moral decline in American society*. Growing up I've heard a lot of mud slinging about who or what is to blame for this downward spiral. Often the accused are things that I loved growing up and still have a nostalgic affection for. That is to say, I took the accusations a bit personally. My generation was told that because we played video games, and watched movies and the news, read books about rebellious youths ("Catcher in the Rye made me do it"), and listened to music where people screamed we were sending our country off the way of the buffalo.

But I say no!

I'm not saying that these things in some part aren't negatively affecting our society**. They very well may be, I can't say for sure, I'm not a doctor. But they are only younger brothers and sisters of the earlier moral corruption our parents and grandparents were exposed to. We are only inheriting their immorality. The main cause of our moral decline, the thing that started us down the current path we're on, the shepherd towards destruction is:

Musicals!

That's right! Someone had to say it eventually. We have not gotten this way because of twenty years of video games. We have gotten the way we are because of over a hundred years of musicals rotting us from the core.

Don't believe me?

Skeptical?

How about some proof?

Here is a fun game I'll get us all started on: Take any musical and examine it as face value and ask what it is (if one were to look at it as a moral guide) teaching us about life, morality, proper conduct, etc. Lets look at three examples to get us rolling on this.

1) Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
This is probably one of the easiest musicals to pick apart so it should be a good place to start. If I were to use this musical as my moral compass here is the conclusion I would easily draw:
If I want to get married to a certain girl, but she isn't too into me for whatever reason, maybe I'm brash or unrefined or I punch people in the face in public (all of which happens in the musical) all I have to do to get her to fall in love with me is to ride into town and kidnap her and take her to my remote mountain estate where escape and/or rescue is made impossible by the long winter's snow and harsh conditions. Within four months she'll not only be madly in love with me but she will defend my goodness to the townspeople trying to rescue her, delivering a speech that makes them feel bad about themselves! Oh did I mention that this is all the better if there are six other brothers to do the same thing, then there are plenty of women to do all the womanly activities like sewing, cooking, being pretty etc. While the brothers saw wood and sing in a lovely baritone.

Where to begin on how messed up this story is?! I'm just gonna try to give single words that should bring the idea across: kidnapping, creepy, illegal, sexist, and that dudes hair is weird!

Try this in real life and you go to prison buddy!

2) Grease

One of the most beloved musicals of all time but someones gotta do it. I gotta tear down this immoral monster!

The lesson:

So I like this girl. I think she likes me too. But I got all these social standards and restrictions over me that keep me from dating her. We are two poor people in love divided by metaphorical fences we neither constructed nor truly understand. This is made all the worse by the fact that in trying to be cool in front of my friends I've been a jerk to her. Now I've pushed her away forever. Oh love is so cruel. So how do I win her back? I change. I become someone different, someone that her pompous self-righteous clique can appreciate. I become a jock, not because I like sports but because she has shown that she likes guys who like sports. When I go to show her how I can change for her, how i can be someone I'm not for her, because I'm not totally sure she likes me for who I am... oh wonder of wonders! Its a miracle!!! She has changed for me. Now she is a scantily clad, classless... well I can't say I respect her much more, but she looks great! And she did it all for me. She became someone other than who she is all for me! Isn't that romantic? She abandoned her moral compass because she thought it'd make me like her more. This must be love!!!

This is ridiculous. The music is fun and John Travolta hitting that high note is worth the price of admission, and certainly its a blast to watch 32 year olds play 17 year olds. But come on people! This is awful. Girls don't change who you are for John Travolta, or any other guy, and especially don't change into a catwomen uniform with a popped collar. Its not cool. Same for you boys!

3) Guys and Dolls
This is with no disrespect towards Frank Sinatra or Marlon Brando. If I was half as cool as either of them I'd certainly overdose on coolness. So I'm not talking bad on them. I am only saying that this play is messed up.

You want a play that tries to make the idea of missionary dating look great? Here it is. Brando's character makes a bet with Sinatra's character that he can get little miss Too-Cool-For-School-Salvation-Army-Super-Christian to fall in love with him. But then he starts digging on her. Then she starts digging on him. Then she finds out about the bet. Then she stops digging on him so much. Although she still kinda digs on him but doesn't, you know? But he still digs on her. Whats a poor guy to do? Win her back. How? Make a bet with every low life gambler in New York (including Sinatra's character who, through the whole play is being chased by a cop-played flawlessly by me in the high school play I was in) that if he wins in shooting craps they all have to go to a revival and pretend to be Christian like. He wins. Everyone goes both because they lost the bet and because they finally got caught gambling by the cop and they need to look like good Christian boys instead of low life gamblers for their cover. They all act like Christians. Salvation Army chick is back in love and all is right with the world.

Don't you all feel so good about yourselves after that fairy tale?


I might have stumbled on something dangerous here. There may be a vast government conspiracy to cover up the plot to poison our society slowly through catchy musicals. But its happening. And I am willing to risk life and limb to bring you the truth.

Now go play the game with your friends!



*This is highly contested and I'm not sure I agree with the conclusions as they are simply laid out. But for the sake of this article lets just roll with it.
** well if you're saying that reading is negatively affecting our society then shame on you! Unless you're talking about the Twilight series, in which case you may or may not have a point. The vote is still out on that one.

Almighty Heroes (or... the downfall of western society)

I was walking through a local store the other day looking to buy myself an energy drink, some Swedish Fish, and toothpaste to balance it all out when I came across these two awe inspiring pieces of Biblical action and plastic. In researching this online there is a whole enterprise of Bible actions figures you can purchase if you were so inclined.

On seeing my heroes come to life in the same format as mutated turtles, super soldiers, and pro-wrestlers my heart split in two. Schizophrenically I had opposing yet simultaneous reactions:

1) The creator of these toys deserves a Nobel prize!

A Nobel prize at least! I think sainthood might be overkill but that doesn't mean its not deserved. If I found these toys when I was 9 years old I would have known then and there I was born with the specific purpose of playing with these action figures. College? Marriage? That stuff is for chumps! My life's work would be playing with these action figures until their paint was chipped and warn and the whole depths of my imagination was filled with the justice of God at the hands of these heroes of the faith.

I would have suspended disbelief and brought the men who were divided by hundreds of years, geographical locations, and varied enemies and united them in the common cause of stopping evil where ever it may dare to show its face. Moses, Samson, David, Daniel, Joshua, and the whole crew would fight nobly and heroically every waking second of the day.

If I had to take a bath these almighty heroes would be coming too! I would play them to death! They would come with me everywhere.

Nine year old Tyler would be happy in his room reenacting his favorite flannel graph moments from church. Him mom and her friends would sit quietly downstairs discussing curtains or lawn furniture or whatever it is they talk about while Tyler, sitting upstairs in hallway, screams out "destroy the uncircumcised Philistine!" as David and Moses (Daniel would help if he could but he's currently occupied with lions attacking him who were unleashed by Skeletor) face off against Goliath.

It would be beautiful. Oh, nine year old Tyler I'm so sorry you have been deprived of this joy! I only wish I could travel back in time and bring you these presents on your ninth birthday to make up for the socks your aunt got for you (I'd probably also include a list of girls to avoid in your future, and tell you that the television show Heroes is going to start out amazing but will only end up breaking your heart, save yourself from the disappointment... oh all the things I wish I could give you and save you from younger me, you're so innocent!).

But at the same time I was thinking...

2) I hope the creator of this toy falls on something sharp and gets tetanus!

Shame on you toy creator!

Oh, the beautiful marriage that is faith and capitalism.

I can't even begin to list what is all wrong with these toys. First of all they are 14 freakin' bucks which is expensive even for really cool toys that don't exploit Scripture. 14 dollars? Why don't you just use a gun?!

Turning the greatest heroes of Scripture into action figures, while seemingly cool, does seem dispresectful as well. I would not want any kid of mine going to heaven, seeing Moses and saying "I played with you when I was a kid, you fought the Incredible Hulk, but I lost you when I accidentally left you on the driveway one day and my dad ran over you...(this actually happened to me with a Chuck Norris action figure I had when I was 3. 21 years later its still hurts!)... Hey, where's you're gold chest plate and overly tight blue pants?!"

Finally these toys feed into the American, physical obsessed society we're living in. Moses was not a 21 year old Muscle bound behemoth when he freed Israel from slavery. He was an adult when he was ran out of Egypt (after killing the slave owner) and he spent forty years in the desert before returning. He was an old dude. These toys further perpetuate the myth that heroes should be huge men with muscles stacked on top of muscles and square jaws. The point of these stories (other than to give the history of the nation of Israel and bring us from creation to redemption in Christ) is to show us that God does amazing things through regular, imperfect people, not through professional wrestlers with incredibly unhistorical clothes and weapons. I don't want my nephew growing up thinking if he is ever going to be used for the kingdom of God he has to be able to pick up a bus (as this Moses appears to be capable of). But I want him to know that he is able to move mountains by faith in Christ, the one who is faithful.

So needless to say, my feelings are mixed on this product.

On one hand I want to go on an all ramin noodle soup diet for a week so I can afford to buy every one of these Almighty Heroes and use them to decorate my office, while at the same time I'm wondering if I can get a national campaign going to get all these toys recalled and have the creator stand in the center of Jack Murphy Stadium (no, I will not call it Qualcolm) while thousands of people fill the seats who feel the same way as I do and point at him and scream "shame!"

Modesty (and the girl with the unashamed bladder)

Living in southern California my whole life has been an interesting experience. Some will say I am quite spoiled for it*. Southern California has, without a doubt the highest concentration of beautiful girls in the world. They are everywhere, to the point where it becomes commonplace. In some bizzarre Darwinian leap in evolution, California has become the breeding ground of the gorgeous. Only the beautiful survive, those less fortunate are disgarded like unwanted Spartan children**, relegated to the margins of society***. I don't say that to seem sexist or fixated on appearances, I'm just saying its a scientific fact that the most beautiful girls in the world live in this one, overpriced geographical location. If you take a crowd of southern California girls and throw a stone towards them**** nine times out of ten you're gonna hit a girl who could stop traffic with their smile.


I tell you that in order to say that I would consider myself well schooled in what American culture has told us is beautiful. We got it in spades in So Cal (no! not "Cali"... no one should call it "Cali").


But one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen in real life was not from southern California. She was a homeless girl living on the streets of Chicago. An African American girl, average height, who walked up and down the streets of Chicago Avenue my first year living in Chicago. And she was absolutely beautiful. Once you looked past the torn clothes and looked into her eyes you could see that she would be (in any other context) the most beautiful girl in any room. And her voice... She had a voice that could put angry bulldogs to sleep. Sure she was screaming obsenities and telling my friends and I how we had all kinds of immorally transmitted diseases, but the way she said it... there was poetry. It was a voice that could coax all your muscles to relax.


We would see her often as we walked up and down Chicago Avenue, looking for some Dunkin Donuts coffee or questionable Indian food late at night. But my last interaction with her (the last time I remember seeing her) stands out in my mind more than any other. We had passed her once going to a restaurant, she asked us for money, when we told her we didn't have any cash on us she rhythmically explained to us her feelings about the matter and we walked away awkwardly.


On our way back from the restaurant it was just my friend Mark and I. We saw her a ways off in the distance. I wondered if she would remember us or ask us again for money on our second pass. She made eye contact with me and I knew I was in for another tongue lashing from the siren. She was crouched against a wall, squatting in the cold February air, trying to block herself from the bitter wind that blows through the city all through the winter. As I neared her she didn't move. She just sat there with eyes locked on me. Not wanting to be too rude I made eye contact and smiled. She asked me if I had a cigarette or a light. I told her I carried neither. She seemed disheartened by the news but was unwilling to budge. I began walking past her path and noticed why she wasn't moving... a single stream of liquid ran from where she was sitting down the sidewalk, overflowing into the gutter. She was peeing in public on a busy street, right in front of me!!! With cat like reflexes and agility I flew over the stream and dodged the liquid before me. Mark was not so lucky and got a sole full of urine on his left foot before he was lucky enough to realize what was happening. In horror he noticed just a few seconds too late and took off running and I followed, laughing at:


1) Mark's shoe full of pee


2) at the idea that this girl was unashamedly urinating in public.


Of course I told everyone I knew about it, and logged it in my memory bank as one of those "only in Chicago" kinds of stories. Its all about the memories.


Years later I still think back on that girl. I think about how beautiful she was. I think about how that beauty was countered by vile language and... well... her peeing on a busy street! And it made me think about this idea of beauty and what it truly is. My life in California showed me that true lasting beauty wasn't in string bikinis or meticulously applied make-up. My time in Chicago showed me that it wasn't in the beautiful face or musical voice of any woman. There is something more.



When discussing this topic there are many tripwires in peoples' brains. And rightfully there should be. Me writing about modesty should come as very humorous to some because of the amount of time I have spent mocking other males who have put so much time expounding on the subject. As a Christian I've heard numerous sermons and speeches about modesty from men who are telling women why they should be modest. I do feel a little cynicism at the very idea of being a guy telling women how to dress. I feel even more cynicism about it because I'm a single guy who has a hard enough time dressing myself daily without sticking my nose into telling girls how they should dress. My problem is I'm convinced that most people who have expounded on the subject have been very VERY wrong in their approach. So I am throwing my two cents in about what true beauty is and the motivations behind modesty.


A lot of people I have heard or read have operated on guilt and fear to inspire modesty. "Christian girls, you should be modest because if you dress too attractively you will make men stumble and fall into tempation and it will be all your fault and no one will every truly love you for you and food won't taste as good and you'll never get a loan for your future house, etc." The message women receive is that men are perverts and the only thing keeping them from total sin and evil is the length of their skirt. That's not the right reason to be modest. Fear is never the right reason for holiness.


True, the Bible does tell us that we are to avoid making a fellow Christian stumble. We should avoid that at all costs as we are able. But that is never the greatest motivator for holiness.


If we're being totally honest here lets just lay it all on the table and call a spade a spade. An attractive girl is still going to be attractive whether she is wearing a bikini or a burlap sack. There is little you can do about it*****. When you dress in the morning the question should not be "is this going to make a guy think about sex?" The question that should be asked, the true motivation for modest is much deeper and profound.

Woman considering how they dress (or I should say, how they live) should not be based off of fear which is a temporal motivation that fades with age and impulse. Modesty isn't a concept for this life, you don't stop being modest because you die. Modesty comes from an eternal principle of beauty.

All women in Heaven will be modest. Now, calm your cynicism! My point is the eternal nature of modesty, which is a state of mind and understanding of one's own identity, not solely based on whether or not a person keeps all their flesh covered. Modest is a heart issue, not an accentuation of curves issue. When Christ returns and gives us glorified bodies those will be bodies that are presented modestly, not for fear of making others sin (there will be no sin! Lord let that day come soon!), or an attempt to present a false, denim skirt enduced piety, but from a proper understanding of what true beauty is.

You want to know what is beautiful? You want to know about enduring beauty that lasts beyond age, style, gravity, cultural savy, and death? What is truly beautiful is the transforming work of Christ in a person's life. A beautiful girl is a girl who knows that her identity is found in Christ's death and resurrection and has confidence in His love. She is content in Christ for validation. She does not need guys drooling over her, and she does not need to flaunt her measurements or show skin. She is content and secure in Christ, not needing a thousand peering eyes to validate what Christ has been trying to help her understand her whole life: she is beautiful because of the work of the cross and her humble submission to it.

I want to avoid the response that is (history nerd coming out here) coming from our culture's fear/hurt caused by the fundamentalist movement. People will read this and think I'm saying that true women don't need or shouldn't want men or something bizarre like that. I'm not saying a truly modest woman is free from the love or validation a loving husband provides. Modest woman are not hyper feminists who spurn the love and affection of men. They aren't nuns. Truly beautiful women know that their beauty comes from Christ first and they strives to honor Him in the way they present themselves. They dress to honor and worship Jesus who has died for their sins, cleansing them from unrighteousness, and raising them into new life. They stand in the mirror and ask "what does how I look say about Christ in me?"

Beauty is knowing who you are in Christ and letting Him be what makes you beautiful. That does not mean a beautiful woman rejects the affections of a boyfriend/husband. I'm not trying to pull a Hamlet here and telling Ophilia to "get thee to a nunnery." A woman of true beauty seeks a husband who loves and admires a woman who love God and has submits herself to Him. She looks for a man that encourages true beauty, and knows that that accentuates physical beauty. She will not settle for mere physical validation and lust, but waits for a man that loves her for who Christ is in her and pushes her towards holiness, not away from it.

Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder, but in the transforming work of Christ. That is where the motivation for modesty should come from. That is eternal lasting modesty.

*many friends who grew up in other states and came here to visit have told me that exact thing.

**my second blog post to reference Spartan culture... this may be a theme.

*** by that I mean they probably move to Florida or something.


****i don't recommend this. I don't have too much advice to offer men about the fairer sex, but I can tell you that they don't care for having rocks thrown at them. There are other, more subtle and less harmful forms of flirting.


*****I don't say that to make wearing a bikini permissible, but to say that beautiful girls are beautiful girls and men are going to be attracted to them. So keeping a guy from being attracted to you is not the goal. The goal is holiness, not being less attractive.