A bit ashamed...

It has been entirely too long since my last post.

And I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles... Thoughts in Praise of Gallivanting

This last weekend I made a long road trip. It was actually a touch over 1000 miles each way to Central, South Carolina, where my cousin's wedding was happening. Central, South Carolina, as it happens, is in northwestern corner of South Carolina.

(I can only imagine the Seuss/Ice Cube mashup:

She came from south-central
Central, South Carolina
Up in the Northwest corner
Where tha honeys is mo' finer.

Yeah, we rock it
South-central Central, northwest
South Carolina style.
Yeah. whaaaaaat!)

The wedding was good - my cousin Bobby successfully married a really cool girl named Heidi, which was the important part. My sister Karen played the piano magnificently - she's really good at preludes and postludes where you have to fill like an hour with appropriate music. I played and sang a song, and got through it with a satisfactorily low number of mistakes.

The road trip itself, though, was what got me thinking. I like long road trips. I love the changing terrain, the sense of freedom. I especially love long road trips where Cindy and I take off and just go, with only the essentials firmly planned and everything else flexible. This weekend, though, was a bit frustrating in some ways. I drove 2000 miles, and my only non-essential deviation from the route was to visit the REI store in Nashville. I saw some very beautiful country - we crossed the tail of the Appalachian alligator north of Chattanooga and the confluence of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers east of Sikeston, MO. But Cindy had to stay home. And besides that, when the trip odometer rolls back over to all zeros at least once in your journey, it's a little maddening to be forced to stay on target, with no leeway for gallivanting about the countryside.

Gallivanting is one of my favorite activities. Whether in a car or far out in the back country on foot, I recommend gallivanting highly to anyone. www.m-w.com gives two definitions for "gallivanting":

1 : to go about usually ostentatiously or indiscreetly with members of the opposite sex
2 : to travel, roam, or move about for pleasure

Now while I'm mostly referring to the latter definition here, my experience has certainly shown that the quality of my gallivanting has improved considerably if I take Cindy along and incorporate the former definition into the latter. She is an excellent traveling companion, despite the fact that she's absolute rubbish as a driver for more than about an hour or two at a time (car trips are her Ambien).

When gallivanting on foot, I've discovered many wonders. In the wilderness I've found hidden waterfalls, crazy rock formations, weird flora, rarely-viewed wildlife, and unexpectedly spectacular views. In cities I've found the best Bubble Tea and Bulgogi place ever; the hot-dog-stand guy in New York who piled the toppings higher than any other; a place in Naples, FL that served me a cheeseburger than can only be described as epic; and many small parks, pleasant nooks, and awesome used bookstores.

My car-borne gallivanting has been no less satisfying. Cindy and I were in California two summers ago and randomly decided to deviate from our plan and drive down the coast from Monterey to San Luis Obispo... gorgeous.


It was also while gallivanting about in the car that I discovered the best coffee shop in Topeka, the best Carne Asada burritos in Kansas City (warning: "colorful" use of language in this review), and a very cool little overlook just north of the Kansas City River Market.

My dad is also a talented gallivantist - once on vacation in a town where we'd never been before, we decided to eat supper at Applebee's. I offered to look it up in the phone book and get directions. He said, "Oh, let's just go see what we can find." Without benefit of a map, Yellow Pages, or any other navigation aid, he drove straight to Applebee's. He is also the master of finding the lowest gas price in six states, just before his tank runs dry.

So the moral of all this is, I think, that we all need to leave ourselves a little gallivanting room. Make your plans, but abandon them and gallivant a bit if the opportunity presents itself. Celebrate when the odometer reaches a pleasing symmetry or when you reach the top of a tough climb in the trail. Other advice I'll leave you to find for yourself. Get out there and gallivant, but don't run out of gas or drinking water.

Great pasta and other things

I think resolutions of any kind are counterproductive for me. Some time around the end of September, I had been journaling and blogging fairly regularly, and it was a good exercise of the writing muscle, besides all the intangible benefits. It was going well, so I decided to make a resolution to journal every day and blog every week. Ahem... My journal's last two entries are dated 9/26/07 and 12/12/07. And you can read the dates on my blog entries.

So no talk of new year's resolutions for me. Cindy does great with them - in 2007 she read at least one chapter of Proverbs every day except for the TWO days she missed. A 99.45% success rate is not too shabby. My wife makes me depressed sometimes. But then I buy her a box of Fruit Gushers candy and watch them disappear, and I feel better. Petty? Yes. Spiteful? Certainly. Sadistic? Now, now, let's not venture into hyperbole.

On another topic, I sometimes can't believe how materialistic I really am. I feel an inordinate protectiveness and affection toward my iPod and other gadgets. Large speakers and beefy amplifiers make me grin like a mean kid who's just been handed a BB gun. I even have a shamefully unmanly soft spot for our pots, pans, and dishes. But here's the worst one - I hoard random audio and video cables, adapters, and sundry computer-related doo-dads like Nixon hoarded hair pomade. If I go help someone hook up their new computer or DVD player or TV, I use the minimum number of the cables that came in the box, and then casually say, "Well, it's ready to go. You got any use for these extra cables?" I try to modulate my look and tone artfully so as to indicate that these "extra cables" are certainly NOT something they have a use for now, and are highly unlikely to be useful to them at any time in the future. I also try to communicate with my body language and other appropriate means that "these extra cables" are not only an unnecessary inconvenience to them, but are also likely to become a dangerous hazard to pets and small children, and might even be forming a union and plotting the overthrow of the management structure of the home. My subtlety is usually rewarded with a "Oh, no, I don't need them. Do you want them? And can you let go of my shirt collar now?" At which point I invariably begin to feel a Gollum-like sense of possessiveness toward the widget in question. Whenever anyone needs to borrow something, I narrow my eyes at them. I give the hardened, distant look of a seasoned veteran of many battles with electronics, and I exude a heavy skepticism that this rookie standing before me really has a need for the serious adapter firepower I have to offer. Ideally, I send my supplicant off with an admonition to make do with what he already has. But in some cases I do decide to loan the requested whoozit. I slowly open my cables-and-adapters-and-widgets drawer. I carefully remove the desired item from its nest, but with many a doubtful glance at the requester, as if mulling his pedigree with distrust. I hand it over slowly, hesitating just as he starts to reach for it. I pull back for a moment, a look of fond nostalgia in my eye as if recalling the time that very cable fixed the bad connection in Bono's microphone receiver just before he went on stage at Live 8. Then, with a resigned wilt, I release my treasure into the care, nay, the stewardship of this person who has had the audacity to occasion a breaching of the sanctity of my cables-and-adapters-and-widgets drawer. With any luck, next time the guy wants a stereo RCA cable, he'll go to Radio Shack and pony up the $2.79.

I'm also ridiculously fond of backpacking gear, but that's another story.


In other news, Cindy made some amazingly good pasta the other day. It was from the Quick Recipes magazine my sister gave her, in their section on the best ways to prepare leftover turkey after Thanksgiving. It's called Next-Day Turkey Primavera. Cindy approaches recipes like a jazz musician approaches a music score, so she substituted grilled chicken for the turkey, whole-wheat rotini for the penne, and green peppers and broccoli for the asparagus. She also monkeyed with the sauce a bit, but she can't remember how. It was amazing.

Speaking of food, if you're in Nevada, MO any time soon, find the Cherry Street Grill and eat there. Any of the pastas will make your day, but if you're feeling saucy spend a little more and get a steak or some grilled mahi-mahi. And if you're lucky the owner (who fits the word "jolly" better than Kris Kringle does) will walk out in his puffy chef hat and offer you free seconds on your soup. It's pretty standard procedure. And the atmosphere has both classic charm and hipster cool. In a place like Nevada, MO, that's a rare find.

Lastly, if you're not familiar with Car Talk, I'd recommend that you check it out. Even if (or perhaps especially if) you're not a car person.

The New Place

So as I've said, we just bought our first house. We've been renting until now, and we decided it was time. So here are some pictures.


(Note the authentic rural-Missouri washing-machine-on-the-front-porch look.)

This stairway was what really sold the house - I love the woodwork.






It was built in 1910 - we're thinking of having a centennial party for the house in three years. Three bedrooms (which aren't pictured here because that's where all the junk is currently stashed) and two bathrooms. We'll be scraping off wallpaper and painting the walls soon.

It has a rock-walled basement that is very low-ceilinged and dungeonesque - I'm planning to film my first horror movie in it.

Y'all come see us now, ok?

Oh, and One More Thing...

Mil Millington has just sent out a new entry on his mailing list. My vacation now has reading material!

If you aren't familiar with his work, you seriously need to check it out. Especially if you enjoy the very finest in snarky Brit humor, a la Douglas Adams without the sci-fi.

Finals Week, But More So

In college, finals week was the crunch time. All the semester papers came due, and there was cramming on a grand scale. I actually relished finals week. I performed pretty well under that kind of pressure. I did some of my best work on very little sleep.

For the past month, my life has been an extended finals week. Finals week isn't as much fun when it keeps stretching out for two, then three weeks, then a month or more. Many of you can sympathize, I know. Sometimes I still perform well under the pressure. But when the pressure is over such an extended period of time, it starts to wear on the soul a bit.

The past three weeks have been a pressure cooker. Last week on Monday and Tuesday I planned five weeks' worth of lessons for Wednesday night youth groups, closed on a house on Wednesday afternoon (I still plan to post pictures and a writeup of the new house, but I haven't received permission from Cindy to photograph the interior yet - too many things still to put away), did Wednesday night youth groups (we're in full swing now with the high school and junior high separate), packed and moved on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, did a planning meeting Sunday afternoon, and preached Sunday night (on my birthday). This week has been one solid mass of video editing (a promo video for our Christian school), youth group planning, staff and volunteer meetings, video editing, unpacking, and video editing.

You may omit reading the previous tedious paragraph if you wish (now that you've already read it - hee!) and substitute the following: I'm a bit pressured. My brain is a bit fried. So this afternoon I'm quitting my job.


... for a few hours. (Did I have anyone going for a moment there?) I'm writing this blog entry, and then I'm going to go outside. I will breathe the fresh (albeit slightly allergenic) air of early harvest season in southwest Missouri. I will walk aimlessly. I will go home and find something nice to do for Cindy.

And then this evening Chad and I will be back at it, editing video like Enron execs editing financial records.

As of right now, I'm officially on vacation... until about 7 pm. Postcard, anyone?

On Religious Conservatism and My Own Silliness

Last week, I attended the annual Ministers' Conference of the Churches of God (Holiness). Most readers of this blog will know what that is. Those who don't will invariably first ask, "Why is the 'Holiness' in parentheses?" Well, it's a long story, and a convoluted one. But my favorite short version of the story is that there were two churches in one town called the Church of God. One was known for the integrity and uprightness of its members. The church paid its bills. The other church was known for continually being in arrears on all manner of financial obligations, among other problems. The church that paid bills wanted to avoid being confused with the one that did not. Therefore, they attached the parenthetical word to the end of their name, and the tradition spread. According to my best sources this story isn't very accurate, but it's my favorite. I've never been one to let a little thing like accuracy or truth stand in the way of a good story.

Being raised in a Church of God (Holiness) church was a very good experience for me on the whole. The Gregory Hills COGH in Kansas City was the place I attended for the first twenty three years of my life straight. I was fortunate enough to have great pastors, and there were no ugly church splits or other church tragedies until shortly before I left.

The COGH has a tradition of very careful conservatism in matters of doctrine, and also in matters of external appearance like clothing, hair, makeup, and jewelry. Until very recently, pastors in the Churches of God (Holiness) who wore wedding rings were frowned on severely. If they wore shorts or even short-sleeved shirts, they were risking censure. If their wives cut their hair (even a trim) or wore pants (instead of skirts and dresses) or jewelry of any kind, they generally weren't kicked out (the governmental structure of the movement makes such a disciplinary move quite difficult). But such a pastor would be marginalized and never elected to any position of influence.

When I was small, I'm sure my parents tried to teach me the Scriptural principles behind these rules. I know they must have told me that part of the reason we followed the rules was that modesty was very important. They probably told me that we followed some of the rules just out of respect for others in our church. But as a kid I never listened very well, and when you're a kid everything is pretty black and white. When a lady from our church who babysat me occasionally started cutting her hair and wearing pants occasionally, I cried because I thought she was going to go to hell.

Many of my generation appreciate very much the conservatism in matters of doctrine, but not so much the "dress code." A good number of my generation can't even see the good in the doctrine because the dress code is so irksome to them. I think this is a shame, but I see where they're coming from.

When I was in high school, I realized something. The rules against jewelry and against women cutting their hair came from a few passages in I Timothy and I Peter. I Timothy 2:9 - "I also want women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or expensive clothes..." I Peter 3:3 - "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes." The injunction against women cutting their hair comes from a somewhat convoluted interpretation of I Corinthians 11:3-15. Look it up if you're curious, but you'll be confused unless you come from the same background I do. So what was the realization I came to in high school? Did you notice that in the two verses I quoted above, there was a phrase about braided hair? Yet in our churches, the most conservative families let their daughters run around with braided hair. Hmmm... And sometimes it was elaborate, crazy braiding. The inconsistency will at once appear to the alert reader. And the inconsistencies didn't end there. They were everywhere. And as a cynical high school student with an inflated sense of my own intelligence and importance, I began to raise a stink about it, just like so many before me and after me have done.

Since then I've gotten a bit of perspective. I realize that ten years from now, I will probably again have an entirely different view of all this, but this is where I am right now. I've realized that no matter the religious tradition - "conservative" or otherwise - there is this tension of the establishment versus the coming-of-age. And this is a universal issue that occurs not just in religious circles, but in life in general. It's part of being human.

I've also realized that the tendency to turn personal preference and tradition into a sacred dogma is universal as well.

There are many versions of the story of the young woman who cooked her first beef roast and nervously served it to her mother. Her mother complimented the dish, to the daughter's relief. "Oh, mom," she gushed, "I'm so glad it came out right. I even remembered to cut off the ends before I put it in the pan, just like you always did."

The mother looked confused for a minute "Honey," said the mother, "that was because our roasting pan was too small - I cut off the ends to make it fit."

That's our natural tendency - even teenagers do it. There's a new drama teacher at the public high school here in El Dorado, and I've heard some of the teens - in particular one whose first year in drama was last year, commenting on how "Mr. Wells always did it THIS way." (Mr. Wells is the previous teacher.) And recently one of the college students who graduated from our youth group two years ago returned and visited youth group. He was disturbed by how we were doing things differently now, and grieved that we didn't have a youth center now. He said commiseratingly, "I hope things get back to the way they were soon." He didn't realize that we now have a youth group that in most ways is as strong as any we had when he was in high school. It was different, and traditions (even traditions only a year or two old) die very hard.

I'm guilty of this myself. If someone proposes an idea for a new way to do something, I'm quick to jump in and explain that "this is how we've done this before." If they fail to see the superiority of the current procedures, I'm often a bit miffed.

So I suppose I understand a bit better now why some of the COGH traditions continue, even though I confess I don't see much justification for them. It is true that many of the early COGH people were some of the most completely dedicated and devoted followers of Christ I've ever heard or read about. And many of those who are even now careful to maintain the old standards are some of the nicest people you'll ever meet.

I guess my conclusion from all this is that I need to be a bit less impatient with people who adhere to standards that at first seem a bit ridiculous to me. It's sometimes difficult to know how to be respectful without being hypocritical, though. And I get into these ridiculous moral dilemmas that shouldn't even be an issue.

For example, when Cindy and I serve as team sponsors at Harmony Hill Youth Camp (the COGH camp), we take off our wedding rings because they ask us to do so, and we're happy to comply. However, when I was at the Minister's Conference last week, I wasn't quite sure what to do. Several of those present still think wedding rings are unscriptural, and would probably be somewhat offended by my wearing one at such a conference. So I took off my wedding ring for the duration. I know most of you reading this are shaking your heads in disbelief. "THAT'S your moral dilemma???" you shriek. "You obviously haven't dealt with much in the moral dilemma line, then. What's wrong with you?" you continue disgustedly. "It doesn't even remotely matter!"

I know, I know. In fact, I think I was probably being a bit hypocritical and perhaps just trying to overcome a bit of a perceived prejudice against me in that group. I'm not analyzing anyone else's motives for such things, but I think mine were not quite in the right place.

My perception of the ministers present at the conference is that some of them see me as the personification of all that is wrong with the younger ministers of the COGH. Some of them think I've singlehandedly ushered the youth of our churches into condoning and even enjoying "worldly" contemporary music. This is a misconception. It also gives me far too much credit. But I think that my perception of the general opinion of me at the conference intimidated me. I did something silly and weak in an attempt to compensate. And what's more, I spent a lot of time and energy stewing about it, when almost every day I talk to teenagers whose moral dilemmas are very real and on much more important things than this.

Why I felt the need to vent about this here in this blog I'm not sure. An urge to confess, perhaps.

In more cheerful news, Cindy and I just bought our first house (we've been renting until now). We closed yesterday. We're moving this weekend. My next post will be a more cheerful writeup of said house. With pictures. Anybody want to volunteer your panel truck?