America’s Got Talent (And So Do You)

I like people watching, and not the kind of people watching that you do at the airport (though, that’s pretty good too).
Really, I like watching people do the things that they excel at.

I used to live in Seattle, which is a city crawling with people who aren’t afraid to display the things they excel at. You see talent everywhere. You see it in the mundane because artists turn roadblocks into murals. You see it in the people on the street asking for money because they’re usually playing some sort of instrument or reciting some sort of poem. You see it in the businesses, restaurants and stores because many of them have expanded to be the most successful companies in the world; however, despite seeing it all these places, I’ll never forget how seeing it in the place I lived completely changed my perspective on life.

While I was in Seattle, I lived in the Capitol Hill area of the city in an old monastery with about 20 other 18-25 year olds from around the country. These people are amazing. They taught me a lot, but one thing I’ve really been reflecting on lately is how much these people taught me to appreciate one another’s talents and how much joy there is in appreciating those talents. It wasn’t uncommon to walk through the door and see someone writing a poem, drawing a mural on the giant chalkboard or serving someone in a remarkable way. It was like watching the ’92 Dream Team in action, but probably better.

Not only was there writing, drawing and serving, but there was always, and I mean ALWAYS, music. There would be someone singing, someone playing guitar and then in another room, probably someone playing cello or something crazy like that. It was everywhere, and at one point there were at least 8 guitars that could be found laying around the house- one of which belonged to my good friend, Zack (Sack, as we liked to call him).

Zach is an awesome dude. We were roommates and slept about three feet from each other, but we never actually talked to one another much until about six months into living under the same roof. It was after this six months or so that I realized just how much I enjoyed the fact that Zack literally took his guitar anywhere he went around the house.
You saw Zack, you say Zack’s guitar. You saw Zack’s guitar, you heard Zack’s guitar, and what a lovely sound it was to hear.

That’s when I remember it hitting me: people are talented, and I really enjoy when people share their talents.

There’s just something transfixing about watching a person execute what they’ve worked hard at all their life. It’s more than a state of being entertained, and it doesn’t have to be on a grand, extraordinary stage; It’s about tuning into someone’s God-given creativity and soul and sharing an experience with them. It’s something deep that can connect you to a person’s core, and it’s amazing when you think about it.

People, as in the entire human race, are talented- like really, really talented, and we should enjoy that, share in that and encourage it. The world is full of crafters, business people, artisans, athletes, geniuses, storytellers and more, and we all have something like that engrained into our core. Which one are you?

-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: Don’t take for granted someone’s ability to do something special, in any sense of the word.

Joe Nichols & The Genius Behind the Like Button

Heartbreak sucks, especially middle school heartbreak. 

The first time I ever experienced what I thought was ‘heartbreak’ was in seventh grade, and I thought that I had found the girl for me. We were young and went to different schools, but still, things were going to work out because we went to the movies together nearly every weekend, and we even held hands.

Then, things didn’t work out.

I guess we thought differently because after a couple of months of movies, MSN Messenger conversations and phone calls, this girl destroyed my world. I remember that instant messenger conversation like it was yesterday. All it took was one quick message from her friend to let me know that she wanted to break up, and after that, my seventh-grade world crumbled. I’m not sure what it was that did it- maybe it was my sweaty palms, the fact my voice hadn’t changed yet or because I hadn’t had braces to fix my overlapping two front teeth, but whatever it was, we were done, and I felt like she’d ripped my beating heart out of my chest and ran over it with her friend’s golf cart. 

You may be wondering what that experience drives a brokenhearted, seventh-grade boy to do. Well, let me tell you. It drove me to listen to Joe Nichols’ ‘Brokenheartsville’ from a fresh new copy of ‘Totally Country 4’ on CD. I remember sitting in my dark bedroom late at night trying to go to sleep while listening to that song on repeat because my 13-year-old self felt like it could empathize with the chorus so much: 

I think the devil drives a Coup de Ville
I watched them drive away over the hill
Not against her will. I’ve got time to kill
Down in Brokenheartsville.

Obviously, there is nothing at all in that chorus for a seventh grader to really empathize with (mostly because seventh graders don’t drive and because the devil probably drives a Chevy, not a Coup de Ville), but I sure felt like the guy in that song at the time, and I imagined that Coup de Ville was the same golf cart that had run over my heart. The truth is, at the time, heartbreak feels like it’s the end of the world- especially when all you want is someone to like you; however, isn’t that what we always want? Want folks to like us. 

Now a days anytime I feel like I’m unliked, society has created an absolutely magnificent invention to numb the pain: the like button. 

Honestly, i’m not sure why it’s taken me this long to write about the significance of this sweet self-esteem boosting sidekick. After all, the like button has been on the social media scene since February of 2009 (!!), and it’s been there for me ever since. It’s like that friend you have that never lets you down- you know, the one that goes to Taco Bell with you at 2am even though you both know what it can do to your body. On the real, any time I’ve felt unliked, whether it was missing an invite to a party, things not working out with a girl or just sitting around bored with no plans, I can post something to social media (like this blog), wait 10-15 minutes, and more times than not, at least someone will throw a self-esteem boost my way with a tap of their finger or mouse. It doesn’t take much, after all- Two seconds of their time to acknowledge my post (that took way more than 2 seconds of my time), and I feel a million times better.

Give me all the likes
Make me feel good
Tell me you like me
Put it in my veins

Doesn’t that sound so much better than listening to a sad country song written in 2002 that’s impossible to empathize with? I sure think so. Where was this thing at in seventh grade?

The like button is a genius invention for a generation that seeks to be validated by our peers, role models and society as a whole. It’s a numbing medication for the unliked, a crutch for the crippled Saturday night plans and an addiction for the unvalidated. It serves its purpose and more; however, it does have its letdowns, just like anything else, because just as it takes only a couple of seconds to ‘like’ something, the effects of those ‘likes’ only last a couple of seconds themselves.

This isn’t a post to bash social media, discourage posting on social media or call out a generation’s enjoyment of social media and its interactions; it’s a post to express the way I’ve used it personally to medicate and treat my unliked wounds. Social media is an ocean I’ve fished for likes on for a long time, and it’s a medium that I’ve caught a few on. I love sharing what’s going on in my life with others, my writing and my creativity, but sometimes I wonder whether or not I love the getting ‘likes’ part more.

I hope I don’t.

But odds are as soon as I post this, I’m going to be trolling through my notifications hoping someone will like me. 

-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: Likes drive a Coup de Ville too. 

I'm the Judge. I Probably Won't Set You Free.

In my last blog, I talked about my fear of judgment from others. This time, I’m going to talk about my fear of judging others because honestly, it’s terrifying. 

Like most people I know that go to Church, I’m a part of a ‘small group’ (Connect Group, Core Group, Life Group, Gathering Group, Adults R Us Group, F.I.S.H. Group (Friends In Service To Him) . . . throw whatever kitchy group name you want in there). It’s in these small group settings that internally, I morph into the biggest judge the world has ever seen. Think Judge Joe Brown (but bigger). From the moment I walk into the room, I start my evaluation process typically using the ‘Who, What, When, Where, Why’ process. It goes something like this:

Who’s that? What are they doing here? When are they going to stop talking so I can talk? Where are the people I actually care to talk to? Why are there no good snacks this week?

These are just a few of the questions I start asking myself that begin the trial in my mind that lasts the entire evening. After all, judging 8-15 people and their thoughts and presentation, the food and the group material all in one night takes a lot of work.

As I sit there selfishly trying to determine my verdicts, I do the one thing all great judges do: I take shelter. I hide behind my internal podium and let the lawyers go to work so I don’t have to say anything. I cover up all my own thoughts, feelings, ideas and personality because, back to last week, I’m terrified that everyone else is doing exactly what I’m doing- judging me. I’m scared they’re holding their own court, while I’m the one on trial. No joke- last year during a small group I was in, I didn’t say a word during a discussion for 9 WEEKS because I was so scared other people were going to be judging me the way I was judging them. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say; it was that I didn’t want to sound ridiculousness to them. Isn’t that so interesting? That at what’s supposed to be a ‘Christian’ gathering, aka: a judgment free zone, the only thing I seem to do is judge. And I can’t seem to figure out how to get my mind to stop. At the heart of it all, the biggest reason I’m scared of being judged is because I’m the biggest judge of others. As soon as I meet someone, something or some situation, I’m evaluating it and determining whether I think whatever it is is good enough.

Now, here’s the reason this is a fear of mine. Not only is being a judge when you’re not a judge completely unwarranted and wrong, but being a judge steals the very thing I treasure most. I’m scared of judging others because judging others robs community of its entire purpose, and I need community. Judging others steals vulnerability, authenticity and true relationship, and it’s community that brings friends, faith and accountability. Three things I (we?) all need.

This fear is a fear I’m glad I’m finally aware of, and I hope it’s a fear that dethrones me from my judgment seat. I wouldn’t mind losing my seat. After all, I didn't even go to law school, and I think the world has enough judges without my gavel in the mix.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: If you aren’t a judge, don’t try to be one. 

* authors note:  this is a post of honesty.  please do not feel judged or like i'm judging you next time we interact. i'm working and praying hard to resolve the above mentioned issue. thank you for your patience with me as a human. * 

If Fear Leads to the Dark Side, Am I A Sith?

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a bench on the west side of Guthrie Green Park in Downtown Tulsa. This happens to be the same bench that I ripped a hole in my pants on nearly a year and a half ago- a hole that ripped down the entire crotch of my pants in the middle of my work day on my lunch hour.

At that time, I was new to Tulsa and didn’t really have anyone to go to lunch with, so I swung by Jimmy Johns on my own and thought I’d head down to the park to eat my sandwich because what better place is there to eat a sandwich (sadwich?) by yourself? Anyway, as soon as I got out of my truck and went to sit on a bench to enjoy my delicious Turkey Tom, my pants ripped, sending me on an emergency run to Gap for a new pair of khakis and sending me back to my truck to eat my sandwich in the confines of closed doors because that’s what you do when you have a hole in your pants that’s the same size as the hole in the ozone layer.

Not much has changed since that afternoon a year and a half ago; however, at the same time, so much has.

-This same bench is still sitting here, and I’m still sitting on the same bench.
-I still don’t know many people in town.
-I’m still pretty shy and nervous about what people will think of me eating alone.
-I’m still dressing the same( though I try to buy sturdier pairs of pants).
-I still like the same food, same music and same sports teams.

All of those things seem the same. But at the same time, my entire world looks different.

I’m not wearing ripped pants, and I don’t have that same truck that sheltered my holy pant shame a year and a half ago. Come to think of it, I don’t even have those replacement pants. I have a new job, live in a different house and have covered my body with a few new tattoos to remind me of where I’ve been and why. I have a few new friends, and I’ve sadly lost a few old ones, and each one of these small, but big things, really has the scenery around me looking differently than I ever could have imagined it back then.

Since the last time I sat on this bench, I’ve made a lot of mistakes- most of which everyone around me is aware of, yet at the same time, I’ve done a lot of things to try to fix those mistakes and make sure they don’t happen again. Through some counseling, accountability and growing up, I’m a different person than I was then, and I’d like to think so for the better. But what if I’m not. What if I’m just a different person?

-Last time I sat here, I was more confident.
I was more confident because no one knew my mistakes.

-Last time I sat here, I was more sure of who I thought I was and who I thought I wanted to be.
I had goals, and those goals were shaping how my world looked.

Now, I lack confidence, care astronomically more about what people think about me and about what I create, I have almost zero goals, and did I mention I care way too much about what people think of me? It’s the soul reason I haven’t written a blog in 8 months, haven’t posted anything related to my personal life in more than a year on any social media outlet, and honestly, the reason I spend so much time behind a camera rather than in front of one- you can’t see me. Fear is the root. What you see (or don’t) is the stem. I don’t want to see what kind of plant that could bloom. 

Everyone says perfect love casts out fear. All my Christian friends say that if you know God’s love, it’s perfect, and therefore, I shouldn’t fear. I guess maybe I’m still trying to understand that love because Lord knows, I’m still living in a lot of fear- At least over ripping my pants, anyway  

In the mean time, it’s nice to write again, folks. Cheers to you.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Writing without fear of judgement feels great; do it more often. 

Super 'Bowles'

In seventh grade, I played football. 

I know it's easy to look at me now and think, "He doesn't look like he used to do anything," but it's true; back in my middle school days, I played football, and I was your typical seventh grade football player with hopes, dreams and aspirations to one day be playing football in college and eventually the NFL. Looking back now as a 25-year-old, if those hopes and dreams had come true, I could very well be playing in today's Super Bowl, which is kind of unfathomable (Yes, the title of this post is a pun on my last name). Just think about that right now as you're reading this; you're reading the words of an almost Super Bowl player . . . kind of. You're basically in the presence of a celebrity.

Anyway, back in seventh grade football, I played quarterback. I wasn't the starter, but during the second game of the season, our starting quarterback got hurt within the first quarter of the game, so you know what that means- I became the starter.

It wasn't long after I'd gotten into the game that we came to a third down and short situation from our opponent's 40-yard-line. Our coaches decided to call a play called a "quarterback sneak." If you're unfamiliar with football, this is a play in which the quarterback immediately takes the ball from the center and chargers forward with the help of the offensive line, and it's a play that usually guarantees a short yardage gain, but nothing more than that. It's a great third and short play call. Anyway, the coaches called the play, I relayed it to the huddle, and we lined up at the line of scrimmage. I called the signal for the snap, and then things began to unfold very slowly . . . What was a play designed to gain a yard or so slowly but surely evolved into a 40-year-touchdown run. After I took the snap, the defense didn't even flinch, so I just ran (not very fast) right by them toward the end zone in complete shock of what was happening.

This was the first touchdown I'd ever scored in a regulation football game, and it was a complete fluke. I was in shock, my adrenaline was pumping and I'd just sprinted as fast as I could 40 yards down a football field all while hearing, "That's Austin Bowles of Duncan with the touchdown" blaring over the field's PA system. Usually this results in a celebration for players and teams; however, for me, it resulted in puking up all the red Gatorade I'd indulged in earlier on the bench when I thought I wasn't going to play onto my wristband that had all the plays listed on it. This ruined for the rest of the game and made play calling for the rest of the afternoon quite difficult. 

This story is quite memorable, not so much because of the touchdown, but more so because of the throwing up, which is seemingly the worser of the two moments (obviously). It's funny how that's often the case in life; it's always easier to remember and reflect on the bad moments more so than the great moments. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because we tend to learn more lessons from bad moments than we do good moments. 

Good moments are great, but it's the bad moments that we learn and grow from. From the example above, I don't know that I learned a lot from scoring that touchdown, other than maybe that I should cut to the outside the next time I break free from a quarterback sneak play; however, I did learn a lot from throwing up all over my priceless wristband. I learned to never drink two bottles of red Gatorade before a game, and I learned to always be ready to go because you never know when you'll have your number called and have people counting on you.

It's funny when you can look back on stories from your life and still find lessons you learned x-number-of-years-ago applicable to life today. Sure, maybe the Gatorade lesson isn't one that I learn from each day, but I can definitely still learn from my 7th-grade self on being a reliable team member, even when I'm riding the pine. 

What's a lesson you learned as a kid in a weird way and what's one way you can apply it now?

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Limit: 1 red Gatorade/athletic activity 

There's No Safety on a Tightrope

If you've ever seen a tightrope walker perform, then you know that it might be one of the most stressful things the human eye can watch. If you haven't, just imagine watching your favorite sports team play the final seconds of a game in which they have the ball down by one and have to score to win the game- and then multiply that stress level by about 20. That's what it feels like watching a tightrope walker perform. 

Yesterday, I was working an event at work (Cirque du Soleil), and there just so happened to be a tightrope walker in the act. But he wasn't just any tightrope walker; He was THE tightrope walker- the one and only one in the performance. And he was good. Really good. He was so good in fact that not only did he walk on the tightrope, but he also did: headstands, flips, jumps, balanced contortion and, last but not least, unicycling- all on the tightrope.

Watching this portion of the performance brought me out of my 25-year-old self. I felt like one of the kids in the audience as I watched. I ooh'd and ahh'd. I cringed and gasped. I even found myself subconsciously moving in my seat trying to will the performer into balance with my own movements. Needless to say, he didn't need my help. 

Watching tightrope walkers perform is stressful for a the obvious reason of not wanting them to fall to serious injury or their death (depending on height). Anytime there's a slight lean to the left or right, it's only natural to lean the opposite direction yourself to try to will them back to the center. It makes sense, but sadly, it doesn't really help them out much. They're pretty much on their own.

It's funny how much I've felt like a tightrope walker these past few politically-charged months in America. I've felt like I've had to walk on this narrow, straight line without leaning too much to the left or to the right because if I do, I'll fall to serious injury or death. As I've tried to walk this narrow rope, I've had people to both my left and my right, each trying to will me to their side of of the rope and away from the other side for fear I may fall victim to what's on the other side. On both sides of the rope are people I respect and trust, but yet why can these people on each side say such awful things about the people I respect and trust on the other side? I have to admit, it's been stressful. Like watching a tightrope walker. Except I am the tightrope walker.

Picking a side isn't safe- much like tightrope walking isn't safe. Holding an opinion isn't safe- especially in a cultural that's so quick to label one as "hating" the moment there's disagreeing opinions. Voicing an opinion leaves you vulnerable to fall to one side or another and to be scorned by the other side for doing so. There's cultural risk involved and a risk of upsetting someone you may respect and care about because it might not be the side that they lean to. However, is tightrope walking really the best way to live? Is it best to go through life keeping your thoughts to yourself and trying not to fall to one side or another so as not to step on any toes?

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But one thing is for sure: to really love people and stand up for them and for what you believe in, it often requires picking a side. Otherwise you're silent. And when you're silent, much like I have been as I've tried walking my tightrope, you're watching the problem grow, and when you just watch and do nothing, you become part of why the problem is a problem in the first place. Loving people isn't safe and safe isn't always best.

With that, I want to end this post with a poem my friend Landry Harlen wrote a few months ago for This Land Press. In his words, "Safety is never worth hate."

Safe

Added a padlock to the fence,
I am safe,
nine different passwords,
I am secure.

New model with crash sensor,
we are safe,
no needles for my kids,
they are secure.

No secondary colors,
no strangers with strange names.
Let’s just play it safe.

Pistol under the pillow,
pistol in the purse,
pistol in the pocket,
semi-automatic in the safe.

No more movie theaters,
no more marathons,
no more Bible groups,
no more company parties.
Safe.

More SPF,
more insurance,
more check-ups,
more pills,
more cages.

WE ARE SAFE.

-Cliff

Landry's Note: "Safety is never worth hate."

The Best Vacation Ever

I know what you're thinking. You saw the title of this post and immediately thought, "Oh, wow. That's why he hasn't written in so long; he's been gone on 'the best vacation ever.'" I know that was your immediate thought, so I'm really bummed I have to break your heart and tell you that's not true. Sadly, I didn't just stop writing because I was on an epic vacation. however, I did hear about the best vacation ever the other day, and I'd like to tell you about it. 

Last Thursday afternoon, I met up with a friend for lunch at a small, downtown grill. He's one of those 'new' friends that I'm still in the process of getting to know, so there were a lot 'get to know you' questions going on, which I totally don't mind at all. He asked about my work. I asked about his wife. So on and so forth. . .

Eventually, the conversation got down to swapping stories about what our most memorable family vacations were growing up. I told him mine, and then he told me his. I listened closely as I finished mopping up my remaining chip crumbs. His was good, really good. But not for the reasons you might think. His wasn't about a trip to New York, Universal Studios or Europe; it was about a day-trip to Canada.

This friend of mine spent some of his childhood growing up in the Great Lakes Region of the U.S. with his parents and three siblings. At the time, his dad was working for a church and going through seminary classes. That being the case, he told me they obviously weren't the wealthiest family in town; in fact, at the time of this vacation, they didn't really have much of anything as far as money-standards go. They had $2.

It was a holiday weekend, and his dad wanted to do something special for the family to celebrate, so they settled on making the drive to Canada for the day. They took the car they had with the gas they had in it, drove up to an area just across the border that was on the water, and they spent the day together. They went to a Canadian McDonalds, shared two hamburgers amongst six individuals, and then they headed home. That's it.

In my mind, that was the best vacation ever.

I don't want to put any words in this friend's mouth or add any falsity to his story, but in my mind as he told me this story, I couldn't help but imagine what this vacation was probably like in my head. The car ride conversations, the games being played at the water's edge, the fighting over who's turn it was to take a bite of one of the hamburgers. . . it was just all so real. And so great. 

It may seem crazy to think that. It wasn't an extravagant vacation, it wasn't expensive, and it wasn't extensive. Rather, it was quite simple and didn't really cost more than $2. There was something about hearing that story, though, that made my heart the happiest it had been all week. I can't tell you why, and I can't tell you why I think it was the 'best vacation ever', but I can tell you this: It was a story that was simple, raw and full of a family's love at its finest, and it was a story that I hope one day I can rewrite for my own family if I ever have one. Next stop, McDonalds.

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Maybe there's a reason they're called 'Happy Meals'. 

The Thanksgiving Holiday Feels

The holiday feels aren't being felt. 

It's Thanksgiving, yet this might be the most removed from a holiday I've ever felt. I've been so busy with work, life and everything else, that the fact it's the holiday season hasn't even begun to set in with me. It's like I haven't had time to even think about feeling thankful, but when I do try to think about it, the more it seems to jump out to me how weird of a word Thanksgiving is. At the root of it is the word, "thanks," and at the end of it is the word, "giving." Looking at it this way is funny because rarely does anyone, myself included, say thanks after they give or feel thanks. 

I realize the actual word is meant to represent the "thanks we give" for all that we're thankful, but still. It's a funny thought to give to someone and say thank you, rather than to say thank you just upon receiving something from someone; however, giving is a blessing, and I think it's good to be thankful for opportunities to give, just as it is to be thankful for opportunities we've received. As the Proverb says, "The generous will themselves be blessed, for they share their food with the poor." Not only is the blessing of receiving something to be thankful for, but so is the blessing of giving. 

Even though the heart behind Thanksgiving is being thankful for all we have, maybe it's important to be thankful for all we have gotten to give, as well. After all, it's better to give than receive, and where things are better, things call for more thanksgiving.

Another issue I'm having with feeling thankful this Thanksgiving is being self conscience about where the thankfulness I do feel is coming from. I feel thankful that I have a warm car to drive in. I feel thankful that I have a home to drive to, and I feel thankful that I have family and friends surrounding me to see every time I open a door. No matter where I turn, or what I do, I'll always be able to find someone to support me, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. It's definitely something to be thankful for, but in reality, why I am thankful? Am I thankful for what I have been blessed with or am I thankful that I'm not in someone else's shoes- someone else's shoes who might not have shoes, someone who is in need.

I’m not the young man sitting on the corner in Downtown Tulsa holding a sign that says, “I take smiles.” I’m not the girl that’s been abused so many times that she can’t even look a stranger in the eye. I’m not the man trying to take care of his young daughter day by day always trying to find somewhere safe to sleep. By comparison, I’m thankful because I’m not in any of these positions.

I have friends. I have family. I have food, clothes and shelter. I'm blessed beyond measure. “Look how much God has blessed me,” I think to myself.

I have become thankful from comparison rather than from compassion. The moment I start to compare myself to others, I begin to feel boastful or “better than."

Jesus was the opposite. Jesus “felt compassion on the crowds” when he saw them. He empathized with people and served them.

“When we are in the presence of others who are better, we become discontent, yet when we are in the presence of God, even our minds will find gratitude.”

When we dwell on God, we switch from feeling inadequate to feeling gratitude and thanksgiving. We don’t begin to compare ourselves to God, but we, in our smallness, begin to wonder that God would even care for us in our smallness, and we can certainly take joy in that. Hopefully the thought of that will start sparking some holiday feels. 

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Sometimes you have to think to feel and feel to be thankful. 

Another One 'Fights the Dust'

I don't want to start this post off by bragging, but I'm going to. I'm probably one of the cleanest people you'll ever meet. I know that "cleanliness is next to godliness" isn't in the Bible, but by the way I live, you'd think it was.  

Ask anyone who knows me at least somewhat well, and they'll tell you I'm one of the cleanest, most organized guys they know. From the closet in my bedroom, to the desktop on my computer in my office at work, everything seems to have it's spotless space, and everything is right where I've organized it to be. My bosses will even come into my office at times, gaze upon my glimmering, spotless desk and ask me why I don't have any work to do or why I'm not working. It's become somewhat of a running joke now, but at first, I really believe that they didn't think I was doing much of anything because of the lack of work looking items on my desk. After all, who could blame them? My workspace does look like it came straight out of a Mr. Clean commercial (dusts off shoulders). Some might call it OCD, others might call it being a perfectionist, but whatever you call it, it is what it is, and it's very, VERY clean.

This morning, my parents came over to my house for a quick minute before we went to breakfast, and of course, before they arrived, I had to make a point to make sure everything was clean and in its place. This entailed me waking up at 7:20 a.m., starting laundry, cleaning my kitchen and bathroom, and vacuuming the house. I knew they were only going to be here for 5-10 minutes, but still, I had to make sure everything was spotless. I'm a freak right?

Yes. Probably.

I'm not sure why I always have to have everything perfect and in order by my standard. In fact, although it may be clean, it probably drives my roommate and others around me crazy at times. They probably get tired of having to try keep things clean on my account, and they probably get annoyed with the weirdness I have of keeping things clean. But despite all the cleanliness and despite all the effort I put into making things look clean, there's still a lot of dirt, and not even my roommate and the people closest to me can see it.

There's something about vacuuming the floor, dusting off the shelves and cleaning the kitchen that makes a home feel clean, especially on the surface. Those are the areas that are visible to the naked eye. But what about the areas that aren't? What about the drawer in the kitchen that's crammed so full of kitchen utensils that they're all in tangled knots? What about the space under all the photo frames that's collected dust for months because they haven't been picked up and dusted under? It's easy to shove something in a drawer or a closet and make things look clean on the surface, but it takes work to do a deep clean and get all the hidden dust, dirt and mess. The same is with life.

It's easy to go through life looking clean on the surface. It's easy to shower, be well groomed and dress the part, but it's hard to get clean what's underneath the surface of the skin. It's hard to detox the soul, cleanse the spirit and get rid of all the messiness that's in the mind. It takes work to clean these things, and they're things that anyone looking at the surface wouldn't know need to be cleaned. Most everyone I know looks just peachy on the outside (minus guys like me trying to get through no shave November when they have no business trying to grow a beard), but I think we all have some mess that we hide on the inside that could use some cleaning.

What's hidden in your closet or stuffed in a drawer? What on the inside needs to be picked up and dusted under?

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: There's always some dirt; even when you can't see it. 

Why Saying 'No' to Popcorn at the Movies is Hard

Every time I go to the movies, there's a commercial that comes on the big screen following all of the upcoming movie previews. You may have seen this commercial too. It starts out with a blank white screen with a voice over that tells you to turn off your cellphones. Then, immediately following the voiceover, you start to hear popcorn being popped, and the image of perfect, buttery popcorn kernels start to fill the screen. Slowly, the popcorn begins to fall from the bottom of the picture revealing text that tells you the theatre is equipped with the best DLP Digital Projection. That's when the ice drops, and things get real. Ice cubes begin to fall from what appears to be Heaven, and the sights and sounds of Coca Cola filling up the screen take over your senses. After that, it's game over for me and at least three other people in their theatre. We all shamefully shuffle our way out to the concession stands to get over-priced popcorn and a giant ice-cold Coca-Cola because of the ridiculously unfair advertisement's use of the best DLP Digital projection and because we just can't deny ourselves. 

As a marketing and advertising professional myself, I can't hate on or deny good advertising when I see it. That movie theatre's advertising to get people to buy some last minute popcorn and soda-pop is some of the best advertising I've ever experienced personally, bar none; however, there's something else about me absolutely having to HAVE  that popcorn and coke that speaks more to the human existence than to that advertisement: Self-denial is the apex of human difficulty.

For me personally, some of the hardest things in life are waking up early instead of sleeping in and saying 'no' to that movie theatre popcorn. It's not that sleeping in on occasion, getting good rest and eating popcorn at the movies are bad things, they're just examples of things that I have a hard time controlling. These things tend to control me and point out the real struggle I have with denying myself and the cravings I have that I know I won't be happy about later. These are my self-denial woes, and though your self-denial woes may look different than mine, I think we all have them. We all have a hard time sometimes saying 'no' to our in-the-moment cravings when those cravings might not always be what's best for us or what we really want in the long run. 

Most of us can say that in the long-run, we all want to look good and feel good; however why is it so hard to look good and feel good? One could blame pizza. After all, pizza sure looks good and sure feels good to eat, but too much pizza is counter to that deep long-run desire of wanting to look good and feel good. It's difficult to look good and feel good because we all have in-the-moment cravings that distract us from our long-term desires and goals. Self-denial takes a back seat, while the craving creature rears its ugly head. Its like what our bodies want, our minds don't, and what our flesh craves, our spirits want starved. 

When I write, I tend to write in stories and metaphors. While there's truth to these stories, metaphors and examples, there is often something deeper to the stories and examples. In this case, I really do crave popcorn, sleep and pizza (who doesn't?) and, I really do struggle denying myself those things in the moment. That's why it's easy to write about; however, there are other things I crave more that distract me from what I want in the long-run in life and in my relationship with my Creator. It's the problem of self-denial that sometimes gets in my way, and I think sometimes, in humanity's way. It comes down to this question: Are our minds and our spirits stronger than our bodies and our cravings?

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: What our bodies want, our minds don't, and what our flesh craves, our spirits want starved. 

"Help!" Cries the American Millennial

Imagine for a quick moment that you, not being a nuclear physicist, are sitting at a table drinking coffee with Albert Einstein, Ernest Rutherford, Isaac Newton, Marie Curie and Niels Bohr as they discuss nuclear physics for a couple of hours. How much do you think you'd have to contribute to the conversation? Do you think you'd say anything, or do you think you'd just sit there trying to take it all in and keep up with a dumbfounded look upon your face?

- - -

Today, I sat at a table with five guys, all of whom are close friends of mine, over brunch, and I didn't say a word for more than an hour and a half. We had fresh biscuits and gravy, eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, coffee and mimosas, a brunch for the ages, as we celebrated one of our friends being back in town from grad school. Now, you might ask, how does someone sit at a table with five friends over a celebration brunch like that and not say a word the entire time (Aside from because of having a mouth full of food)? Easy- the person, in this case me, has no opinion or idea of how to communicate or keep up with the topic of conversation being discussed at the table- kind of like the situation illustrated above, except the topic of discussion wasn't nuclear physics and my five friends aren't nuclear physicists; the topic was politics and the U.S. government, and they're just American citizens.

The only C I ever received in school was in my U.S. Government class that I took for college credit my junior year of high school. This was in 2008, an election year, making it a perfect year to take U.S. Government. There was always something to to talk about in class, and there were always some heated debates between the students; however, It was in that class that I really understood that I didn't understand politics, and it was in that class that I began to learn that I had a really hard time learning the American political system. At the time as a 17-year-old, it was easy to use the excuse, "I just don't like politics," as a way to explain my below-normal C grade that I'd received for my lack of class participation and terrible exam scores; however, now that I'm 25, that excuse does not and cannot work anymore. I've gone from simply not understanding politics as a 17-year-old to the extreme of not even being able to hold a political opinion or discussion of any kind as a 25-year-old fully-functioning member of American society. That's not okay.

At today's brunch with the guys, political terminology so simple as "taxes," "foreign policy," and "house of representatives" was being discussed, and I couldn't even define what those things were in my head, much less provide some sort of opinion or insight into the concepts themselves. The truth that I didn't and don't understand democracy or the U.S. government as a whole was never as real as it was today at 12:15 p.m.

But what can I do, and am I alone in this as an American Millennial who grew up thinking I didn't like politics when in reality I just didn't understand them? 

This year's election is one of the craziest elections to have ever taken place (so I hear), and sadly, it's the first election I've actually tried to form an opinion around and follow closely in order to make a justified decision on November 8th. It's an election that's frustrated me, made me scoff and made me laugh because I didn't know what else I could do.

Who can I trust? What media outlet is least biased? What friends or family am I going to offend when I have to try to justify why I voted the way I voted in two week? These are the questions that keep my mind racing and make politics and having an actual political opinion hard for a person like me who hates conflict and doesn't understand government (a terrible combination, if I do say so myself). In a day in age that's quick to peg someone with the word "hate" the moment there's disagreement in the picture, it can be scary and overwhelming. 

It's a year where it feels like the pressure is on our country, our leaders and the people electing those leaders to make justified decisions, and I simply want to be one of those people. I desire to be an informed and educated American voter who's heard both sides of the argument, qualifying me to make a justified decision, and I desire to care about and to understand the ideology of our leaders and the policies and procedures they want to lead our country with. There's no way this election comes out with everyone understanding why people voted they way they did or with everyone being happy with the end result, but regardless, like any election, it must come out with a UNITED States. I think that's something we can all care about.

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Never not like or care about something just because you don't understand it, especially when that something runs your country. 

Christmas in October

There's a passage in my (ESV) Bible in Matthew chapter 2 that's simply headlined, "Herod Kills the Children." This is one of those headlines in the Bible that you look at and think, "How did something like this end up in this book, and how could a book about a loving God contain a such a morbid story? Because, after all, a 'loving God' wouldn't really let things like this happen, much less happen in His book.

The story behind this headline is a part of the Biblical Christmas narrative of the Christ being born. Essentially, in a Cliff Note's summary of what happened, when Herod, the ruler of Judea at the time Jesus was born, found of that another 'King' had been born in his land, he set out to find this King and kill Him, so the other 'King' (Jesus) wouldn't be a threat to him; however, Herod was tricked and unable to discover the exact location and identity of the newborn King, so he had all the male children in Bethlehem and in the surrounded region who where two years old or younger killed. All of them. Hundreds of children dead to erase any threat to Herod's throne and kingdom. Hundreds of kids dead, all for the life of one child that lived.

This small portion of the Christmas story is a portion that I had never really noticed before, and frankly, it's a portion that really bothered me when I read it. After all, why would God let all these innocent, young kids die by the sword at the hands of an evil king while Jesus escaped to Egypt safe and sound? I mean, why is it necessary that this is part of the story? Couldn't God do skip the killing hundreds or thousands of kids part and go straight from Jesus in a manger to Jesus picking the disciples? It seems pretty unnecessary, especially when one considers God's all-powerful, loving nature. 

Maybe it wasn't necessary, but it is telling.

After I sat there fuming for a few minutes and asking lots of hard questions, a thought occurred to me: That headline, 'Herod Kills the Children', is the way the story should go. That's the way the story should end- without grace. That headline is almost a picture of what we deserve without the salvation of the Christ. We die. He lives.

But that's not the way the story ends; that's more of a telling depiction of what could have been.

In reality, Christ is the only perfect One to have every lived. He's the only one that is really deserving of Life and eternity; we are not. In a world with no grace, Christ is safe in Egypt, and we're slain in our sin. In a world in which Christ does not die for us, we die the death we deserve, yet grace does exist, and we get to live. Because of Christ, we are not dead. Because of God's grace, we get to live. Consider us not children caught in a death trap, but instead, children in the pursuit of freedom because of the gift of grace.

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: "The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair."

How Do We Become Who We Become?

Do you ever have those moments when you step back, take a look at yourself and what you're doing in real time, and think, "How did I get like this?"

These are moments when you might look at your (insert age here) old self and remember your younger self and think, "What would past me think of present me right now?" Would he/she like it? Would he/she hate it? What advice would he/she have to present me to either encourage or discourage what life now is? 

I've been having these thoughts and asking these questions a lot lately. I've been scrolling through all the old photos (with all the old hairstyles) I have stored up on my phone and on my computer from early post-college, college and high school looking for that certain photo that really shows an older, different looking me. I've read a few old journals I've written in trying to figure out where the good (and bad) changes have happened. I've sat down and looked back on some really important, but really terrible moments in my life that I'm ashamed of and guilty of and walked through those moments on the ground level, retracing each instant and wishing present me was there to tell past me to stop what I'm doing. I've done all these things, and I still can't seem to understand "how I got like this."

How did a 12-year-old baseball fanatic turn into a high-school swimmer who loves screamo-music and skinny jeans that turned into and a cowboy college mascot? How did a guy who once desired and felt (feels?) called to work in Christian ministry end up struggling even to hold on to an ounce of faith and thought about leaving the Church all together?

How do we become who we become, with all the dreams and desires and with all the sins and failures that make up a person? We change so much, especially in our younger years; it's amazing. Looking back, I know that the younger me never would've thought older me would be what I am today. I wouldn't have dreamed of the cool experiences that I've gotten to have, but i also wouldn't believe the sins and the issues in life that I've struggled with and the mistakes I've made. 

It's amazing what a human life is capable of. We go from an innocent, new born baby, capable of doing no harm, to a decision making, full-of-life adult capable of solving the world's greatest problems or causing the world great harm. It all happens so quickly, and we don't even realize it, and the things that shape us into who we are and what routes we choose vary. We all make good choices, and we all make bad choices; it's part of being human, and frankly, becoming human is part of being human. So, how do we become who we become or how can we fix who we've become? I don't think there's an exact answer or formula. I think there's only Grace. 

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Thank God for grace.

Seeing Beyond the Color

Why is color often the first thing we see and say about something?

When it comes down to identifying something within a group, identifying it by its color color is just about the easiest way to pick an object out in a crowd of similar objects. Whether it's a car among cars, a flower among flowers or any other thing surrounded by things just like it, colors are what we see on the surface, so they're what makes it easy to identify things. 

We do this every day:

"Hey! Look at that red car."

"Cut the green wire; not the yellow one, but the green one." (It's always the green one)

"Did you see that orange shirt that guy had on?"

And we don't think anything about it. We identify things by their colors all the time, but what about people? How do we identify them?

The other day, a group of guys were passing my friend and I at a restaurant, and my friend turned to me and mentioned that, "the guy in the blue shirt looked really familiar to him." After he said this, I turned around to look at the guys that had just walked past me at who it might be, trying to find a blue shirt in the throng of people. It took me a cool minute to pick him out, but when I did, I noticed that the guy my friend had mentioned was African-American, and also the only African-American in the building.

I didn't think much about it at the time, but after looking back on it later, it seems like it would've been a lot easier, and much more my own personal instinct, to have identified the guy as, "the black guy." After all, he was the only African-American in the building; that would've made it much quicker and easier on my eyes to sort through than trying to pick out a shirt color. If I had been my friend in that situation, I would've turned to me and said, "that black guy looks really familiar," rather than saying, "the guy in the blue shirt looks familiar." It's a simple instance with little to no real implication to a broad scope of people, yet it did reveal something about myself that I didn't really like; I'm quick to see race and slow to see equality.

Afterward, I talked to my friend about the situation, and he told me about how he's been trying to be more hyperaware of how he identifies others, not as their color, like he would a 'thing.' I thought this was a great point. It gets down to who a person is and not just what's on the surface. A guy or girl may be white or black, but we all wear clothes. A guy or girl may look a certain way or be a certain way, but we have commonalities as humans and as people. There's more to than what just meets the eye, and if we can start identifying others in a way that is being hyperaware of knowing a person is more than just the color of their skin or how they're different than we are, then I think that would be a great start. We may find out we're more similar than we are different.

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: The irony of color is that there is more behind color than what meets the eye.

Snooze Button Side Effects

It's really funny to me that the first decision that most people consciously make each and every day is to sleep more.

Our alarms go off, and then the first thing we actually make a choice to do is to hit the snooze button and start our days out with just a 'few more minutes' of sleep. Sleep rules at 6 a.m., and everything else seems to fall into place behind it.

We choose sleep over a morning workout, sleep over a healthy breakfast and sleep over spending some time reading or doing whatever else chills us out and prepares us for the day at hand. The point is, our sense of priority and time are misconstrued and blinded by something so simple as sleep. We don't think normally, and, in reality after we've overcome the snoozing 6 a.m. thinking process, we kick ourselves after we realize that 20 minutes of extra sleep wasn't really worth the sacrifice of getting a solid, 30 minute workout done before the day began. When we're blinded by time and not thinking logically, we lose our sense of priority, and we become inward focused. We fall victim to time selfishness.

Hitting the snooze button is an easy example of how we can personally lose our sense of priority based on how we're spending our time, but what about the harder examples that face someone day in and day out during every day life? What about when a stranger's car is broken down on the side of the road, and it looks like they could use a hand? What about when a man stops you on the street and asks for some help buying some food? It's in these situations that our sense of priority can become warped by our sense of time. 

The other day, as I was walking into work downtown in Tulsa, a man on the street kept yelling at me for something (I don't know what because I didn't stick around long enough to ask). He must've followed me 10-20 yards, all the way until I got inside the building, just yelling, "Sir! Sir!" I don't know if he needed money, directions or just had a question about the building, but what I do know was that I was running late to work, and I had a meeting to be at in five minutes. Looking back now, even to just acknowledge the man would've taken me maybe 30 seconds, but in the moment when I felt rushed, my sense of time clouded my sense of priority, and I sacrificed a person's real needs for my personal clock.

When I'm thinking in a normal state, I'd like to believe that I highly value a person's needs over my own; however, when my priorities get mixed up because of time selfishness, I sacrifice what's really important in life- mainly other's needs. In the moment, it's easy to hit the snooze button and skip out on making a good breakfast, just as it's easy to ignore a guy who may just be asking for directions; however, maybe if we hadn't hit the snooze button in the first place, we'd have both time for a good breakfast and time to acknowledge someone else's needs. 

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: The snooze button is the root of all evil.

UnFabulous Fantasies

"The grass isn't always greener on the other side."

You've probably heard that a time or two in life from a parent, grandparent or mentor when you may or may not have been complaining about some situation you were in. It's about how sometimes we romanticize things and then once we have them or experience them, said experience or thing isn't quite what we made it up to be in our minds.

With that, here's a guest post from my friend, CeCe on her experiences from that grass not always being greener on the other side, but more so greener where you water it. Thanks, Ce.

I’ve read a lot of romance novels in my life, at least 200.  They’re quick, easy reads.  Because they’re typically so predictable, they leave you feeling rewarded. If I’ve learned anything from all of this reading, it’s that the material is totally unrealistic.  Romance novels over-romanticize life. Shocking, I know.

In romance novels, there has to be drama or some sort of angst for a relationship to really blossom. The characters have to overcome an obstacle to finally find happiness. Totally not real life, some relationships are happy from the get go. I would actually prefer it that way, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering “what if…”

And that’s what causes trouble.

Romance novels beg us to ask the question, “what if?” What if I hadn’t settled down with him?  What if I’d decided to travel the world instead of staying in my hometown? “What if” are two of the most poisonous words imaginable. If left unchecked, they have the possibility to leave hurt, heartache, and regret in their wake. The always-curious part of our being is always searching for something more. Something that will provide us with more happiness than we already have.

I cannot totally discredit this curious mindset; it often keeps people safe and actually leads them to real happiness when their life has none. But for some, it’s a trickster.

I recently moved about 600 miles away from everything I know and love. I left my family, my friends, my job, and my home. Upon moving, I was ecstatic and couldn’t tell enough people that I was getting out. I was adventuring. I was living the life I wanted. After the first month of living in my new city, I was miserable. I couldn’t find a job. I missed my family and friends. My almost nightly cry sessions strained my relationship with the one person I had in this giant city, the person I followed here in the first place.

My homesickness and general-miserableness fueled itself. It was a never-ending cycle. I convinced myself that if I had stayed in my hometown I would have been happy. My family and friends would have been close, I could have easily found a job (even if I hated it), and my significant other could have moved on without me. Maybe we weren’t meant to be together. I constructed this future for myself where I would have been happy and comfortable. Sure, I would probably watch my boyfriend following his dreams from afar while I gave up mine, but that would have been okay because I was safe at home.

This delusion grew over the first three months after my move. The more it grew, the more toxic it became. My relationship was unraveling faster by the day. One night, after another breakdown, he asked me to move back home. He could see how miserable I was and knew I would be happier home. My heart broke and although I knew I should be happy he understood, a large part of me knew he was wrong. I booked a flight home for the weekend in hopes of healing some homesickness.

In the three days I spent home, I realized how convoluted my delusion had been. I was too big of a fish for the too-small bowl that is my hometown. I would have suffocated and become a different person. Someone I dreaded being my entire life. After several conversations with my mom, I knew I was in the right place doing the right thing. My problem was that I turned “what if” into a mantra and blinded myself to the world and opportunities around me.

My trip home was a week ago, I don’t feel as homesick anymore and the delusion of a perfect and happy life back home still lives in my mind. I’ve labeled it a fantasy and prohibit my mind from wandering there for too long. If you find yourself treading into a similar patch of sinking sand, grab a loved one for stability. Someone to help you see what’s best for you and pull you out of the sand. Then run as far away from the patch as you can.

-CeCe

CeCe's Note: Fantasies aren't always fabulous. 

Going for (Goal)d

Originally, the plan was to be a swimmer at the collegiate level, hone my talent in the pool and eventually work my way into the Olympic trials in Omaha, Neb., by the time I was out of college. If I got lucky, I'd qualify and make it to the Olympics and maybe even when a medal or two (or 8).

Obviously, that plan didn't work, and that goal was never achieved (far from it), so while the USA swim team is in Rio this week competing, I'm in Tulsa, Okla. doing things and stuff. 

It's during the Olympic season that I'm reminded of my former plans and former goals, and also during this season when I get to see some of the other kids who had the same former plans and goals as me achieve their goals and watch their wildest dreams come true. It's not a bitter feeling; on the contrary, it's actually a really special experience getting to watch a person who had the same dreams as you have their dreams come true. You see triumph and failure and tears of joy and tears of sadness. It's during the Olympics that you see passion, commitment and hard work turn into real results for real people who once set real goals, just like we all do. The especially beautiful thing about all of this is getting to watch athletes live the narrative they've written to their stories.

Personally, the goals I set to become an Olympian had no narrative to them. I didn't train like an Olympian, eat like an Olympian or really even have the dedication or experience that an Olympian has. I had a broad goal, but there was nothing supporting it or really feeding into it to make it achievable, unlike true Olympic athletes who really want that goal and are willing to really make sacrifices and over come conflict to see those goals achieved. 

At the heart of achieving goals for any person is turning goals into stories that we can and want to live out. A swimmer probably doesn't set a goal of being a better swimmer, just as a writer probably doesn't set a goal of writing more; In each example, he or she probably sets a goal of setting a new personal record by the end of a season or becoming a published author within two years. When it comes down to making and achieving goals, we have to make them more about living a story rather than just setting a "goal."

As story is lived, goals are achieved. 

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Want. Overcome. Live. Achieve.  

When the "Good News" Turns Into Old News

There's a quote that says, "News is to the mind what sugar is to the body." If that's true, which in my case it feels like it is, I understand why my mind is always craving a new story like my taste buds often crave a bottle of ice-cold Coke. We all crave new information or new fun facts, and it makes sense that the foundation of the word 'news' is the word 'new' because, in the end, we all crave new things, whether its new clothes, a new experience or new information- like news. Our minds feed off of it, and if you don't believe me, just look at how many times you catch yourself checking Facebook each day.

Typically, I spend the beginning of each of my days absorbing a lot of news- everything from national news and sports headlines to catching up on blogs and social media. After an hour or so of checking all my favorite news outlets, catching up on all the latest on social media and discussing it all with co-workers or friends, I could typically tell you all of the major news headlines from the past 24 hours, as well as what most of my best friends did all night or had for dinner- all pieces of information, not all of which are that important.

It's funny to me how my mind craves and processes news and is able to recall it. News, whether its facts, figures or statistics, or just a semi-important headline, just seems to stick with me. I have no problem remembering it, carrying on conversations about it or simply reading it; however, when it comes to the 'Good News,' my mind doesn't work that way at all.

If the meaning of the word Gospel is "good news," then why doesn't my mind seem to absorb the Gospel in the same way that it seems to absorb other news? It's like my mind has an on/off switch for how and what it chooses to want to retain or absorb. If my friend posts on Instagram, I could probably tell you the photo and the caption of that photo with no trouble at all up to several hours after I saw it, but if someone were to ask me what I'd read in my Bible that morning, I'd probably respond with a, "Uhh.. I can't remember the exact verse or concept, but it was really good." . . . 

It's just as if my mind doesn't treat the "Good News" like news at all anymore. My mind doesn't always crave it like 'sugar to the body,' and it doesn't really feel like the Gospel comes with the newness of news anymore. It's as if my mind has subconsciously turned the Gospel into a story I've heard a thousand times over that still has too many big words that I still can't comprehend. What was once "Good News" feels like old news, and my mind doesn't seem to crave old news.

I don't know if this is a head issue or a heart issue, and I really don't know how to go about working on it. I just recognize the disconnect I've been having between the head and the heart on craving, reading and absorbing the Gospel. I want to crave it like I crave checking other news in the morning. I want to be able to retain it like I can retain each of the national headlines I scroll through on my computer screen. But how?

I don't have a solution, but I know I'm not alone in feeling like the Good News of the Gospel sometimes feeling like old news. After all, how does one take a message that has been told for thousands of years and make it 'news'? I'm not really sure, but I think if we can begin to seek that one piece of newness in the news of the Good News, it can start to cure that sugary news craving and spark the "Good New" into New News again.  

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Seek that one piece of newness in the news of the Good News that cures that sugary craving.  

When Wedding Bells Sound Like Hell's Bells (Even to a Bride to Be)

A couple of months ago, I wrote a post about what it feels like to me as a mid-twenty-year-old male watching a high majority of my friends get married. This post is a guest post written by a good friend of mine, CeCe, not only in response to that post, but more so as a reflection to that post from a mid-twenty-year-old female's perspective. As she told me, "Everyone's feeling it, but nobody's talking about it." 

So here's someone talking about it. Thanks, CeCe.

I am a twenty-something female, and my body is split in two. I’m at a point in life
where my heart wants to get married, but my head’s not there. After I was asked to
pick out some engagement ring options, my heart somersaulted and I scoured the
Internet for hours looking for a ring that embodied my spirit and personality.
Apparently my spirit and personality are pretty broad because every shiny and
sparkly thing caught my attention.

While my eyes and heart were copying and pasting links and pictures into a
document, my head was sprinting to catch up. My relationship isn’t new and I don’t
question my future with my significant other, but I still feel so young and so
unprepared. Yes, I’m technically an adult but I still feel like I’m an undergrad. I
mean, I still get nightmares about missing a final. It seemed like my social media
went from twenty-first birthday posts to engagements overnight. Nearly every day
on Facebook or Instagram someone is getting engaged. And I used to feel serious
pangs of jealousy at newly engaged couples that had been together for a shorter
amount of time than my boyfriend and I had. It didn’t seem fair. We were in love,
why couldn’t I be the one flashing my new ring?

It wasn’t until my best friend got engaged that I realized how juvenile I was being.
Sadly, leading up to her engagement I told myself I was allowed to be upset but then
I had to pretend to be happy for her. After receiving a text from her saying she was
engaged, I didn’t feel upset or jealous or any of the negative things I thought I would.
I was too happy, because she was happy. She was in a place in her life where it made
sense for her to be engaged. I wasn’t. Looking back, I feel horrible for being jealous
of something that hadn’t even happened yet. I measured the success of a
relationship with diamond rings and surprise proposals. If you take away the ring,
you still have a couple who love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives
together, and that’s what I have now.

Being patient in this matter is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Watching
friends plan weddings and have showers fills my heart with longing but my
somewhat sensible head always catches up and reminds me that I am happy just
where I am and to enjoy being in love and being loved. There’s a peer pressure that
new adults face and it’s sticky and smothering and hard to escape. Surrendering to
this pressure left me feeling impatient when I could have been feeling joy. Until my
day comes, I will continue praying for a patient heart and an understanding mind
because nothing good comes from a disconnected nervous system.

-CeCe

CeCe's Note: If you take away the ring, are you still a couple who loves each other and wants to spend the rest of your lives together?

*More to come from CeCe in the future. Interested in writing? Get in touch*

Who Answers the Question 'Who Am i?'

It's easy to forget who you are, easier to forget who you were and easiest to forget who you want to be.

Desires turn into far-fetched, unachievable ideas, goals turn into dreams that didn't come true and the future looks like it's going to feel just like the present. 

It's times like this when we ask ourselves the questions who we used to be, who we are and who we are becoming and when we a) don't receive any answers or b) don't like the answers we receive.

The other day, I started reading a letter I wrote to myself two years ago for when I was struggling in times of doubt. I wrote it a few days before I picked up my life and moved it halfway across the country for the first time- away from friends and family and into the unknown. This was a time in my life where I didn't have much in regards to things, and, frankly, didn't really know what I was doing, but it was also a time in my life when I think I knew myself better than I ever had. I had dreams, goals and faith, and I knew specifically what I wanted out of life and what life wanted out of me. Lately, however, I haven't felt like I've known myself at all.

"I don't know where you're at or what you're doing now, but at this point, you're happy. You don't have much money, and you're not making any. You're living out of two suitcases, but it seems to be more than enough. You're living on faith, and you don't know what's coming next, but faith is all you need. Money, success and fame won't get you anything, so don't chase it. God doesn't want you or expect you to have a lot of stuff or to make a lot of money. He expects you to trust Him, love others and love Him."

That's a snippet of what I found out of the letter I wrote to myself nearly 730 days ago. It's funny how much can change in such a short amount of time and quickly you can lose yourself, lose your goals and nearly lose faith and purpose completely. It's also funny how well it sounds like I knew myself and knew what I wanted then compared to now when I feel like I don't know myself and have much of what I think I want.

As of late, I've let culture manipulate who I am and who I want to be. I've let the worries of money and career overwhelm me and erase the hopes, dreams and goals I once had, leaving nothing but questions about those hopes, dreams and goals left. Back then, I let God tell me who I was and who I wanted to be, and He formed all my hopes, dreams and goals and provided a way to pursue them. He not only asked the question, "Who Am I?", but He also told me who I was.

When you find yourself asking the question, "Who am I?", who's supposed to answer?

Is it God? Your parents or mentors? Your friends? I'm not sure, and it's probably different for each person depending on what you believe, but I don't think it hurts to look in the mirror at yourself to reflect on the past to find some answers. 

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Who am i? Look at who God says you are.