TheLimeCD

I want to give David Crowder a big ol' hug, even though he is kinda scary looking. A couple years back, he and the band put together this album as a compilation of "two quasi-unreleased EP's," the green one and the yellow one. When merged together in beautiful communion, the 8 tracks made what is known as The Lime CD.

Unfortunately, I didn't discover this gem until a week ago, when I randomly ordered it on-line. It arrived and the rest is history. It was love at first...hear?

Go get your hands on this album! Go here, or here. It is an absolute joy to listen to. It's the most worshipful and passionate group of songs I've come across in a while. I promise you'll love it. And if you don't, just give it to a friend as a pass-me-down Christmas present, because I promise he/she will love it.
That's it and that's all. My 30-second commercial spot is up.

This Way Or That?

I've recently begun working with in an inner-city ministry called TruLife. Essentially, a handful of college students drive superfly, white economy vans into Bryan. We pick up our 20 elementary kids and take them to the church, where we feed them dinner, teach them about Jesus, and play games & activities. Then we drop 'em back off at home, and repeat the next week. This post was inspired by the activity time we had this past Monday.

The game was a simple scavenger hunt (or so I thought). My 3 boys were given a map. They were instructed to follow the dotted line to the next clue, and so forth and so on until the prize was found. But things got complicated. Real fast. My guys didn't like the map. They didn't find it to helpful. They wanted the candy prize real bad, but they didn't care so much for the dotted line that would get them there. The 3 of them would glance briefly at the map and, by using some inane reasoning I don't understand, run confidently in the completely wrong direction. So, run in the wrong direction I let them. When they ended up in the middle of a parking lot on the backside of the church, nowhere near the jungle gym, they got quite upset. They argued with each other, and then - with more inane reasoning - decided on a new direction to aimlessly wander. This went on for a good 20 minutes. They whined as they walked in circles. They complained that the map was wrong, blaming their lostness on bad directions. Over and over and over throughout this joyous fun, I told them to look at the map. Read it. Study it. I told them I wasn't going to just spoon-feed them the answer, but instead make them learn and accomplish something on their own (w/ the resources they've been given). I assured them the map was accurate. I told them the key is to find where you are on the map, because it is then, and only then that you can know where to go next. This went on and on. Run around. Get lost. Stop. Complain. Ignore the map and my instructions. Get lost again. I so badly wanted to snatch the map out of their hands and lead them straight to the prize, but that would have accomplished nothing.

The Lord wanted them to learn a lesson. I wanted them to learn a lesson. And in the process, God knocked me over the head with a lesson of my own. A humbling lesson. I saw too much of myself in these 3 boys. I came to the stark realization that, on occasion, my efforts to live a holy, Christ-focused life are as pathetic as their attempts to win a little scavenger hunt.

I know I am a child of God and a co-heir with Christ (Romans 8:12-17). So why do I live moments bound as a slave to the flesh? Focused on my earthy kingdom? Neglecting the joy of my adoption?
I know I am declared righteous in the eyes of the Lord, completely free from the wrath I deserve to bear (Romans 3:21-26). So why do I beat myself up for my screw-ups? Ignoring his perfect work on the cross? Forgetting that He loves me perfectly, here and now?
I know the Bible is the only source of truth, satisfaction, direction, and life (Psalm 119:105). So why do I read it like the Sunday morning comics? Skimming it with enough speed so as to prevent its words from impacting my life?
I know the prayers of a righteous man are powerful and effective (James 5:17). So why do I put the Lord in a box and expect just average results from him? Pridefully neglecting to cry out in faith for help, direction, and nearness?

I could keep going. But you get the idea. And this post is long enough. These simple children were used by the Holy Spirit to bring simple, painful, and sweet conviction to my heart. I needed it. And the timing was perfect. God loves his sheep more than I could ever grasp, with a love more powerful and bold and tender than I could ever understand in this lifetime. Oh to be his sheep! Now go read II Peter 1:3-11 and be encouraged.

Dicky's Barbershop

Somewhere between birth and the age of 2 I got my very first haircut. I don't remember anything about it. All I know is that the man my mother trusted to wield scissors all around my infantile head was named Mr. Dicky. To this day I cannot tell you what his last name is, but when you're an old, sweet grandpa named Dicky, the last name just gets trumped. The barbershop Mr. Dicky owned and worked at was Dicky's Barbershop (it's a mystery to me). He had command over the chair on the far left. To his right, manning (or wo-manning) the middle chair, was his daughter Miss Jeanie. And to her right, at chair #3, was Miss Jeanie's ex-husband, Mr. Squeaky. I don't know Mr. Squeaky's first or last name, nor how he got his nickname (or is it a nickname?!). And I really don't know how he handled working 50 hours a week while standing just 3ft. from his former wife.

(I understand this seems like some joke of a fairy tail, but I promise I'm not yanking your chain. This is as true as it gets. And it gets better.)

From babyhood through my senior year of high school, every haircut I received (yea...every) came from one of these 3 fine people. At first it was always Dicky. My 7-year-old self insisted. Then Dicky retired, and I fell in love with both Miss Jeanie and Mr. Squeaky. The memories of that place are special. If I was a good boy, Miss Jeanie would give me a single packet of Smarties. And Mr. Squeaky, while snipping away, would always ask how my girlfriend (Anna Kournikova) was doing. He'd then proceed to tell me how she must focus more on her tennis game and less on that Enrique Iglesias guy. Indeed.

I didn't plan on that introduction being so long and detailed (read: boring to those who aren't me), but I had fun reminiscing and couldn't stop typing. So, let's get to these great pictures. Shall we?
When I began buzzing my own head in my own bathtub, my trips to the barbershop trio sadly ceased. But, while blindly shaving my own head, I have learned a thing or two about the haircutting industry. And these 3 guys are the greatest pieces from my styling portfolio. Alex and Michael came to me in the fall of '06 and requested my assistance in getting them all jazzed up for the biggest event of the year: Living Hope's AWANA Crazy Hair Day. Joe, on the other hand, needed to be jazzed down a bit for upcoming job interviews. It was hard on Joe, but the white-boy fro had to go.

Toilet Paper Sweatshop

"THE TIPPING POINT is that magical moment when an idea, trend or social behavior crosses a threshold, tips, and spreads like wildfire."

In 1992, New York wasn't a happy place to be. The city was swimming in crime, drugs, and all sorts of thuglary. In that one year alone, there were 2,154 murders and 626,182 serious crimes. Then something changed. The crime rate tipped, and within 5 short years the number of murders fell to 770 and number of serious crimes was cut in half. So, what happened? Some credit the nose-diving crime rate to improved police tactics, some to the decline of crack trade, and others to the economic growth of that time period. Malcolm Gladwell, the author of The Tipping Point, draws a different - and much more peculiar - conclusion.

Mr. Malcolm also discusses the Hush Puppies shoe craze, the creative genius behind Blue's Clues, the toll-free number on bars of Ivory soap, the rise in teen smoking, and the contagiousness of yawning. The stories and case studies in this book make up a fabulous hodge-podge of goodies, all centered around this "tipping point" idea. Unfortunately, they are much too long and deep to cover in this blog. Carpal tunnel would likely ensue. Therefore, I present you my favorite golden nugget from the book.

"I give you a large piece of paper, and I ask you to fold it over once...and then again, and again, until you have refolded the original paper 50 times. How tall do you think the final stack is going to be? In answer to that question, most people will fold the sheet in their mind's eye, and guess that the pile would be as thick as a phone book or, if they're really courageous, they'll say that it would be as tall as a refrigerator. But the real answer is that the height of the stack would approximate the distance to the sun. And if you folded it over one more time, the stack would be as high as the distance to the sun and back. This is an example of what in mathematics is called geometric progression. Epidemics are another example of geometric progression: when a virus spreads throughout a population, it doubles and doubles again, until it has (figuratively) grown from a single sheet of paper all the way to the sun in fifty steps. As human beings we have a hard time with this kind of progression, because the end result - the effect - seems far out of proportion to the cause. To appreciate the power of epidemics, we have to abandon this expectation about proportionality. We need to prepare ourselves for the possibility that sometimes big changes follow from small events, and that sometimes these changes can happen very quickly." [excerpt from pg.11]

I was at a dinner table sometime back - alongside Joe, Kathryn, C&K, Nells, Mandy, and the boys - and this book came up in conversation (by me of course). With glee I told them about this paper-folding craziness. Next thing I know, we all have notebook paper in hand, meticulously trying to build a staircase to space. Not a one of us can get past 8 folds (not even Big Joe). Go ahead, give it a shot. That failed experiment then lead us into other notebook paper activities, such as the origami fortune teller. It told me I'm never getting married. Bummer. The sadness of that revelation soon faded when I had the joyous opportunity to teach them a trick I learned in 3rd grade: turning paper into soft paper by endlessly crumpling and uncrumpling it. We played that game for a good 1/2 hour, and then concluded that we could outsource our labors to children under the guise of fun craft play time! With enough little hands at work, the days of buying toilet paper would be in the past. Why pay for special bum-paper when there is plenty of wide-ruled notebook paper dying to be softened up?

* If you are dying to know the answer to the N.Y. crime puzzle, let me know, and I just might tell you. But at least click the little green comment button and take a stab at it.
** The views and opinions regarding toilet paper, China, and child-labor are not necessarily the views held by Blogger or "k.rutledge." Please do not contact the ACLU, PeTA, or any other group with too much time and money on their hands.