Water to Face

A particularly good sermon at Rez yesterday evening, and definitely worth your time if you give it a listen at the website. It's not up yet, but likely will be later this week.

A highlight: Our English pastor reminded us of Martin Luther's admonition to remember our baptism whenever we wash our faces. Jesus Christ identified with us in His baptism, and we, members of His church and body, identify with Him in ours. Whatever failure, whatever lost cause, whatever hurt, whatever success - we are identified with the one person who truly succeeded. We remember, every morning, when the water touches our face, Who we belong to, even as the day's events approach swiftly, like a distant wave in the ocean.

This is even better than Jessica's now famous "daily affirmation."

Caught on Camera

Off early for Memorial Day Weekend, I took advantage of a little downtime to enjoy a full episode of This American Life. I commend most episodes, but I was particularly compelled by "Home Movies," because, newly married, newly fathered, I am at a point in my life where the camera starts rolling (in most cases, Justin's flip cam). "Home Movies" features five acts about, well, home movies, in which the This American Life correspondents, years after the fact, give characteristically insightful reflections on their own videos (David Sedaris' reflections on his mother and home movies is especially touching - I'd describe it more, but you'd be better off just listening to it).

The prologue is an interview with Alan Berliner, who made a film from six years of collecting home videos called Family Album. Berliner reminds us (to use the words from the website) that home movies almost always "document rites of passage, like birthdays or weddings, or moments of leisure - the beach is especially big. They show our lives as we want them to look, but maybe not as they actually do."

This is true. But it is tempting to conclude from this sentence that there is something inauthentic about rites of passage or leisure. Yes, these events are the exception and not the norm of how we spend our time. They can even seem anti-climatic when compared to weeks or month of preparation and anticipation. Yet, when I turn inward (my favorite place to turn!), these moments, alongside my greatest failures, that reel round and round in my head. Perhaps a more authentic home video of my life would include failures, humiliations and mundane day-to-day living, but rites of passage and leisure are genuine representations as to where I want to be and what I want to achieve.

Yes, the happy vacationing family may fight and fall apart. More marriages fail than I care to think about. Children singing "Happy Birthday" may grow up to be miserable adults. But keeping the good memories alive reminds us that they are no less real. They don't all need to be plastic castles of matching shirts and overpriced parties. What's "really" going on includes good and bad, happy and sad, mundane day-to-day and beach vacations.

Last week, a rite of passage was caught on tape. My daughter was baptized. There was much that led up to it that was not caught on tape. We spent a lot of time worrying. Where would our relatives sleep? Would we have significant time for them? Who would bake cakes for the party? Do we have enough paper plates? Would my daughter choose the moment of her baptism to soil her white gown with one of her patented "mega-poopies"?

Yet, for all the pomp and circumstance, this was the moment she entered God's church - set apart to reflect Him in His community. The gown - my mother found a hand-stitched English gown, plus a white, drool-catching bib with a cross and two doves (the Holy bib of Pentecost) - she will really only wear once, like a wedding dress and a prom dress. My pastor baptized her, along with two boys, and paraded everyone around the church. We said the Apostles creed, and promised, with God's help, to raise her in the faith, fighting bravely against the world, the flesh and the devil.

This event not only reflects a deeper, authentic reality, but it is this reality that undergirds and shapes the rest of life - celebrations, mundane passages or failures - everything we won't catch on camera.

The Shoes that Say, "Mañana, Mañana"

What do shoes say about a culture? The ever-present polished leathers here in the nation's Capital, where seriousness and professionalism will promote yourself and your cause. The colorful pumas on college campuses that express individuality while buying into a particular style. The comfortable sketchers of suburban moms, perfect for pushing strollers and shopping carts.

My parents and sisters returned from their vacation in Spain (I'm not at all jealous. No.) with a brand, spanking new pairs of espadrilles for my wife and me (not to mention some first-rate olive oil bought from a slow food market). These delightful slippers made "where the sun always shines," to quote from the website, seem to me a fitting expression of Spanish culture.

Though originally unaware of their name or their origin, the shoes were not altogether unfamiliar to me. Espadrilles are trendy in Europe, and I am sure I saw plenty of them in Germany during the summer, and I'm intuitively attracted to their thinness and style. They are undoubtably cool, and the vague pleasure I have in them now perhaps resembles the strange excitement some women seem to have about shoe shopping (I'll never know for sure).

Yet, for my American feet, accustomed to restless wandering, these shoes feel a bit strange. Comfortable and strange, like a foreign massage technique. The soles, of weaved rope hugged in rubber, feel too small for my foot, while the rest of the fabric, comfortable and generous, feel too large. But they fit, because they were not meant to promote our hurrying to the next task, they were meant to promote warm-weather leisure (they are certainly too thin for winter).

As I discovered today when I took my daughter for a stroll, these shoes weren't made for walkin'. The soles are too skinny for a hike. When I pushed the stroller uphill, the fabric in the back of my right espadrille slipped down as if to say, "it's sandal weather. Show some heal!" Remarkably, it remained comfortable half off. The only walking these shoes were made for are strolls on a windy, Mediterranean beach. Your errands? Your hurry? That can wait.

If espadrilles could speak, they would say, "mañana, mañana." Tomorrow, tomorrow. This was the Spanish mantra my wife learned when she spent a semester in Malaga. It is usually spoken in response to a request. It could mean, "I won't do that," or "I'll get to that," or "yes, but right now there are more important, or at least more pleasurable things to do. So let's put that off until tomorrow." It is usually a mystery to foreigners exactly which one the speaker means (though it reminds me of when we Americans say, "let's get together sometime"). Espadrilles are meant for sunny Saturdays and beach vacations. They are relaxed and comfortable and can bring you as far as that one open table in your favorite outdoor cafe. Wear them when you crack open that book for pleasure reading. Order that drink you have been fantasizing about since you woke up this morning, along with, perhaps, a plate of churros.

As for work, bills, diet, exercise, progress and discipline? Mañana, mañana.

Provocative Language

One of the "Democracy in America" bloggers over at the Economist is taken aback by the some strong language about President Obamain a Spiegel article. The article is the German magazine's account of the climate change summit in Copenhagen, and it accuses Obama of "stabbing the Europeans in the back" by suggesting going forward without establishing concrete targets. The blogger writes that such "hope for the future, pragmatism for now" (my wording) action is "vintage Obama," and stabbing Europeans in the back was neither the goal nor the result.

I won't comment on the politics or policy, but the blogger should understand how livid many Germans were about Copenhagen (I just tried to find an English translation of a particularly nasty commentary wondering why on earth the President would use so much political capital on healthcare when action on climate change is so urgent). For many Germans, climate change is not one of many challenges, it is the challenge. Sure, they may not understand the realities of American politics, but as someone who lived in both places, our coverage of the Europeans is not always as nuanced as it should be.

Furthermore, Der Spiegel, for it's reputation for wordy, serious documents, is not one to let the facts stand in the way of provocative language (especially if it can be used in a headline). This actually makes their interviews with politicians very entertaining, because they use the same sort of language in their questions. German politicians know what to expect and often hit back just as hard. Having lived in Germany during the Iraq war, I've seen the worst of it. Heck, they even disgracefully gave a cover story to "9/11 was an inside job" conspiracy theorists. That being said, I enjoy reading Der Spiegel, and some of their journalism is excellent. Safe to say, I've learned to take their language with a grain of salt.

The End of the Season FSU-UF Game Should Remain There

According to one of my favorite sports bloggers, FSU's hot new coach, Jimbo Fisher, would like to play Florida for the first game of the season instead of the traditional final game. Why? As an FSU alum and an avid Seminole fan, I was relieved to read that UF officials nixed the idea.

Steve Spurrier used to say the same thing - he thought it would be better for all parties involved to switch the FSU-UF with the Tennessee-UF game, because there was too much pressure to go into the state-rivalry with everything a potential national title line. Never understood that logic. How would replacing it with another rivalry game that could decide the SEC East take pressure away?

In any case, no matter who it's coming from, it's a bad idea. College football, like all good entertainment, is about anticipation. It's that date circled on the Calendar, the end of November, when the weather in Florida is perfect for a football game. There is no reason good enough to get "the one we've been waiting for" out of the way. Heck, I think the FSU-Miami game should stay mid-October.

By all means, make the first weeks exciting. Travel to Oklahoma to take on a perennial power (as we do this year), take on another vaunted SEC team in the Georgia Dome. I am all for exciting early-season games. USC and Ohio State did us all a favor by playing each other early for two years straight, and more teams need the courage to do this. But the best part of college football is the deep traditional rivalries. Michigan-Ohio State. Army-Navy. FSU-UF, end of the season, best for last.

Time to Shine

My wife and daughter are in Orlando visiting my parents (I'll join them later this week), but that means I am on my own for tonight's church potluck. And, for the first time in my church's history, my name is in the "main dish" section. I decided that I will not be picking up a bucket of chicken on the 8th street Popeye's, I am making a dish. That's right. I am making it, and then I am going to bring it.

The dish? Cucumber sandwiches.

The ingredients?

1. A skinned, slice cucumber (the one my wife left instructions to eat by tonight or it will go bad)
2. Cream Cheese - the brand of a local grocery
3. Spongey sandwich bread - my wife got it for free at a grocery store for some promotion. It should be good for cucumber sandwiches - or so I thought.
4. Seasoning - generous portions of dill, salt and pepper.

Hey, these are pretty much all we have in the house that my wife did not lovingly plan for me. (As I write this, I am thawing an enchilada)

The results?

Well, spongey sandwich bread is terrible for spreading cream cheese. I put everything together, and it tastes ok, but each sandwich looks like it's been in a cat fight. I loving cut them up, but I did not remove the crust. My mother did not remove the crust for me, and I will not do it for you.

I admit, I am a bit embarrassed to take these wounded sandwiches to church. This is a city that expects excellence. But if we can't take our little offerings to church, where else?

...But Can Parents Be Fun?

How can we be parents without disengaging from the rest of the world? Or, more specifically, my DC community of friends, who in so many ways are social, emotional, mental and spiritual life-blood. Also, the enriching activities ever-present in this city of idealism, politics, energy and mixed drinks?

I have been thinking about this ever since parenthood snuck up on us a year ago. I think about it with every e-vite I reply, "no," every invitation I sheepishly deny, rarely because I do not want to, but because it simply ain't happening. I have been thinking about it with good friend and fellow new father Joshua, who thoughtfully wrote about it earlier. It was in the back of my mind when I insisted that babies are fun, where I joked (not without a tinge of pain) about things this somewhat young, higher-education desiring, hopefully thoughtful internationalist and europhile is missing out on. In her comment called me out. I haven't taken her to the local coffee shop as much as I envisioned.

Make no mistake, the baby is worth it. And I stand by everything I wrote about her being fun. I would never, never trade her for things that I miss. But it's hard not to be aware of these things. Things that conflict with our baby's sleeping and eating schedule. Things we would have gone to had she not been in such a foul mood. Heck, things we would have done had her parents not been in such a foul mood. I know we're not alone.

The other day, a seasoned parent (by our church's standard, at least) emailed the mom's for our church lamenting the fact that she has not been to one of our evening (and only weekly) services for such a long time. Her son's sleep schedule corresponds the time we say the Law and confess our sins. I hope they can still come. They are on my ever-lengthening list of people who I wish I see more of. But if they can't, I understand. All sorts of things can be isolating, and parenting is no exception.

So - my childless friends, let me just say we need you. Here are a few ways you can help.

1. If we ever look anti-social at a party or after church, it is not because we do not like present company. When you are different, it feels different (and yes, this applies of every sort of minority, and I know many differences, especially in church, are a heck of a lot harder for a lot of other people), even if that difference is carrying mini-me in a baby carrier. I love it - my baby is my bling and I get all sorts of attention. But if I am not careful, I can let that difference undermine our unity, and I need your help to prevent this. Come say hello, and offer to hold the baby. You know you want to hold the baby. It is good for her to be passed around and to get to know other people. Talk with us, let us know how we are going to pray for you (because who knows when we will see you again) or what is new in your life. We think about all of you, and stalk you on Facebook while holding our baby.
2. Keep those e-vites coming. You may have given up on us by now. Don't. Our positive response rate to e-vites must be around 5%, I know. We want to come, and occasionally we will have the gumption and energy to do so. When the time comes, we want to be able to.
3. Visit us. I know - my wife got pregnant and we moved to the burbs. We're not in the hip, gentrified downtown anymore. Getting here without a car requires a bus. Even so, know that you are welcome. Diana and Daniel from our Bible study came by, and our conversations were a small re-discovery, something we experience whenever folks brought food those early weeks and stayed to talk. Life is worth sharing. It's wonderful sharing everything in marriage, sharing much in childhood, and sharing the parts that fill the minutes and hours with all of you.