no good story ever starts in the middle...

    So...I fully realize that I'm a late-comer to the whole blog scene (I'd like to think of myself as fashionably late), but I've had a desire to put my words down and get them out for a very long time.  Dozens of notepads and half-full journals later, I now realize that I get in tune with myself and get much more out of my daily thoughts when I take the time to gather them - even just a few words on paper.   So here I am.

    Upon the insistence (see: prodding, pleading, and threatening) of some dear friends, I have decided to share my meandering thoughts and ideas with you in this format.  I'm a passionate person, a natural storyteller, and I tend to say exactly what I think I'm supposed to.  If anything I say encourages, challenges, or ticks you off I have left my email address out in the open (Nigerian prince's looking for an American investor need not apply) so we can talk that way if you'd rather.  I would love to hear where you're at on anything. 

    Because some of you know a little about me, others nothing, and none of you know everything that has led me to where I am today, I have decided to give you a little background on me first.  Don't worry. This won't be an exhaustive look, nor will it be too terribly psychoanalytical...I know I'm not that interesting and I don't consider myself to be that good of a pop-psych guy (or a narcissist for that matter).

  

    I am the oldest of three children.  My parents said that they believed in disciplining and had every intent of doing so accordingly with all of their kids - I just wore them out too much.  I was born in a tiny town in northern Minnesota and spent my first months in a little trailer park.  Throughout my formative years, my dad was employed in "ministry work" of some sort (a church youth pastor, Youth for Christ and eventually found his calling with an at-risk youth ministry).  This also meant that he worked a lot of weird, long hours, spending a ton of time with other people's kids.  In addition to not having a regular 9-5 father, it also meant that there was no such thing as a regular paycheck that we could count on.  "Living by faith" came in all forms...thousands of miles driving to various churches to speak, millions of support letters piled on the living room floor, etc.  Although I never thought of us as "poor" per se, I can very distinctly remember the Christmas-like excitement that came with getting a random bag of groceries from a church or government commodity cheese.

    I always knew that I was loved.  Not just by my parents, but by my extended family as well.  I didn't realize how special that was until I was much older, of course.  My parents also did their best to show us God's love through word and action.  Growing up, that meant going to church every Sunday and even if we didn't feel like it, to put on our best "Christian" appearance in public.  I'm not saying that my faith (and especially not that of my parents') was a sham, but it wasn't long before I got really sick of trying to talk, walk, look, and act like the upstanding Christian son that my parents wanted me to be.  I wasn't a rebel by nature and I didn't have a problem with the Bible or the man upstairs, I just saw no reason to pretend to be anything that I wasn't.  What made a Christian stand out from the others anyway?  It seemed a lot more like looking like everybody else instead of being different.

    I fought my parents a lot on this.  I lost. A lot. Probably every time, actually.  For those of you who don't know my dad, he can be a very...umm..."persuasive" and influential individual (and I mean that in the most loving way possible).  He guided me through junior high and high school by literally putting the fear of God in me.  I'm not saying I was "afraid" of my Dad, but the line between respect/love and pure intimidation were blurry on more than one occasion.  It was what he knew from his father before him and it was effective.  I rarely stepped out of line under his watch.  Where my father was the authoritarian that instilled directives, my beloved mother guided us by a mixture of persuasion and guilt.  If Dad's directives failed, hurting Mom's, Grandma's, or any other various person's feelings worked.  Don't get me wrong, all of this was done in love...and the relationship I now have with them as their adult son is invaluable.  

    By the time I began to start thinking for myself, I really didn't know how much of who I was was because I had been a good follower of my parents or if I actually believed any of it.  It was a process that I worked through for years...still am, actually.  I made it through high school and college not really knowing who or what I was.  I knew what a loving upbringing with a mom and dad was like.  I had a lot of friends, fun, and good experiences.  I had some semblance of an idea about what God, Christianity, and faith was about...but ultimately I was pretty directionless.

    After a year working for my alma mater, I took off for Southern California.  After a few months of surfing, basketball, randomly attending the first church that really moved me, and occasionally partying with my roommates (yes, I know what the inside of Dennis Rodman's house looks like), I knew I had to choose.  Either come back to Minnesota now (my brother was about to get married) or stay in SoCal forever.  Once I flew into Minneapolis, I moved in with a few friends of mine and quickly moved up the management ladder at a bright orange, big box home improvement retailer that will remain unnamed.  I didn't feel like this is what life was all about, but I liked the fast-paced atmosphere, decent money, and the culture of the Twin Cities.  It grew on me. 

    I wasn't back long before I was introduced to a friend of my buddy's girlfriend.  I was intrigued by her immediately and soon I fell for her in a way that I had for no other girl before her.  I don't know how it all tumbled out of control, but in short order I neglected my core beliefs and fell into the trappings of a physical relationship with her.  I talked it all away, believing that it would be righted once we were married...but those plans crumbled when we broke up (on Valentine's Day, of course).  I was left feeling hollow, alone, and had a gaping black hole inside of me.

    Work provided an environment that allowed me to stay busier than I knew what to do with myself.  Inside, I grieved my broken relationship, but I didn't have much time to think about it with swing shifts, a promotion, and random 16 hour days.  It left me with just enough time to hang out with work friends, drink, but not spend any kind of quality time with my family or old friends.  I was disconnected and aimless and I knew it.  The worst part was that I felt like there was nothing I could do about it.  It wasn't until I got hurt on the job and eventually was let go by them that I could see how trapped I had been those three years.

    I was jobless and angry.  My first point of action was to get physically right.  On the night before I was to have double hernia surgery, I got a call from home that my sister had broken her neck and might be paralyzed.  I went into surgery not knowing whether she would ever be the same.  My sister ended up being a miracle and avoided major injury, but my "easy" surgery ended up having complications that still plague me to this day.  Weeks of healing turned into months and I couldn't walk well, let alone work.  My savings were gone.  I needed help.  It may seem cliche, but I literally dusted off my Bible and began looking for something, anything that would help me.  I began to read all the parts about the darkness and the light, because the blackness that had surrounded me was all I knew.

    I eventually told God that I wanted to change.  I would do what He wanted and go where He needed if He would heal me.  He could send me anywhere...anywhere but back home to Bemidji, that is.  Of course that's where I ended up having to go when it was either move back with Mom and Dad or lose my car.

    In those months, I learned a whole new level of brokenness.  I was still lost and angry, but I was also humiliated.  The jobless, single, broken, oldest son forced to tuck tail and move home was a terrible pill to swallow.  Something deeper was at work though.  I was slowly letting go of all the garbage that I believed I had to be to be relevant and worth something - both in the eyes of the world and of Christianity.  I had no idea what I was going to become, but I was willing to try...any direction but where I was now. 

    I eventually found the love of my life (it's an amazing story).  We got married at our engagement party (another day perhaps I'll explain that, too), had three crazy wonderful monkey children, and just purchased our first home this summer.  I also rekindled a passion for working with people.  Five years ago, I read a book about a man who was called to love the homeless (and how he was ministered to by them) and it changed me.  Shortly thereafter, I found a job as a homeless outreach worker to youth in the area and I have been there ever since!

    The purpose of this blog isn't to make claims about how I've arrived in my faith, how I know anything about anything, or to take pot shots at political parties or some other absurd soapbox like that.  When it comes down to it, I just want to talk and share what I see, feel, and stumble upon...  Hopefully, it opens the doors to a conversation that can help each of us.  I hope to learn from each and every one of you. 

Thanks for your time...it looks like today's blank page is filled...