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| Upon my recent graduation from college, I have decided to close out my xanga site and open a new blog that I feel is a better fit at this time. If you are still interested in reading my thoughts and ramblings, please check out: www.benfike.blogspot.com
Goodbye Xanga, you have been a good friend, but there's someone else. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. Thanks to all who read, Ben.
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| All of my life I have been looking for a place. A place to belong, a place where I make sense and live with people who understand me. Or at the very least, people who want to understand me. And people who I want to understand. A place that I would be proud to have as my children's first home. A place that when my parent's came to visit, they would say, "This is a nice place." And I would say back, "Yeah, we're pretty happy with it." I don't think I'm unique in my search for a place. In fact, I think the innate and primal desire for a place fills the pages of the greatest books, and is made fascinatingly disinteresting in lecture halls on university campuses across the world by monotone university professors with thick, coke-bottle, reading glasses and full beards they've worn so long, their wives no longer remember what their chin looks like. It drives the Biblical narrative, God gave a place in the beginning, Eden. Man lost that place and has been looking for a new place ever sense. Moses and Joshua lead the way out of captivity into the new place, "The Promised Land". The oft ignored books of Nehemiah and Ezra oftentimes go into Microsoft Excel spreadsheet mode in their recounting of the specifications of the rebuilt wall and temple in Jerusalem. And why not? Judah had a place, but do to the unfaithfulness of a few, lost it. And why not be excited and precise in the account of the reclaiming of that place?
Today, the drive for a place is still lying behind the actions of many. We like the house, but the school district just isn't what we're looking for. Custom homes being built in huge lots, fulfilling fantasies. The American Governments essential function is to make America a better place. It's lying behind the tax cuts, and campaigns for public health care. It birthed the civil rights movement, which birthed women's liberation, which birthed a new age of tolerance and acceptance of different kinds of people. But it also birthed Manifest Destiny, Japanese internment camps in World War II, and the Klan. Which all aim or aimed to make the country a better place.
In the New Testament, there is all this talk of a new place that we have promised, heaven. When I worked as a youth intern there was a lot of talk about heaven. I've heard it many places, "there is suffering and pain in this life, but keep going, because if you're good enough: heaven is your reward." I don't think that is enough for me any more. Usually this logic is coupled with the logic of hell. And when you drop the H-bomb, it becomes nearly foolproof, because nobody wants to go to that place. But in my mind, the visions of cartoon characters with pitchforks and prongs or harps and halos no longer is enough. "The Kingdom of Heaven is near" Matthew tells us, more than a few times. Really Matthew? Because I'm still here 2000 years after and I'm not seeing it. It's easy for you to say, you were so close to it all, but we're so far removed that there doesn't seem to much "nearness" going on.
And so maybe heaven isn't in the clouds, above the atmosphere, or somewhere beyond our galaxy. Maybe heaven is a place that we take with us. And so I think maybe heaven isn't all halos, mansions, and streets of gold. Maybe those things are part of it, but I think heaven is something that we carry on our backs. It's sort of like a portable home, that follows us wherever we go. But I don't think it's like a turtle shell that we can retreat back into to escape the world. Yelling "base!" when ever the cruel hand of the world reaches out to tag us. I think it's more like a picnic lunch. There is always enough for whoever is around (are we surprised? I mean the loves and fishes story is pretty standard flannel board material.) And so when ever we are looking for that place, or we meet others in search of the place, we have a taste of it to offer them. We may say, I don't know exactly what you're looking for, but sit and eat with me while we both look. And as we prepare a meal of grilled chicken sandwiches, fresh vegetables and fruits, cool beverages and Pringles potato chips. With a side of humility, compassion, gentleness, kindness, and companionship. We may not find entirely the place that we are looking for, but we will have had a taste.
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| Steven Moore looks like a figurine from section G. I think if I held up my cell phone and fully extended my arm, I could cover his whole person with it. I want to try, but I don’t, because I am sitting by myself today. The chapel stage looks so small. The sound is crackling as songs and prayers are led. It reminds me of watching television on a ten-inch screen with a broken speaker. Jack Reese stands up for announcements and prayer requests. He says he will introduce “the participants” in today’s worship later. I almost wonder out loud if he will introduce everyone in the entire coliseum. Aren’t we all participants?
I notice a girl sitting in the next section. She is very cute, but looks a lot like a girl I used to date. For a second, I imagine that I meet that girl sitting there, that I sweep her off her feet and we begin dating. But then, my fantasy takes a sour turn, because I am forced to break up with her because she reminds of the girl I used to date. And all my friends don’t help, because they always say she reminds them of the girl I used to date. I decide it is better for us to just stay friends. Or maybe, to never even introduce myself, because I don’t want any more drama in my life.
She is singing, but it is quiet. I can tell even from the distance. The guy in the baseball cap is singing too, but not so quietly. He is sitting behind me; standing really (I said Steven Moore was leading singing). The rest of section G is not singing, as far as I can tell. The girl with short hair, she is sitting next to me. Sitting, not standing. She looks as if she is imagining a visit to a proctologist’s office would be better than being here. She is not singing. I am singing, but barely. So our voices, the guy in the baseball cap’s and mine, are blending in soft imperfection, rising above the low murmur that is section G. It is then that I think Jack Reese is right; he will introduce the participants in worship today. He will not introduce me.
The video starts to play. It is about Fair Trade coffee. I don’t drink coffee, but I am interested in social justice. I try to make out words above the dull roar of Moody. It is difficult to hear through the damaged TV speakers. I look around. Most people are not watching. The boyfriend and girlfriend in front of me are leaning in close talking to each other. She is smiling. I can’t see his face. The girl who looks like the girl I used to date is turned away talking to her friend. I think she is probably not my type anyways. I realize, I am not watching the video either, because I am looking at everyone else who is not watching it. I try to pay closer attention.
Jordan gets up to speak. We had a class together, and I always valued her comments. I valued her comments today, though they were difficult to hear over the dull roar that is section G. I was not adding to the noise, but my head was filled with thoughts. I was writing this as I sat. I tried hard to hear what she said, to believe that Fair Trade may be the one thing missing in my life. But I don’t drink coffee. We were dismissed. The girl with the yellow hair said I could step in front of her on the line down the stairs. It was the first time someone spoke to me from section G. But then again, I wasn’t very talkative either.
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| When Amerigo Vespucci made his first map of what is now America (in the late 1400s), he labeled the country "The New World". Later it would be given, by other map makers, a derivative of his name: America. After the first explorers found this "new world", a movement emerged. Adventurers, Conquistadors, Explorers, Religious Radicals, and thousands of others began flocking to this new place. Some came in hopes of gold amidst rumors of unbelievable riches. Some were running from something or someone. Some did not choose to come at all, but were forced to. Some were forced under military service, some as prisoners and others as slaves. But the draw of the New World was undeniable. Until that point, educated people of the West, some of the most brilliant minds, had no idea that the globe was as large as it was. All they knew was one hemisphere. No one imagined that there were huge land masses filled with new vegetation, climates, people groups, riches, tobacco, coffee, etc... And they were just a boat trip away. There were no satellites from space to show what could not be seen by the human eye. They didn't know their world was small until they realized just how big it really was. And so they came to the New World in droves. Countries began to compete to colonize. Individuals and groups went for their own reasons. It was so new, so wild, so exciting. The New World had been discovered.
I was standing in line recently to renew my passport. I have lost my old one, and so I had to do all the paper work to cancel that one and all the other paper work to get the new one. That, and I had waited until the last possible day of the year to get it (the price goes up today). That, and a bunch of other people had waited as well. And I was thinking to myself, all I want to do is go get this passport so I can go and try to begin doing my part to redeem some of the oppression caused by the original explorers, conquistadors, religious radicals, and others who are my fathers and mothers (but that is a post for another time). All I want to do is go on a mission trip right across the Mexican border and I have to wait in line so long to get a little plastic packet with my picture in it that tells me I can do so. I started looking around at the others sharing this disheartening experience with myself. (Honestly, most of them had been there much longer than I had, and my trip through the line was not nearly as long as theirs when it was all said and done.) One man in particular caught my attention. He had one of those bluetooth-star-trek things in his ear. I guess in some crowds he would look "cool" with one of those. He looked goofy to me. What made him look goofier was that he was talking on another cell phone with his other hand. I assume it was his wife's phone, who he was with. But there he was, wearing a strange sort of technological set of ear muffs talking to someone miles away, when his wife was right with him. He hung up the phone eventually, but someone else called to wish him a happy new year and he picked it up saying, "book 'um dano!" I assume the person on the other end was a close friend (and Hawaii Five O fan).
Someone else in line caught my attention as well. He was a young hispanic boy there with his mother. They spoke Spanish back and forth to each other. I'm no good at guessing kids ages, but I'd put him at 6 or 7 if I had to guess. They were right in front of me in line. He had a toy of Patrick, you know the sea star from Spongebob Squarepants (obviously)? It was a cheap cloth toy, it might have been in a Happy Meal or in a set with five other cheap cloth Spongebob square pants toys sold for a low low discounted price. You've seen what I'm talking about, so I don't need to keep rambling about the toy. Anyways, this kid was just enamored with this toy. He swung it around and kind of hummed/sang to himself (or to the toy). He bumped into my leg several times, but didn't really even seem to notice. I envied him. At first I thought, I would like a Patrick toy to entertain myself with in this Passport line. But I quickly realized that even if I had one, I wouldn't know how to play with it. I wouldn't know the song he was singing, or the motions to his little, leg-bumping dance. I couldn't hold the toy above my head with both hands and look at it as he did without thinking this is a cheap toy from McDonalds. And then I wondered, almost out loud, "when did the world get so old?" When did I lose my ability to imagine? When did a dirty sandbox become a dirty sandbox and not a wonderland? When did a matchbox car become to small for me to fit into the driver's seat?
My sister and I were talking about this same idea afterwards. She had been babysitting and told me that she had lost the ability to play. The little girl she was baby sitting wanted to play house, but my sister no longer knew the lines. So I know I am not alone. Right after I was at the Passport office, my Dad and I took two boys (6 and 8, I think) to Space Center Houston. Inside Space Center Houston is a McDonald's play place on steroids. It is a big tangled mess of rope and foam and platforms and slides and foam balls and foam ball shooters. Kids were running all over the place while parents sat on bleachers and other seating around, looking to tired to talk to each other over the shrieks, yells, and cries of their nearby children. I was torn about where my place was in this whole scenario, but decided to try the play place with my young friends. I felt extremely claustrophobic at points and definitely slowed down my companions with my awkward maneuvers through passages that were not built with me in mind. I got dizzy going down the slides and had to take frequent breaks with the "other" adults on the bleachers frequently. But I was trying hard to get my imagination back. I don't have it back yet, but I feel good for trying. And for a few fleeting seconds, I was living in the New World again. I could imagine that the world was a wonderful place, full of suprise and excitement. And it was brief, but it was also good. It was really good.
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| I suppose it isn't unusual for me to go a month or two without posting on this thing, but it feels as if it's been longer than usual. Sometimes I have a deep philosophical or theological thought that I wrestle with and I think, "you should write about it", but I don't. I've thought about writing how weird it is to be home and how I'm standing at a great crossroads at my life and I have many decessions to make, but I don't feel in a hurry to make any of them. I've thought about writing about the concept album that I'm writing and hope to record soon, my first try at something like that. I'm doing it based on Jacob's blessings to his 12 sons, it's in Genesis. I'm finding out all sorts of interesting stuff about his sons and how the tribes live out the legacy of their founding father, or maybe the blessings were written in retrospect, I don't know for sure. It's all very historical and facinating, but I don't feel like writing about it right now. I mean, I'm already trying to write the songs, isn't that putting pen to paper enough (metaphorically speaking of course, as I do not hand write xanga posts). I've thought about writing about how three of my best friends in the entire world are all getting married next year. My brother's wedding is just around the corner, and two of my roomates are tying the old knot sometime later this year. My two best friends from childhood (whom I haven't kept up with either as I would have liked) both got married this last summer. And I've found, in anticipation of my brother's wedding, that I really like weddings and the idea of getting married. And it's also caused me to wonder if I'll ever get married or if I'll die lonely. Or maybe get married and die lonely. Or maybe never get married and not die lonely. Or maybe I've blown my chances with girls. Or maybe I'm an idiot with girls (I'm pretty sure this one is true). But I must stop myself now, because I really don't want to write about that. The last thing I want to be is one of those guys. The guy who is in a hurry to get married and wants to take every relationship to the "next level". The guy who sits in his closet and listen's to Dashboard and wishes he was anywhere, with anyone, making out. Not that guy. I don't want to be him. I've also thought, while listening to Pet Sounds for the 1,034th time, that I might write about how Brian Wilson is a genius. But I think all my post would say would be: "Currently Listening to: Pet Sounds" and then underneath that "Brian Wilson is a genius", and that's not much fun is it?
So call it writer's block call it whatever. This is my xanga "update": I'm still here, I'm just waiting for something to write about. Hope anyone who reads this had a Holly, Jolly, Christmas and anticipates a wonderful New Year. I know I did, and am.
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