Bold, Bold As Love

I broke down and purchased the John Mayer, Live at the Nokia Theatre album a couple of weeks ago. I knew it had many of the same songs as the Continuum album, which I already have, but I really, really wanted his version of Free Fallin' (it makes you say, "Tom Petty who?"). To my surprise, the narcissistic Mayer pontificates in the middle of the song, Bold As Love.

Great. I can't wait to hear a self-consumed musician speak. Just stick to what you know Mayer. Really, I don't care what you have to say.

But, within the first couple of sentences, I found myself actually leaning in, engaged and wondering what Mr. Mayer was going to say next. He had almost stripped his mega-star air and traded it for a down-to-earth, refreshing humility. It seemed as if he wanted to share something he had learned through years of mistakes and wasted arrogance.

This is what he said:
So check it out right, I've tried every approach to living. I've tried it all. I haven't tried every thing, but I've tried every approach. Sometimes you have to try everything to get the approach the same, but whatever. I've tried it all. I've bought a buncha stuff. I went "ehh, I don't like that." I kinda came in and out of that a coupla times.

I thought I would shut myself off. I thought maybe that's cool. Maybe that's what you have to do to become a genius is you have to be mad. So if you can get mad before the word genius, then maybe you can make genius appear. Right? That doesn't work either.

And I'm in a good place. I've paced myself pretty well. I'm 30, I've seen some cool stuff. I made a lot of stuff happen for myself. I made a lot of stuff happen for myself. That's a really cool sentence when you're in your 20s, right? "I made it happen for myself." But all that means is that I've just somehow or another found a way to synthesize love. Or synthesize soothing. You can't get that, and what I'm saying is I've messed with all the approaches except for one, and it's gonna sound really corny, but that's just love. That's just love.

I've done everything in my life that I've wanted to do except just give and feel love for my living. And I don't mean like, uh, Roman candle, fireworks, Hollywood hot pink love. I mean, like, "I got your back"-love. I don't need to hear "I love ya." You guys love me. I love you. We got that down. But some of the people who would tell you they love ya were the last people to just have your back. So I'm gonna experiment with this love thing. Giving love. Feeling love. I know it's corny, but it's the last thing I've got to check out before I check out.

- "Bold As Love (Live)," from Where the Light Is, by John Mayer


I especially appreciate how Mayer speaks of the "Hollywood hot pink love". That is what we see way too much of in our culture. That love is easy and empty and selfish. It gives little and requires even less...from us.

It all comes down to love, doesn't it? You can't buy it, trade it, fake it, consume it. You experience it. It requires you to give...of yourself...

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. ~1John 4:16

Old Shoes

Okay, I realize I am going bloggy with two posts in one day, but an email I received today from Tom's shoes ignited an idea I had a few days ago.



I recently started playing competitive tennis again. In order to keep up with the other 4.0-ers at Lifetime I needed real tennis shoes. My year and a half old running shoes were downright embarrassing among the tennis clubbers not to mention beginning to fray at the seams...and well...smelly.



So, off I went to the store to purchase some brand spankin' new tennis kicks and a thought crossed my mind, what should I do with my old running shoes? What do I always do with my old shoes? I can't bear to throw them away so I hang onto them in hopes they will come in handy for a mission trip or painting project soon. In my parents' basement is a box of old athletic shoes from my years of tennis, basketball, softball, and running. There are probably ten pairs!! Just sitting. Collecting dust. They still have a good foundation to them, but not quite enough for competition.



Now, I'm just one person and I have ten pairs. What if more people gathered their slightly used, but not-suitable-for-athletics-anymore shoes and donated them? Jeez Louise! That could be a lot of shoes!



I spent a little over a week in Africa last Spring and everyone runs around barefoot. No, not because they love the feel of the grass on their toes. They don't have any shoes! We brought as many flip-flops as we could and still we would receive many inquiries about more shoes. I never knew how devastating lack of shoes could be. Watch the video below for some alarming news on what living without shoes does to people in Ethiopia.



So, my dream is to start an organization that collects the slightly used athletic shoes that really are still in good shape and send them to countries where they would be utilized in amazing ways. I might have to invest in some Odor-Eaters first, at least for mine. :)

So, who's with me? Got any old athletic shoes? I have no idea how to get this thing started, but if there's anyone out there like me (pseudo-athletes with a tendency to save old shoes), we could have a ton of shoes on our hands. What if we could somehow get other athletes involved? Hmmmm...

Oh, and if you are thinking of Christmas presents for peeps, may I suggest a pair of Tom's? :)

Cookies for Breakfast

Growing up my older brother and I were not allowed to have sugared cereal for breakfast. I never knew if it was the result of a health conscious mother or more of a financial decision (having an ad campaign with a talking Toucan is spendy). In any case, sugared cereals became this elusive desire of mine. It seemed like every one of my friends had Fruity Pebbles or Cap'n Crunch induced smiles on the school bus as I sat calmly digesting my dull, predictable Cheerios. It was always fun to have sleepovers at friends, grandma's, or my godparents' however. These loyal comrades were well aware of my plight and happily indulged my desire for sugar in the morning. Often times I would appear like a ravenous animal who hadn't eaten in days as I "bellied-up" to the table and consumed 2-3 bowls of the over-processed decadence.

Far removed from the strict breakfast clutches of my mother, this morning I ate cookies for breakfast. Oreos to be exact. I am an adult now and I make my own choices. If I want cookies for breakfast, I simply open the cupboard and tear open the package with not so much as an eyebrow raise questioning my source of morning sustenance. As I sat with coffee mug in one hand and oreo(s) in the other I thought, "This is great. I can eat whatever I want".

About 10 minutes later I stepped into the shower and started thinking about the day ahead of me. Immediately a wave of what the ??? washed over me. Oreos! Seriously, Dana?!?! You have a full day of work, a tennis match, and two papers to write tonight. Mom would've given me the breakfast of champions, but my choice was the breakfast of a chump.

When given our own choice, how often do we go crazy and rebel in a way that could be potentially harmful? Why do we not always see the difference between the things that are good for us and things that are not so good for us? I need rules. I need guidelines. I need to be held accountable to a standard. If left to my own devices, I choose Oreos.

I see that scenario play out in much more destructive ways in my life. When I choose something that I know is not what God would want for me, I'm left to pick up the pieces. He's there picking them up right beside me granted, but still...maybe all that would've been avoided if I'd chosen a little bit better, asked a trusted friend or prayed before I just jumped in and took action.

If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

I have a God who loves me and cares for me more than I even care for myself. Why would I choose Oreos for breakfast when I know He has so much more for me?

I stole this from a friend's blog. I couldn't help myself. I have no words...

A blast from the past

Not that I feel blogging is the best place to be transparent, but I ran across something I wrote almost two years ago and I could hardly believe it came from me. We are always on a road of trusting God and not knowing what's next...only God knows. I guess this post is proof that sometimes I do get introspective and a little reflective instead of just a ball of metaphors.

Thanksgiving 2006
This Road

Driving today I found myself reflecting on where I was a year ago Thanksgiving Day and emotions still flood my heart as I type. A year ago on Thanksgiving I took a long run in the morning because I was training for a half marathon with my then roommate Jenni. After a difficult living situation, I was incredibly blessed by my new roommates, Marsha and Jenni, and was about to discover just how blessed I was going to be. It was about 65 degrees and a sunny morning, rare in southern California. I was desperately trying to hold together a youth ministry full of beautiful young people, but had no idea how to let go of the fraying ends of my own limitations while swimming upstream against currents of responsibility and the heartache of church politics and egotistical leadership. After my run I headed over to the Vannoy’s, my adopted family. They had invited me to share Thanksgiving dinner with them. I semi-grudgingly agreed and cried as I spoke via cell phone with my family on the drive over to the Vannoy's. The sounds of my family enjoying a family dinner were especially painful because my absence didn’t change the sounds of laughter and love around the table.

Today I am home. I miss the friendships that changed my soul and made me a better person. I long for the students who believed in me and made me cling that much harder to the God who put me in their lives. I miss early morning surf sessions, coffees, dance parties, bible studies on the beach, laughter, tears, life’s loves shared with the ones who were rooting so intensely for me to make it. I feel some days like a part of me got left behind in California. Once a while it washes up on the shore and I try and catch it. I’m chasing after waves and a tide so unpredictable.


Today Terry, my adopted Californian dad, is gone. This Thanksgiving, his wife Linda will spend each breath breathing the agony of loss. A loss no one deserves. Today, I think of my students in California and pray that I didn’t mess them up too much. Today, I say a prayer for Jenni who is in New Zealand bravely conquering the false self that too often defeats the utter greatness found within her. Today, I learn to love. Today, I trust in the God who knows every road I have gone down, every road I will have yet to discover and I rest in the promise that only He knows why.

Check one, two...

I wrote a couple of weeks ago that I was scheduled to speak during our evening service. It happened. I got called up from the minors and had the honor to speak last night at church.

It was amazing to have my friend, Lauren, sing Shadowfeet by Brooke Fraser after my talk. She brought tears to many eyes. I couldn't post Lauren's rendition because of copyright issues, but for the full effect, go to Itunes and download Brooke asap. You'll be glad you did.

There are approximately 1.23 people that requested I post my talk online so...

Click here
to download or listen to it. It can be podcasted, which is a little trippy.

p.s. Thanks jz for my hermeneutical consultation.

A blog about blogging

Does anyone else think in a narrative form? Last night I lay awake thinking about life and as my thoughts drifted around in my head they seemed to arrange themselves in paragraphs and pages. Maybe our cyber world has become a bit too invasive if I'm thinking in blog terms. It reminds me of a quote from "You've Got Mail" (cheesy I admit, but hang with me). Meg Ryan's character is writing to a still mysterious, email-only version of Tom Hanks, "Sometimes life reminds me of something I read once and I can't help, but think it should be the other way around".

Is art a reflection of life or is life a reflection of art? I'm sure an argument can be made for both positions, but I'd rather my art be a reflection of a life lived to the fullest. This concept made me think about blogs in general. Never before in history have so many "authors" been able to be "published". Blogs have the power to influence, teach, inspire, and encourage as well as be a vehicle in which to "air dirty laundry", appear witty and intelligent, or emotionally vomit the tragically minute details of the latest break-up or drama-infested encounter. The latter of which is not unlike a train-wreck of words that suck the reader in until they've wasted 15 minutes of their life that can never be reclaimed.

I've recently stumbled upon a blog that at first glance almost made me cringe with that overly sweet, Jesus-y taste, but upon further reading has captured my attention and brought tears to my eyes. When life is lived authentically, it's bound to be messy, but the true marker of faith is what you do with the mess. I humbly admit that there have been some (very few) people in my life that have proved to me an unwavering faith in the face of horrible tragedy, but I continue to be pessimistic or skeptical about that kind of faith.

This woman doesn't live her life in a haze of blogworthy narrativity nor does she sit on the sidelines and pout as she folds her arms and points a blaming finger up at God. She authentically loves a God through tragedy and shares her journey with the blog-world. It's kind of a check for me. What kind of a blogger am I? What kind of blogger do I want to be? What kind of a person am I? What kind of a person do I want to be? Are these inextricably linked because of the infiltration of cyber-world to the real-world? Am I like Meg Ryan (reading) writing about things I haven't even experienced? Am I living a life worthy of being written?

Check out this blog and read about a life worthy of blogdom and so much more.

But first a caveat: Read the whole story here and read it with a box a kleenex close by.

This one is my favorite entry. What's yours?