I See God In That

Why is this a big deal to me? Big enough to blog about? If there is one book that has been a catalyst for change in my life it is BLJ by Donald Miller. And now, after a years in the making and a historic Kickstarter campaign that raised money for its release, BLJ has made its way from the page to the big screen…in the USA.

This annoys me. 

Up until a few years ago, I had lived the vast majority of my life immersed in religious settings. For the longest time I believed that God was most present there. In 2005, a friend of mine gave me Blue Like Jazz which she had received for free at her college in California. I stayed up all night reading. It turned out that a chubby Baptist kid from Texas was mirroring my story, which was unfolding a world away in Southeast Asia’s only Catholic nation, the Philippines. Watching Don move from Bible belt Texas to largely secular Portland gave me ideas about “moving”, too.

If any of my longtime friends have ever wondered why I left my pastoral/evangelistic career—and why I believe that was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made—you can blame Don Miller for starting me on the thought process that eventually changed my life.

Now, after years of dissatisfaction with my religious setting, I’ve moved on. And guess what? I’m generally happy—except about one thing: Blue Like Jazz the movie isn’t showing in the Philippines. I wonder if it ever will.

Thankfully, the third world is also known for another thing: PIRACY.

Good luck, Don Miller, Steve Taylor, Ben Something-or-other and all the folks behind the BLJ film! I wish you success, and I hope tons of people see it!

To my friends and family in the USA: go see Blue Like Jazz, an independent film based on your friend’s favorite book.

Ticket details on bluelikejazzthemovie.com

I once watched a documentary that revolved around three famous rock musicians, each of them with a different philosophy about the instrument they all held in common: the guitar. The men were Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin, The Edge of U2 and Jack White of The Raconteurs and The White Stripes. To countless rock and roll fans around the world, these men are living legends.

The film begins with Jack White taking a bit of wire, a glass bottle, a random plank of used wood and a nail. He puts together a strange instrument that he is able to plug into a buzzing amplifier and play as though it is a guitar. Later in the film, Jack shares that he prefers broken, out of tune guitars because of the challenge they present in making great music. This would mean nothing if he was a mediocre guitar player; but Jack White has proven time and again his technical virtuosity—and more importantly, artistry—regardless of if the guitar he’s holding is a beat up piece of crap.

As I watched the prolific Mr White make music out of shitty instruments, I couldn’t help but marvel at what something broken can do in the hands of the right person.

As a musician, I used to be particular about what sort of gear I used. But having listened to Jack White, I now care a lot less about stuff and whether it is in good condition or not. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy a great guitar—I do. Besides, I’m not a good enough musician to play out of tune guitars. But I identify with White;  I aspire to be that sort of musician. I want to be the sort of player who can punch out some meaning or infuse some passion into the piece I’m playing, regardless of what’s in my hands.

I’ve always thought that God was like Mozart or maybe Vivaldi, crafting perfect symphonies with an arsenal of the finest of instruments—and who knows, maybe He is like that. But I’m hoping God is a bit like Jack White, working with the grit and imperfection in the world, making a song out of peoples’ mess and brokenness. Because if He’s anything like that, we’re in luck.

Thanks for the music lesson, Jack.

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The film mentioned in this entry is It Might Get Loud (Sony Classics). Learn more about it on the official website.

Surfing came along in my life when I needed a change of scenery. Though I’d always dreamed of doing it, I started late, at the ripe age of 25. At that point, I was kind of stuck in a rut. But the sense of escape surfing brought was exhilarating. Being in the city kept my troubles close by; but on the open road that led to the sea, I was a free man on an adventure. I’d board the bus in Manila late at night, and 300km later, arrive at La Union before sunrise. In four short years, I’ve made that trip so often that LU has become my second home, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve headed up there.

My two girls enjoying the sunset and surf a few months back. 

Things surfing has taught me:

• You mess up a lot, and will look like an idiot often. This can last for years. That’s OK, as long as you learn from mistakes… and have fun.
• Labor very hard for a few seconds of satisfaction. That one moment is worth all the work.
• Sometimes you have to get out of your routine and just hit the road.
• The elements will show you no mercy. Be smart and find a way to survive; and maybe one day you can thrive in the chaos.
• Be humble. Challenge yourself; but stay within your ability.
• Spend your money on what enriches you.
• Think about others. Help them if they need it.
• Be patient.
• Be content with the conditions you have—a day at the sea is never a waste!
• If it’s a bad day, don’t worry. There will be another day, and more waves!

I think it’s pretty cool how the lessons I’ve learned on the road and in the water hold true in areas of my life like family, work and even faith. There’s a lot more to say, and I’ll probably be talking about those lessons for years to come. This list is just off the top of my head!

Thanks to surfing, I can attest to the truth of this psalm from scripture: “The voice of the Lord is over the waters.” (Psalm 29:3)

One of my biggest peeves on the road is when oncoming vehicles keep their headlights on bright, even when it’s obvious that they’re searing the retinas of oncoming drivers. On dark, provincial roads, oncoming brights reduce your visibility to a measly ten feet at best. I mean, sure, keep your lights on bright so you can see better—but cut it out when oncoming cars show up!

The temptation is to blind the offenders in return. Especially the buses. The dirty finger just doesn’t deliver the desired effect—a reciprocal peeve—when it comes to most bus drivers, it seems. Last time I checked, the average bus driver considers an angry middle finger to be an affirmation of their personhood, a pleasantry like a funny joke. They give a jovial, thankful smile through the glass as if to say, You’re welcome, loser!

But blinding them back is sweet pleasure. It is the headlight equivalent of sixteen dirty fingers. Right back atcha, @#$%*&!!! And then you’ve got a potential game of blind chicken on your hands. If you want to further risk your life, and that of your passengers, this is the best thing to do.

The problem with the headlight cuss-out is that it doesn’t help you see any clearer. It makes you even more tense. You clench your fists tighter, and then your teeth. You dig your toenails into your shoes, and before long the tension gets you constipated. 

But it’s OK. The very reason you got pissed off in the first place was that somebody compromised your safety. You should go do the same thing to them, shouldn’t you? Increase your own chances of getting killed. After all, revenge is sweet. Dangerous, and hypocritical at the same time. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Fight fire with fire, headlight with headlight.

Such is the human condition.

I’d rather blind the other person than try to see better myself.

If I can’t see, neither should he.

…There’s got to be a better way to be pissed off. We just haven’t got enough middle fingers to keep up.

So yeah, we’re expecting Baby #2. Baby #1 is not even one year-old, and already Amy is in her second trimester. Boy, that was fast. Before long, we’ll be cleaning up #2’s number twos, half in awe at such amazing grace, writing misty-eyed blogs about it, and half horrified at how much poo we need to clean up. 

Am I ready to be a dad again? Honestly? No. But as I ask my friends who are on the verge of arriving at major, life-altering milestones, Who is ever ready for the big events of life? After enough thought and maybe prayer, you just know that the time has come. But ready? Who knows what that even means? And how can you be so sure?

I thought I was ready for marriage; Lord knows I tried to be. But midway into our first marital fight, I was sure I could have never prepared for it in advance. 

When Cadence came along, I knew I wasn’t prepared to be a dad for the first time. And yet, in the midst of the flurry of having my first child, I never felt more able to do things I had never before done. Like clean up poo ten times a day or soothe an inconsolable infant. 

It’s ironic how when you think you’ve got it made, life hits you blindside. And those times you feel inadequate, you get most surprised at what you seem empowered to accomplish by some mysterious force.

I don’t think I know anybody who was sufficiently ready for the big moments in life. A first job, a new city, marriage, or having kids. If you claim you’re 100% ready, you are either naive or lying. Both take away from the fearsome glory, the beautiful terror that a new experience offers.

That’s why I’m not making any claims. I am not ready to be Dad 2.0. I’m trying to be, but who knows? The best I can do is pep talk myself, do some emotional push-ups, pray more, work harder, and hope. Hope that this grace-from-God thing is actually real. Because there’s only so much preparing I can do. The rest is out of my hands.

So I brace myself and let life hit me hard. O, the glory!

How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight. I don’t wanna die without any scars. So c’mon, hit me before I lose my nerve. — Tyler from the movie Fight Club (1999)

My little girl Cadence is sick, and her every sniffle, cough or cry sends a knitting needle straight to my heart. In spite of this, I feel a deep peace assuring me that we are not alone, that God is near and knows exactly what’s going on. After all, He is the original Father with children.

When Cadey was born, I instantly knew she would be an unknowing prophet of sorts to me and Amy, speaking truth to us about life, existence and God. And during times like these, when one would be tempted to question God about the suffering of a helpless child, I feel God’s Spirit in the room with us—an unseen assurance that everything will be OK. 

I hear every wail my baby lets out—her entire world is shaken—and I see that the story is bigger than just the three of us in our new family. Cadence’s dilemma is a part of the greater narrative of creation, which aches and groans for the day when suffering will finally end. She is a small example of the human condition: eight months old and already grappling with the realities of a broken existence.

Why is the world broken?
Will suffering end?
Why allow suffering to begin with?
What is the point of permitting genocide, abuse or sickness?
Why the earthquakes and tsunamis?
Is the Father not big enough to fix it all?
And where is God when your child is sick?

There is nothing wrong with asking these sincere questions. The Father is big enough to accommodate and understand our doubts, our cries for justice, our longing for salvation. 

I offer no answers to the big questions about suffering. But I can say this: as a dad, I never hold my child’s cries in contempt. If anything, I come running, hoping to understand her pain. And God is a far better Father than I could ever be. He sees the suffering of His kids; how could He sit around and do nothing? He doesn’t.

During Christmastime, we celebrate “Emmanuel” which means “God is with us.” He is not a distant deity playing chess with the world from a birds-eye view. He is right here, on the ground with us. Jesus is God’s answer to suffering and He calls us to be the answer for the world alongside Him.

This is what we celebrate at Christmas: that God is not blind or deaf to our cries. He is right here with me, Amy and Cadence in the time of her sickness. He is right there, with you, wherever you are.

God is with us—let’s celebrate that.

PS. Please pray for our little Cadeybug! Also, thanks (and a big shout out) to all our new readers here at ISGIT—we see God in you!

We didn’t try to have a baby. At the same time, we didn’t try not to. And for a couple of horny newlywed Jesus-believing twenty-somethings (possibly the largest sector of people who get married in their 20s) getting pregnant wasn’t a difficult task at all.  So in case you haven’t noticed from our mobile uploads on Facebook and Twitter, we’ve got a baby. Needless to say, she has changed everything.

Christmas spirit is so much more alive with kids around, especially when it’s your kid. When I was a teenager, I used to long for the “Christmas spirit” that seemed more real when I was younger. Said “spirit” was getting increasingly more difficult to feel; and by my 20s I had almost forgotten how merry it truly felt to be a child at Christmastime. 

Then Amy and I had Cadence. And now, it seems like the excitement is new. I kid you not, I feel like a child again (horny couple friends, make a baby and see for yourselves). Hope, expectation, excitement and wonder — it’s as though they come alive through my own child, and I get to live vicariously through Cadence’s fresh eyes and senses. 

It’s amazing what the arrival of a baby can do. 

Tonight I sat down to pray again. I say “again” because, truth be told, I don’t do it as often as I once did in my past life as a nun. And so naturally, it started off like an awkward conversation. You know, like that one with that friend you were once close with before you drifted apart. That’s how I approached God today. It was a little awkward.

And I was like: God, it’s not the same as before. I’ve not got this electric feeling about you these days. Not like five years ago when it was my job to be into this Jesus stuff. I don’t really feel like breaking out in song about You; and I’m sorry I drift around this faith thing somewhat aimlessly. But I mean no offense, you seem to have been somewhat distant, too. So a question: where are You, these days?

And surprise, surprise…God didn’t say anything.

I would have shrugged my shoulders and gone to sleep. But I looked to my left and saw Cadence in her bed, asleep. And I had my answer. God was never far away. I had simply not noticed Him. Looking at my baby, I was never more assured that God was near. 

Humanity will always try to confine deity to its conventions, requiring answers and explanations as prerequisites to belief. I always wondered why God chose the idea of a baby as part of His salvation narrative. It all seems pretty crazy when you think about it. And God doesn’t seem to explain His reasons.

But then my wife and I had a baby. 

And the idea of salvation in the form of a helpless infant made so much sense.

A newborn baby: more than ever, I see God in that.

Feliz navidad, amigos! God is with us.