29 Days

"I think our music exists in the 29 days," said Jars of Clay frontman Dan Haseltine on a recent Relevant podcast.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

The foundational voice of one of the preeminent Christian music forces in the last century thinks his music really comes out of and speaks into the 29 days. That is, the majority of days in the month that are just not really all that dreamy. Jars of Clay says that because Jars of Clay must know about that: The good days, the golden days are the exception. The rare block on that calendar with forecast sunny, all day long. Most days are full of anxiety that grips us at a stoplight for no reason, heaviness because we misinterpreted a text message, avocados that are already rotting, and unanticipated bills.

There are blessings but the 29 days remind us that we are not home yet.

I love Jars of Clay. Each album has its own tone, its own mature sound. I especially like songs like "Safe to Land" and "Reckless Forgiver" and "Boy on a String" because they talk about what I now know are the 29 days. Dealing with our own concept of God in the midst of our mess. Seeing him show up to our landfills and begin plowing and packing through the garbage piled high.

Haseltine has contended with some well-earned controversy for his ponderings on Twitter recently, which he addresses in the podcast. Less interesting to me was his confirmation that he had thought about these things for a long while. More interesting to me was that he believed that church was a place to wrestle with doubt, to question and reason and help one another--because why else are we here? To be nothing but upstanding, confident in our every position? To pretend as though we are having 30 full days of bliss?

There are reasons why a band like Jars of Clay has survived and evolved through the last 20 years and we who are not on the inside nor omniscient will never fully understand. I have to believe, though, that there's a key to survival that is offered in the 29 days, in the doubt, in the embrace of all that is not sunny and certain so that it may be examined and held to the light, for many months, for 20 years, and perhaps for as long as our little clay jars endure.

Vote 4 Christian...

Dear Christian,

I don't think we are acquainted, but I snapped a picture of your campaign poster while I was roaming the halls of your high school this past weekend. The poster itself arrested my attention for obvious reasons. It is the equivalent of a slobbery dog wagging its tail so hard it might break.

The typography and alignment beg some improvement, and about that hierarchy? The human eye is quite lazy and needs to be told what is important in media. Otherwise it will dart around and make up its own decisions about the essential message. Your poster's message aims to be simple, but the accents and embellishments around "Vote" and "4" lead the reader to think that you are concerned he/she might forget to cast a vote FOR someone. Or just go to school and amble about the halls and admire clumsily designed posters and not vote at all. Eeps.

Isn't "Christian" the most memorable part about your message? The parting gift, the coaster atop where they'll set their ice-cold drinks and remember the time they voted for Christian? Evidently not because the secondary clause of your message leaves us all with a lot to ponder. Your victory hinges on my vote, Christian, and your loss does, as well.

Except it doesn't. Because--and I know this may be flirting dangerously close with the pedantic, Christian, but whether or not people vote for you has very little to do with your eventual win or loss. People will vote for you all day long. Vote approval as you strut by with new shoes, vote no as you attempt to take a seat at their lunch table. They will vote you into their online friend circle and just as quickly vote you off the island of people they tell the real stuff to, the stuff that will never show up in a filtered photo with the caption #blessed that you upvote or choose not to like.

I've been voted up the flag pole and voted down at half-mast plenty in my career. My job is evaluated twice annually by student voters. I feel as though I am campaigning for student council 9 months out of the year. I realized how unhealthy that was so I decided not to run for student council anymore, Christian. I decided to walk with assurance of the calling on my life; I decided to do life for a Godience of one. I have a purpose and it's not all that jazzy, but it doesn't rely on anyone's vote to ensure I am winning or losing. It just requires that I try really hard to walk within that calling, caring a bit more about what Heaven thinks of me than anyone else.

I like to think that your poster might still come in handy, though. If you're called to fulfill that office, Christian, which I expect that you are, maybe change the final clause to say, "or You'll Lose."

Yours in support, Kendra

(Un)happy Gilmore #allthefeels

I wish I were a normal who could finish reading young adult novels without having to drop out of life for a couple of days, wandering around with a head of cloudy thoughts, wringing my hands about why I couldn't have dated an Augustus Waters in high school (and don't even think I would have wished away the terminal cancer, because tragically romantic). If only I could  finish watching Gilmore Girls without throwing myself across the bed in anguish, trying to reorchestrate history, reversing the poor, selfish decisions made by Logan and Rory (if only they had *my* brand of hindsight!),  holding their temperaments to the light of Myers-Briggs, shaking a rueful fist at the late season decisions of the writers. HOW COULD YOU THROW THAT ALL AWAY!?! (p.s. Rory, think of the guacamole!)

I wish I were not so invested, so easily yoked to storylines that capture head and heart and take us on that rocky ride for which we are passengers with a ticket to exit at any time, but rarely do we choose to get off. The soap opera ride always empties us out in a place where we can't find our luggage, don't know how to make it to connecting transportation, and are late for our next appointment. But occasionally, we encounter a story that rings so true to life that we are different because of the journey. There was some nuance in the narration or dialogue that made us feel understood and not so alone. Something there sounded familiar, and our soul followed the rhythm as if by heart.

I've been tagged recently in some form of meme asking me about the top 10 books that changed my life. I find this list a difficult task, because I realize there is a difference between my favorite books and books that changed me: the latter being works that anatomically rearranged me so that I could no longer see the world the same, or my place in it.

[tweet bird="yes"]Here is my list of Books that Changed Me, without qualification:[/tweet]

1. The Return of the Prodigal Son (Nouwen) 2. Blubber (Blume) 3. Crooked River Burning (Winegardner) 4. Prep (Sittenfeld) 5. Surviving in an Angry World (Stanley) 6. Making Toast (Rosenblatt) 7. Mountains Beyond Mountains (Kidder) 8. Detroit (Leduff) 9. Desire of Ages (White) 10. A Life's Work (Cusk)