Sunday, December 20, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Meet Joe
We met Joe recently during an interview for series of videos for Degage, an organization that helps homeless people in our neighborhood.
I’ll wait until the video releases so you can experience Joe yourself, but it was the single most moving interview we’ve ever done.
He’s likely in his sixties: he’s battled the ghetto of Detroit, Vietnam, the loss of his wife, and now cancer. He weighs 112 pounds; a walker is his transportation.
When we went to shoot additional footage, I had a minute or two with Joe.
He told me he was mugged by two guys a month ago on South Division.
“Did they get anything?” I asked, after he told me the story.
“Fourteen cents, one bus pass, and a voucher to Degage,” he replied.
About two dollars worth of loot.
Joe ended up in the hospital with fourteen stitches. Before he went to get help, he limped up to his room, fell down and bled on the floor.
The assisted living complex called a bio-hazard company to clean up the blood.
And kindly sent Joe a bill for $1,200.
It will be taken out of his monthly government checks until it’s paid in full.
“You know how much they charge for paper slippers?” he asked me.
I shook my head.
“Sixty eight bucks,” Joe says.
The assisted living complex won’t pay for it, claiming the assault didn’t happen on its property. And our hearts hurt to hear of this injustice.
If you want to help Joe, let me know.
I’ll wait until the video releases so you can experience Joe yourself, but it was the single most moving interview we’ve ever done.
He’s likely in his sixties: he’s battled the ghetto of Detroit, Vietnam, the loss of his wife, and now cancer. He weighs 112 pounds; a walker is his transportation.
When we went to shoot additional footage, I had a minute or two with Joe.
He told me he was mugged by two guys a month ago on South Division.
“Did they get anything?” I asked, after he told me the story.
“Fourteen cents, one bus pass, and a voucher to Degage,” he replied.
About two dollars worth of loot.
Joe ended up in the hospital with fourteen stitches. Before he went to get help, he limped up to his room, fell down and bled on the floor.
The assisted living complex called a bio-hazard company to clean up the blood.
And kindly sent Joe a bill for $1,200.
It will be taken out of his monthly government checks until it’s paid in full.
“You know how much they charge for paper slippers?” he asked me.
I shook my head.
“Sixty eight bucks,” Joe says.
The assisted living complex won’t pay for it, claiming the assault didn’t happen on its property. And our hearts hurt to hear of this injustice.
If you want to help Joe, let me know.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Video Conversation
There's quite the conversation happening about our video we shot and edited for ArtPrize.
Check it out on YouTube.
20,000 people flooded into downtown Grand Rapids.
Check it out on YouTube.
20,000 people flooded into downtown Grand Rapids.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wow
This video floored me at a retreat this weekend. It's video clips from the BBC's Planet Earth series, set to the sounds of Sigur Ros's "Hoppipolla." Wow. If you haven't seen it, please watch.
Friday, August 21, 2009
two cents on three years
Today is our third anniversary at the business.
We started as two young entrepreneurs working out of a room inside a rented house, touting around two portfolio pieces, video gear, an Internet connection, a few computers and phones.
In the beginning, each project saved the company.
They always seemed to arrive just in time.
Three years later, we find ourselves working in an up-and-coming neighborhood we love in downtown Grand Rapids, with a growing portfolio of clients and projects and relationships we’re proud to call our own.
It’s been a wild journey, one that has brought with it great highs and lows, joys and sorrows, laughter and tears, accomplishments and failures, new lessons and affirmation of age-old truths.
And we recognize that we're not an island.
We’re part of many communities, made up of specific groups of people—companies, non-profits and organizations—who have partnered with us in the common vision of storytelling and communication.
We’re fortunate to be alive and growing, and know we don’t take that for granted.
Thank you, to our wives, family, friends and supporters, for exactly that: your support, affirmation and encouragement along the way.
Thank you, to our clients, who believe in the work they do, and entrust us to show the world.
Thank you, Grand Rapids and West Michigan, for embracing us.
Thank you, to everyone who has made the beginning stages of this journey possible, who have helped us catch the vision for what’s next. The list of the people who have been good to us is too long to list, and has come in many shapes and forms, often when we need it most.
We hope to pay-it-all-forward in the future.
We started as two young entrepreneurs working out of a room inside a rented house, touting around two portfolio pieces, video gear, an Internet connection, a few computers and phones.
In the beginning, each project saved the company.
They always seemed to arrive just in time.
Three years later, we find ourselves working in an up-and-coming neighborhood we love in downtown Grand Rapids, with a growing portfolio of clients and projects and relationships we’re proud to call our own.
It’s been a wild journey, one that has brought with it great highs and lows, joys and sorrows, laughter and tears, accomplishments and failures, new lessons and affirmation of age-old truths.
And we recognize that we're not an island.
We’re part of many communities, made up of specific groups of people—companies, non-profits and organizations—who have partnered with us in the common vision of storytelling and communication.
We’re fortunate to be alive and growing, and know we don’t take that for granted.
Thank you, to our wives, family, friends and supporters, for exactly that: your support, affirmation and encouragement along the way.
Thank you, to our clients, who believe in the work they do, and entrust us to show the world.
Thank you, Grand Rapids and West Michigan, for embracing us.
Thank you, to everyone who has made the beginning stages of this journey possible, who have helped us catch the vision for what’s next. The list of the people who have been good to us is too long to list, and has come in many shapes and forms, often when we need it most.
We hope to pay-it-all-forward in the future.
Monday, August 17, 2009
family at work
Great news! Today is Emily's first day at Young Life for East Grand Rapids. Keep her in your prayers in the coming weeks as she adjusts...more on YL later.
Also, anyone know of any GR job leads for my brother Justin?
He and his wife recently moved to the city for Kelsey's stint with Americorp. Justin's heartbeat is working with group homes or youth, but is ready to take on new challenges...if you hear anything, email me at aaroncarriere [at] gmail [dot] com.
Also, anyone know of any GR job leads for my brother Justin?
He and his wife recently moved to the city for Kelsey's stint with Americorp. Justin's heartbeat is working with group homes or youth, but is ready to take on new challenges...if you hear anything, email me at aaroncarriere [at] gmail [dot] com.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
wedding pics
Still processing the beauty of our wedding day and honeymoon, but many thanks to all.
Pics are available at Julie Harmsen's blog.
Pics are available at Julie Harmsen's blog.
Monday, July 27, 2009
pray for cam
Please read the latest post from my good friend Cam's blog.
We went to Europe together in '06, and now he's left a recent lucrative freelance gig in Nashville for a two-year stint with the Peace Corps on Cape Verde, an island in Africa. He's taking baths in buckets, learning a new language and feeling the pain of homesickness.
He needs our prayers; what a major transition. I'm proud of him for stepping out.
We went to Europe together in '06, and now he's left a recent lucrative freelance gig in Nashville for a two-year stint with the Peace Corps on Cape Verde, an island in Africa. He's taking baths in buckets, learning a new language and feeling the pain of homesickness.
He needs our prayers; what a major transition. I'm proud of him for stepping out.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
bachelor party
Saturday was my long-awaited bachelor party.
My future father-in-law Jack invited me to lunch on Saturday afternoon, a couple hours before it was slated to start. We finished lunch and started walking to the car, when a group of masked men dressed in black approached us.
I thought it was a bit strange, thinking, "That looks like Barry."
Soon, they grabbed me and told me to get on the ground (I obeyed without too much of a struggle, according to my brother Justin, I was pretty weak and tried to hide behind Jack).
By the time I was on the ground, I was laughing like a mad man, hearing Justin's best kidnapper impression. When I took the mask off, I found myself on the floor of a limo-van with loud music and fourteen chanting dudes passing out cold beverages.
It was a rich experience, pulled off flawlessly by the guys and orchestrated perfectly by best man Bobby Cheeks, inspired by the movie "Old School." There's a few obscenities in the movie clip, but you can view Will Ferrell's kidnapping here.
(Tingley caught the whole real kidnapping on video, so stay tuned for that. Cheeks' also made his own video initiating the guys on the day's six objectives. Very clever.)
We arrived at our destination, the "Bounce Party," a large inflatable playground. We played for an hour and a half like grown men in McDonald's, having a blast collecting floor burns on our elbows, pretending like we were American Gladiators, and of course, hitting each other with objects.
After that, fifteen of us piled into a limo and went back to Cheeks' house to shower. They made a bachelor shirt for me with photos of my life, including this exploding fire photo from years past.
We traded our man smells for civilian scents, and piled back into the limo.
I was also fashioned with a ball and chain, with two handcuffs and an ankle brace, complete with a beach ball wrapped in duct tape.
(It is very clear on video that it has nothing to do with my view of marriage or my lovely wife-to-be Emily.) It was a joke.
We ate dinner at the Bob, where I was penalized for taking off the ball and chain to use the restroom. That was pricey.
After that, we headed upstairs to the comedy club, which was a ton of fun listening to three solid comedians. One of the comedians noticed the ball and chain, and we exchanged a bit of a public dialogue.
He asked how long we knew each other, and I said "11 months" for the whole relationship, to the applause of the crowd and a self-deprecating comment by the comedian. He also asked why I'm marrying her, and I simply said, "Because she's fantastic."
He gave me some licorice, we enjoyed the comics and headed back to Cheeks' house in the limo van, with a quick stop on the way. The rest of the night was hanging back at Cheeks' pad with cards and Wii and whatever...
It was an honor to be the recipient of such a crazy, amazing day with the guys, and I'm grateful for the strong friendships in my life. And if you ever have the chance to be kidnapped and tossed into a limo van by your good friends, savor it.
Thanks, Cheeks, Barr and the rest of the dudes for an epic send-off!
My future father-in-law Jack invited me to lunch on Saturday afternoon, a couple hours before it was slated to start. We finished lunch and started walking to the car, when a group of masked men dressed in black approached us.
I thought it was a bit strange, thinking, "That looks like Barry."
Soon, they grabbed me and told me to get on the ground (I obeyed without too much of a struggle, according to my brother Justin, I was pretty weak and tried to hide behind Jack).
By the time I was on the ground, I was laughing like a mad man, hearing Justin's best kidnapper impression. When I took the mask off, I found myself on the floor of a limo-van with loud music and fourteen chanting dudes passing out cold beverages.
It was a rich experience, pulled off flawlessly by the guys and orchestrated perfectly by best man Bobby Cheeks, inspired by the movie "Old School." There's a few obscenities in the movie clip, but you can view Will Ferrell's kidnapping here.
(Tingley caught the whole real kidnapping on video, so stay tuned for that. Cheeks' also made his own video initiating the guys on the day's six objectives. Very clever.)
We arrived at our destination, the "Bounce Party," a large inflatable playground. We played for an hour and a half like grown men in McDonald's, having a blast collecting floor burns on our elbows, pretending like we were American Gladiators, and of course, hitting each other with objects.
After that, fifteen of us piled into a limo and went back to Cheeks' house to shower. They made a bachelor shirt for me with photos of my life, including this exploding fire photo from years past.
We traded our man smells for civilian scents, and piled back into the limo. I was also fashioned with a ball and chain, with two handcuffs and an ankle brace, complete with a beach ball wrapped in duct tape.
(It is very clear on video that it has nothing to do with my view of marriage or my lovely wife-to-be Emily.) It was a joke.
We ate dinner at the Bob, where I was penalized for taking off the ball and chain to use the restroom. That was pricey.
After that, we headed upstairs to the comedy club, which was a ton of fun listening to three solid comedians. One of the comedians noticed the ball and chain, and we exchanged a bit of a public dialogue.
He asked how long we knew each other, and I said "11 months" for the whole relationship, to the applause of the crowd and a self-deprecating comment by the comedian. He also asked why I'm marrying her, and I simply said, "Because she's fantastic."
He gave me some licorice, we enjoyed the comics and headed back to Cheeks' house in the limo van, with a quick stop on the way. The rest of the night was hanging back at Cheeks' pad with cards and Wii and whatever...
It was an honor to be the recipient of such a crazy, amazing day with the guys, and I'm grateful for the strong friendships in my life. And if you ever have the chance to be kidnapped and tossed into a limo van by your good friends, savor it.
Thanks, Cheeks, Barr and the rest of the dudes for an epic send-off!
engagement photos
Emily and her sister Stef's very talented friend Julie took our engagement photos. You can view a preview here. Julie is from the GR area but lives in Seattle, and will also be shooting the wedding.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 02, 2009
counting crows
The Counting Crows have been at the top of my list for bands to see for ages.
I've memorized almost all their songs religiously over the past fifteen years or so. A guy touring our studio told us they were playing at the not-so-glamorous Muskegon Summer Celebration on Tuesday, so we bought comp tickets on Craigslist and joined the carnival (literally) last night.
These guys are spot on, seasoned, eloquent musicians. The music was amazing.
When I was learning to play guitar and the Crows' music, I'd daydream about writing a letter to lead singer Adam Duritz about faith. His lyrics speak of a crumbling life, over and over again, searching for short term remedies. I identified with his sorrowful musings for periods of my formative years. Then I'd dream of what he'd sing about if he met God.
After researching the world of Wiki, I discovered Adam suffers from "a dissociative disorder, which makes the world seem like it's not real." How sad.
Last night, while intoxicated medleys of non-fans poured back beers and devoured cigarettes, enjoying noisy conversations while Adam was trying to explain his next song, I was able to zero in on one point. This, a paraphrase of Adam, of course:
"Being a musician, you have the ability to focus on one thing at the exclusion of everything else. Which is cool, because that's where great music comes froms," Adam begins.
"The only problem is that you focus on one thing at the exclusion of everything else," he adds.
It's as if he was holding his heart in his hands on stage. The dreadlocked rock star, whose "slept with movie stars," trekked around the world with money and fame, questioning everything he hasn't experienced in a more traditional path.
"But on the other hand, you get to be a rock star, so it's a toss up," he said, laughing a bit, triggering the band to move into the next song.
On top of it, there was a Detroit Red Wings player to the right of us in the crowd. When someone figured it out, an avalanche of people started asking him for autographs and photos, while the guy was just looking to listen to the Crows and drink a beer.
All across the world, we prey on people's fame and lust for things we can't have, yet where we're often shortsighted, is all the meaning we do possess.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
suspended
Last night, after over two months of rigorous house hunting, we suspended the search until post-honeymoon.
This was a difficult choice for me to submit to, finding myself acting in ways I never intended when my old landlord brought up a cheap little property in April, while Em was in Zimbabwe.
Since them, I've spent countless hours online continuously searching and calculating and trying to dig up dead properties, creeping around neighborhoods in the '98 Saturn,* walking around abandoned houses, peeking in windows, having numerous discussions (ahem, sometimes fights) with Em and our agent, and operating with a general sense of urgency that we need a house, we need the incentives, that our entire financial future is resting on this transaction.
Which is, of course, all untrue.
Finally, through the grace and vision and persistence of my lovely wife to be, I've recognized it's not worth the relational strain, the lost focus at work, the lack of trust in God.
What I intended to be a lighthearted journey toward something good (a home helps foster family, security, warmth, shelter, responsibility, investment, friendship, community, etc.), it morphed into a number of destructive problems and conflicts that are embarrassing to admit, among the most serious, broken promises and a sense that I'm in control.
But last night, it was clear we've reached the end of the road for now.
We typed out a formal email message to our agent, who has put an extraordinary amount of work into helping us out. But today, we're walking toward our wedding without the weight that goes along with the search, with a renewed focus that our spiritual vitality and upcoming marriage must trump money, or any brick and mortar structure, as well as some difficult, but valuable life lessons and take-aways from this trying experience.
It's also interesting to see our good friends and mentors Jeremy and Julie recently posted on "Trusting God," on their 2+ year search for employment. They're also house-hunting and had a similar * recently. Check it out for further perspective.
______
*In addition to the white smoke cloud I've sprayed onto many pedestrians while house hunting, the Saturn's most valuable asset was stolen yesterday in broad daylight in our city parking lot. The CD player is gone. When I called the lot to report it, there was no shock and awe, they chalk these up to kids or drug dealers looking to sell something. I'm far more disappointed in myself for not fixing the locks, yet it was the first day in a month I've even had the face on the player.
My bad, but stealing sucks.
This was a difficult choice for me to submit to, finding myself acting in ways I never intended when my old landlord brought up a cheap little property in April, while Em was in Zimbabwe.
Since them, I've spent countless hours online continuously searching and calculating and trying to dig up dead properties, creeping around neighborhoods in the '98 Saturn,* walking around abandoned houses, peeking in windows, having numerous discussions (ahem, sometimes fights) with Em and our agent, and operating with a general sense of urgency that we need a house, we need the incentives, that our entire financial future is resting on this transaction.
Which is, of course, all untrue.
Finally, through the grace and vision and persistence of my lovely wife to be, I've recognized it's not worth the relational strain, the lost focus at work, the lack of trust in God.
What I intended to be a lighthearted journey toward something good (a home helps foster family, security, warmth, shelter, responsibility, investment, friendship, community, etc.), it morphed into a number of destructive problems and conflicts that are embarrassing to admit, among the most serious, broken promises and a sense that I'm in control.
But last night, it was clear we've reached the end of the road for now.
We typed out a formal email message to our agent, who has put an extraordinary amount of work into helping us out. But today, we're walking toward our wedding without the weight that goes along with the search, with a renewed focus that our spiritual vitality and upcoming marriage must trump money, or any brick and mortar structure, as well as some difficult, but valuable life lessons and take-aways from this trying experience.
It's also interesting to see our good friends and mentors Jeremy and Julie recently posted on "Trusting God," on their 2+ year search for employment. They're also house-hunting and had a similar * recently. Check it out for further perspective.
______
*In addition to the white smoke cloud I've sprayed onto many pedestrians while house hunting, the Saturn's most valuable asset was stolen yesterday in broad daylight in our city parking lot. The CD player is gone. When I called the lot to report it, there was no shock and awe, they chalk these up to kids or drug dealers looking to sell something. I'm far more disappointed in myself for not fixing the locks, yet it was the first day in a month I've even had the face on the player.
My bad, but stealing sucks.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
american idols
I really enjoy watching the NFL and the Minnesota Vikings.
But I really dislike how sports stars seem to be getting off the hook for everything.
This story caught my eye, how a man will spend the next 3 years in prison for stealing Lance Armstrong's bike. However, how does that stack up to the receiver from the Cleveland Browns, who got only 30 days in jail for killing a pedestrian while drunk driving?
Or Plaxico, who will likely spend zero time in jail and be playing in the NFL next season after possessing an illegal gun and shooting himself in the leg in a NYC nightclub?
This is the justice system in the U.S.?
None of this behavior should be celebrated, but neither should the famous run free.
the house
Yesterday afternoon, we found out we lost the bid on the house. We may have come in second place, which leaves a sliver of hope, but the tension is over, it's time to move on.
There were a couple nights spent staring at the ceiling, dreaming up paint colors and working through the financials if it did happen, but it didn't, and there will be others. I talked to a couple who bid on five houses in three months before finding the one, while another couple bid on three unsuccessfully and left the market.
However, Emily and I did find a great apartment on a month-to-month basis that she'll be moving into this weekend. We are grateful for that. If you want to lend a hand, let me know, it'll go down on Sunday afternoon at around 2 p.m.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
house update
The bank received fourteen offers on the home we bid on.
In this economic climate (in Michigan, nonetheless) and home market, this many offers on a property is almost unheard of.
Stay tuned; thanks for the prayers
In this economic climate (in Michigan, nonetheless) and home market, this many offers on a property is almost unheard of.
Stay tuned; thanks for the prayers
Monday, June 15, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
mustard seeds, mountains (not my own)
Yesterday, after returning from a long, stressful, yet good day of work, Electric Emily was waiting in my driveway behind the house, walking a red mountain bike.
"She did it again," was my initial response driving up, living as the resident recipient of her generosity many times over, including a recent fast Fuji road bike via Craigslist a few weeks ago.
In the wake of my mountain bike being mangled after falling off a car rack at 70 mph last month (no injuries), I was bike less. Now, one month later, I have two. I've paid $0 for both bikes.
"You have a mountain bike!" she said, excitedly (of course), as I look at her confused (of course).
"It's from someone anonymous," she added.
"Who?" I say, of course, over and over.
"I promised I wouldn't tell," she says, not budging. "But I've been praying for it, and here it is."
With a quick spin around the driveway, I noticed new features missing from my mountain bike (even before the accident): working breaks, working gears, light weight!
With the busyness of reentry into GR life since California, I haven't really processed this episode of grace, but I'm thankful, awestruck, dumbfounded and humbled when this stuff happens.
It'll be especially useful when Justin and Kelsey move to Grand Rapids next month. (Justin is my brother, and my sister-in-law Kelsey accepted a year-long term with Americorp downtown. We're excited about that development).
Thanks, friend, whoever and whenever you are.
"She did it again," was my initial response driving up, living as the resident recipient of her generosity many times over, including a recent fast Fuji road bike via Craigslist a few weeks ago.
In the wake of my mountain bike being mangled after falling off a car rack at 70 mph last month (no injuries), I was bike less. Now, one month later, I have two. I've paid $0 for both bikes.
"You have a mountain bike!" she said, excitedly (of course), as I look at her confused (of course).
"It's from someone anonymous," she added.
"Who?" I say, of course, over and over.
"I promised I wouldn't tell," she says, not budging. "But I've been praying for it, and here it is."
With a quick spin around the driveway, I noticed new features missing from my mountain bike (even before the accident): working breaks, working gears, light weight!
With the busyness of reentry into GR life since California, I haven't really processed this episode of grace, but I'm thankful, awestruck, dumbfounded and humbled when this stuff happens.
It'll be especially useful when Justin and Kelsey move to Grand Rapids next month. (Justin is my brother, and my sister-in-law Kelsey accepted a year-long term with Americorp downtown. We're excited about that development).
Thanks, friend, whoever and whenever you are.
Friday, May 29, 2009
life update
My beautiful bride-to-be Emily booked a trip for us to California that we're now enjoying. We're in the vicinity of Santa Cruz, recovering from a wild week leading up to the trip, and prepared for the adventures ahead.
Today we're heading on a hike to Big Sur, driving down Highway 1 with the top down.
On Sunday night we're off to Yosemite for a couple days of hiking and camping (and no cell phones or email). I've avoided looking at photos, so I can experience it firsthand myself.
On the wedding planning side, Emily and her family have been collective saints, taking care of the details and putting everything in its right place. Invitations are out, the ceremony is taking shape, and the honeymoon is booked in Cabo!
Life is good, work is difficult but promising, Emily is excited for her new Young Life job to begin after the wedding, and we're still keeping our eyes open for a house. CNN recently reported that GR is the fourth most affordable city in the nation, on top of the tax incentives and market realities, now is a good time to buy in the mitten state.
(For more spiritual reading, check out my mentor and friend Jeremy's blog. They recently moved to St. Louis, where their car was stolen, and he had some interesting and mature thoughts on the experience.)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
new story and songs
Click here for a new feature story about studios in GR. It mentions Courier and has some cool photos of our studio.
On Courier's MySpace, we uploaded new songs "Ego Falling" and "Stay Strong." They're recent recordings, and the first songs I've written that have been recorded as a full band. To clarify, Dan is our lead singer, I'm doing a bit of back-up, and no, we're not blood-related.
On Courier's MySpace, we uploaded new songs "Ego Falling" and "Stay Strong." They're recent recordings, and the first songs I've written that have been recorded as a full band. To clarify, Dan is our lead singer, I'm doing a bit of back-up, and no, we're not blood-related.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
electric
I'm learning Electric Emily doesn't do small surprises. Last night, she took me for a birthday dinner to the steak house Louis Benton in downtown Grand Rapids, where the '98 Saturn received its first valet treatment.
(Props to the valet guy for starting it).
The steak was the best I've ever had. I even licked the plate. (Standard).
On the drive home, deciding on her place or mine, she said, "Let's stop at my house." At the front door, I was greeted by envelope #1, which led me to the upstairs attic room, where envelope #2 revealed new sandals ("The Cadillac of all sandals) and Creo green board shorts.
Envelope #2 led me to a "dark and dreary" place where I'd find something "cheery."
Turning the corner in the basement, I look up and see a white surf board.
Me? A Lake Michigan surfer?
Wow. This is where the words start running out.
Then, envelope #3 leads me back to her room, where "X marks the spot." I take forever finding it, searching the closet, under the bed, everywhere, until I go back under the bed and make a smart comment about her Dell laptop. Then I pull it out, and there's an "X" on it.
(Smooth, Aaron...cooler than a polar bear's toenail...)
She fires it up, and after it's rolling, Coldplay starts playing, and she turns around her PowerPoint presentation, which reveals our destination at the end of May: California.
Yes, California. My fiance booked a vacation for us to California.
We'll see the Redwoods, surf and bike in Santa Cruz, hike and camp in Yosemite, and eat "the best burritos north of the border." That's when the shock set in and the words ultimately stopped.
I'm blessed by her. Simply blessed.
Thanks Em, you are the best.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
won't turn back (song)
Just sitting down on Sunday
With a hangover of art
Hearing all the voices saying
“Son, now get a job”
“Cause the music and the words and film”
Will never be enough”
“And you’re going be a Dad someday,
Son, now get a job”
But I won’t turn back
Cause I feel this burning in my head
But I won’t turn back
Cause I feel this beating in my chest
Now your lady’s coming faster than
You ever thought she would
But she’s living on a shoestring
And, God, I think that’s good
That she won’t demand a million dollars
To give of all her love
And we’ll give each other riches that
We never dreamed we could
And we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this burning in our heads
But we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this beating in our chests
And the bills will keep on coming
But I know that we’ll survive
Cause we’re following the narrow path
We’ve jumped the great divide
And the blessings whether rich or poor
Til’ death will do us fine
And you’ll share with me your life, my girl
And I will give you mine
And we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this stirring in our heads
But we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this beating in our chests
And we know, what it’s like to be alone
And we know, what it’s like to made whole
What it’s like to live with nothing
What it’s like to live with gold
What it’s like to live in isolation
What it’s like to live in love
And we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this stirring in our heads
But we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this beating in our chests
With a hangover of art
Hearing all the voices saying
“Son, now get a job”
“Cause the music and the words and film”
Will never be enough”
“And you’re going be a Dad someday,
Son, now get a job”
But I won’t turn back
Cause I feel this burning in my head
But I won’t turn back
Cause I feel this beating in my chest
Now your lady’s coming faster than
You ever thought she would
But she’s living on a shoestring
And, God, I think that’s good
That she won’t demand a million dollars
To give of all her love
And we’ll give each other riches that
We never dreamed we could
And we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this burning in our heads
But we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this beating in our chests
And the bills will keep on coming
But I know that we’ll survive
Cause we’re following the narrow path
We’ve jumped the great divide
And the blessings whether rich or poor
Til’ death will do us fine
And you’ll share with me your life, my girl
And I will give you mine
And we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this stirring in our heads
But we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this beating in our chests
And we know, what it’s like to be alone
And we know, what it’s like to made whole
What it’s like to live with nothing
What it’s like to live with gold
What it’s like to live in isolation
What it’s like to live in love
And we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this stirring in our heads
But we won’t turn back
Cause we feel this beating in our chests
Friday, April 17, 2009
Follow Us for 24 Hours
At 9 p.m. tonight, The Compass Academy 24 Hour Film Festival begins.
We'll have 24 hours to write, shoot, edit and score a 5-minute film, using four elements drawn from a hat: prop, line, location and theme. Everything's original, turned in by Saturday at 9 p.m.
I'm blogging the process throughout the weekend (at the business blog), not only for my own sleep-deprived sanity, but also for the enjoyment of others. We've got great people lined up, including a talented crew, Courier for music, fresh actors (and a lot of coffee).
If you can't follow along live, check the blog next week to see how it went, or attend the top ten showing next Thursday, April 23rd at 8 p.m. at Celebration North.
It's going to be fun.
P.S. Watch Spish, our top ten entry from 2008.
Spish from Creo Productions on Vimeo.
We'll have 24 hours to write, shoot, edit and score a 5-minute film, using four elements drawn from a hat: prop, line, location and theme. Everything's original, turned in by Saturday at 9 p.m.
I'm blogging the process throughout the weekend (at the business blog), not only for my own sleep-deprived sanity, but also for the enjoyment of others. We've got great people lined up, including a talented crew, Courier for music, fresh actors (and a lot of coffee).
If you can't follow along live, check the blog next week to see how it went, or attend the top ten showing next Thursday, April 23rd at 8 p.m. at Celebration North.
It's going to be fun.
P.S. Watch Spish, our top ten entry from 2008.
Spish from Creo Productions on Vimeo.
Monday, April 13, 2009
lost
On Saturday I stopped by work to pick up my mountain bike and change clothes in the office.
As I was leaving, my mother called, and we began to talk about wedding planning. I load the bike into the car and drive to the gas station 15 minutes away to fill my bike tires up, still talking to my mother.
Then I realize my wallet is missing.
Internally and externally cursing, my mom is wondering what's going on, and probably where her son learned some of those words.
Back seat? No. Trunk? No. "No. No. No."
I must have left it on the curb. So I tell her, "I've gotta go," and floor it back downtown. (In no way am I blaming this on my mom). My own anger and cursing turns to prayer.
Then I start thinking about how God bailed us out when we accidentally left the side door of the office unlocked for two hours and returned to find the GR police sitting there and nothing missing. Surely mercy for carelessness has run its course, I reason.
So I think of how I'm going to cancel the debit/credit cards and get a new driver's license and how I can buy food for the weekend and if there's honest people left on earth.
(When I left for Europe in 2006, I tagged all my electronics with a note that read: "If lost/stolen, please email aaroncarriere@...")
As many of you know, our office is located in a strip where homelessness and panhandling are prevalent. I drive up and see nothing. Frustration sets in. Then get out of the car, look near the garbage and see my pants and shoes. I'd left them there in a plastic bag with my water bottle; the bag and Nalgene were missing.
But the pants and shoes. Still there. "There's no way the wallet is there," I whisper. Then I pick it up and feel a rectangle. "No way," unbelief still ravaging inside my head. I take out the wallet and rip open the contents, counting cards and blessings.
Upon closer investigation I find the water bottle in the trash can, but whoever found the pants missed the gold. God is good.
I called my mom and told her the news and how I'm wondering how many lives I've got left. As I'm writing and remembering these events, my thought process reminds me of doubting Thomas.
And I've put my hands into the side of the risen Christ.
As I was leaving, my mother called, and we began to talk about wedding planning. I load the bike into the car and drive to the gas station 15 minutes away to fill my bike tires up, still talking to my mother.
Then I realize my wallet is missing.
Internally and externally cursing, my mom is wondering what's going on, and probably where her son learned some of those words.
Back seat? No. Trunk? No. "No. No. No."
I must have left it on the curb. So I tell her, "I've gotta go," and floor it back downtown. (In no way am I blaming this on my mom). My own anger and cursing turns to prayer.
Then I start thinking about how God bailed us out when we accidentally left the side door of the office unlocked for two hours and returned to find the GR police sitting there and nothing missing. Surely mercy for carelessness has run its course, I reason.
So I think of how I'm going to cancel the debit/credit cards and get a new driver's license and how I can buy food for the weekend and if there's honest people left on earth.
(When I left for Europe in 2006, I tagged all my electronics with a note that read: "If lost/stolen, please email aaroncarriere@...")
As many of you know, our office is located in a strip where homelessness and panhandling are prevalent. I drive up and see nothing. Frustration sets in. Then get out of the car, look near the garbage and see my pants and shoes. I'd left them there in a plastic bag with my water bottle; the bag and Nalgene were missing.
But the pants and shoes. Still there. "There's no way the wallet is there," I whisper. Then I pick it up and feel a rectangle. "No way," unbelief still ravaging inside my head. I take out the wallet and rip open the contents, counting cards and blessings.
Upon closer investigation I find the water bottle in the trash can, but whoever found the pants missed the gold. God is good.
I called my mom and told her the news and how I'm wondering how many lives I've got left. As I'm writing and remembering these events, my thought process reminds me of doubting Thomas.
And I've put my hands into the side of the risen Christ.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
easter sunday song
Rolled Away
by Aaron
And ‘round the table
Where Judas stood
They all did eat and drink
His flesh and blood
And in the garden there
Where tears turned to blood
“Father, take this cup”
“Take this cup”
With lights of fire
The crowds did come
To take away the Lord
The willing One
To the death they did look
For a crime in His eyes
“Are you the Christ, the One
That’s been prophesied?”
“Oh You will see”
And the times they will come
On the right hand I will sit
with the Mighty One”
Before them He stood
As they made their whips
A crown of thorn and purple robe
And silence from His lips
The brought the Lord
To the place of the skull
Crucified the Lord
And gambled for his clothes
He said, “Oh my God”
“My God, will you forget?”
He said, “Oh my God”
“My God, will you forget?”
As He took His last
The curtain split
The earth it did shake
While the women wept
And when He rolled
The stone away
The angels stood
While Heaven sang
He’s alive
He is risen
He’s alive
He is risen
-Sunday, April 12, 2009
by Aaron
And ‘round the table
Where Judas stood
They all did eat and drink
His flesh and blood
And in the garden there
Where tears turned to blood
“Father, take this cup”
“Take this cup”
With lights of fire
The crowds did come
To take away the Lord
The willing One
To the death they did look
For a crime in His eyes
“Are you the Christ, the One
That’s been prophesied?”
“Oh You will see”
And the times they will come
On the right hand I will sit
with the Mighty One”
Before them He stood
As they made their whips
A crown of thorn and purple robe
And silence from His lips
The brought the Lord
To the place of the skull
Crucified the Lord
And gambled for his clothes
He said, “Oh my God”
“My God, will you forget?”
He said, “Oh my God”
“My God, will you forget?”
As He took His last
The curtain split
The earth it did shake
While the women wept
And when He rolled
The stone away
The angels stood
While Heaven sang
He’s alive
He is risen
He’s alive
He is risen
-Sunday, April 12, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
missing her
Emily arranged for her roommate Katie to send me an email with a video message from Emily (recorded prior to going to Zim). I'm a lucky dude, crazy in love, missing her.
After speaking to Em on the phone yesterday prior to the youth conference that the team was safe inside the country, I received word from Craig through Simon this afternoon that Emily gave an amazing talk last night ("Hope in a Godly Marriage") to the Zim youth by candlelight. Keep on praying.
This morning's song:
And in my arms
I will greet you
When you come back down
And in your arms
You will greet me
When you come back down
But I want you to fly
I want you to burn with all your light
Love I want you to fly
I want you to shine with all your light
For your soul’s a garden
Love a river
Spirit running wild
And your laugh’s an angel
Singing for me
Love is here tonight
After speaking to Em on the phone yesterday prior to the youth conference that the team was safe inside the country, I received word from Craig through Simon this afternoon that Emily gave an amazing talk last night ("Hope in a Godly Marriage") to the Zim youth by candlelight. Keep on praying.
This morning's song:
And in my arms
I will greet you
When you come back down
And in your arms
You will greet me
When you come back down
But I want you to fly
I want you to burn with all your light
Love I want you to fly
I want you to shine with all your light
For your soul’s a garden
Love a river
Spirit running wild
And your laugh’s an angel
Singing for me
Love is here tonight
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
be my wife
Friday Night/Saturday Morning, 1 a.m.:
Tonight, I asked Emily Anne to be my wife.
This writing is saved in a folder titled “Hope,” created shortly after my first date with Electric Emily in September. (The song “Electric Emily” was penned while driving up to the U.P. immediately after our second date. I knew there was something special about her before she even said a word to me).
Tonight, I stopped in at my house to pick up the ring and iron out some last minute details before picking her up.
Opening the ring case, I felt moved to fall to my knees.
There were words, a simple moment of thanks and gratitude to God for this woman and the confirmation of the Spirit on our lives together. With her tireless love, this woman has completely captured my heart.
As usual, I picked her up in the (extraordinarily loud) maroon ’98 Saturn, trying to play it cool, while paranoia of strange acting left me overanalyzing every move. We talked about our days as we drove a mile downtown and left the car in the ramp.
During our half-mile walk to the Grand Rapids Art Museum (GRAM), I kept trying to keep cool, yet knowing internally that the next twenty minutes would change our lives forever.
We arrived, gave our free tickets to the receptionist and stood on an elevator to the third floor. (The hook to bring Emily to the museum was a Rembrandt showing on the life of Christ). While I told her the exhibit was on the third floor, the sign clearly read: “3rd Floor: Permanent collection.”
She’s quick; I think I’m busted.
It was one of those elevator trips you think will never end.
We arrive on the third floor and I begin scanning the ground for people.
Inside my head: “These people have to go. Could I ask them to leave?”
Walking around and furiously looking for plan B, the security guard caught wind I was in the house and moved people out of gallery seven on the other end. Emily and I walked around and ended up standing in front of the freight elevator, clearly marked for employees only.
I pushed the button.
“What are you doing?” Emily asks. “I don’t think we can use that.”
The elevator is taking forever, so I respond, “We do what we want.”
Classic inside joke.
As soon as the freight elevator opens up, I dash inside, uncovering my guitar case under a moving blanket I’d placed there earlier. They told me I only had about 20 seconds to get it before I’d get stuck in the elevator, so I panicked and pull it directly through the legs of the ladder in the way.
Thankfully, as it’s about to close, Emily’s standing in the doorway.
(She always seems to have my back).
I look at her; she knows.
We’ve been planning our wedding since Valentine’s Day, a bit non-traditional, but time is ticking. Surprising her was going to be a challenge, but I think I succeed.
Nerves are kicking in, I don’t know what to say, as we walk in almost silence minus her comment, “What are you doing?” to gallery seven. It seems like a mile.
When we arrive, I look around the room and have her sit on the wooden bench. Fiddling around with the guitar case, shaking, I put it on and start thumbing through the pile of lyric sheets in the bottom of the case.
The first song I sing to her is, “Song for Her,” a song written nearly two years ago. It hadn’t been heard by a soul prior to recording it in the studio this week. It was a song I’d kept for the woman I would marry, written for Emily, as we’ve discovered so many songs have been over the years before we met.
Her tears begin to flow, triggering mine while I’m trying to play guitar and sing. The strap falls off; she helps put it back on during the song. (Again, she’s got my back).
After it’s finished, my knee hits the wooden floor and my left hand goes for my pocket. In a near whisper, I tell her numerous times, “You’ve stolen my heart,” as well as other words difficult to recall in the moment.
At the end, I ask her: “Will you marry me?” as I hold the ring in front of her.
“Yes,” she says.
I try to put it on. The ring is a bit tight. She quips, “Just shove it on there.”
We laugh through tears. It fits. It looks beautiful on her.
Tears flow; we embrace, kiss, love.
It felt as if the museum was still.
It was a sacred moment; reminiscent of the first time we spoke about marriage.
Following this, the next song I played was “Diamonds and Daises,” a new song that came to me after I found the ring. The lyrics read:
When the sun beats down on your finger, love
It reminds me of the light that you shine on me
When the daises smile on your finger, love
It reminds me of the garden that you saved for me
Singing, be my wife
Oh, be my life
Singing, take me in from the storm
And I’ll be your shelter
And I’ll keep you warm
And you’ll be my lover to the end of time
After that song, I played another new one for her called “The One,” written about our first “I love you” inside Tunnel Park, and the first time we talked about marriage on Valentine’s Day.
After the songs ended, people were allowed back into the space. We sat there in awe, soaking in the weight of the event and feeling “like a million bucks,” as Emily said. We embraced and talked and laughed and looked at her ring.
With too much excitement to look at the artwork (we’ll come back another time), we floated out of the museum and into the entryway outside. We asked multiple strangers to take photos of us; they offered congratulations and kindly obliged.
We ate dinner at XO, an Asian place across the street, telling stories of how smooth I wasn’t leading up to the proposal (she knew when I went ring shopping, when I talked to her Dad, etc.) as well as processing through the night.
Before dinner we prayed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” It was a great time, fun to be out celebrating the next step in our journey.
Next, we walked back to our business downtown, where there’s a great couch and is generally quiet. We called our parents. There were a few additional songs I didn’t get a chance to sing at the museum, so we set up a video camera and retold the engagement story, playing through the songs from the night.
Hopefully, if we’re blessed with kids, they’ll appreciate the video.
The nightcap was a package, wrapped in the brown paper bag with a handwritten note on it. She opened it to reveal a case for a digital converter box, then uncovered the tissue paper to find a CD titled, “Songs for Her.”
It’s a CD recorded in the studio with all the songs I sang for her tonight, three of them written before we met, three after, but all for her.
We’ve seen God’s hand so strongly throughout this process. For me, music has been a vehicle of hope. There have been difficult years and amazing years of singleness, while many prayers by others and myself have been offered up for protection and provision for my future wife.
For Emily and I, it’s been a humbling experience to see all of these prayers answered in unbelievable ways. The strength of the Spirit over this relationship has been simply amazing. The depth of the lyrics written years ago and the relevancy to our situation can only be God.
She is an amazing woman; I’m humbled and honored that she will be my wife.
P.S. The wedding is July 31, 2009 (yes, this year), overlooking Lake Michigan. Here are a couple photos outside the GRAM.
Tonight, I asked Emily Anne to be my wife.
This writing is saved in a folder titled “Hope,” created shortly after my first date with Electric Emily in September. (The song “Electric Emily” was penned while driving up to the U.P. immediately after our second date. I knew there was something special about her before she even said a word to me).
Tonight, I stopped in at my house to pick up the ring and iron out some last minute details before picking her up.
Opening the ring case, I felt moved to fall to my knees.
There were words, a simple moment of thanks and gratitude to God for this woman and the confirmation of the Spirit on our lives together. With her tireless love, this woman has completely captured my heart.
As usual, I picked her up in the (extraordinarily loud) maroon ’98 Saturn, trying to play it cool, while paranoia of strange acting left me overanalyzing every move. We talked about our days as we drove a mile downtown and left the car in the ramp.
During our half-mile walk to the Grand Rapids Art Museum (GRAM), I kept trying to keep cool, yet knowing internally that the next twenty minutes would change our lives forever.
We arrived, gave our free tickets to the receptionist and stood on an elevator to the third floor. (The hook to bring Emily to the museum was a Rembrandt showing on the life of Christ). While I told her the exhibit was on the third floor, the sign clearly read: “3rd Floor: Permanent collection.”
She’s quick; I think I’m busted.
It was one of those elevator trips you think will never end.
We arrive on the third floor and I begin scanning the ground for people.
Inside my head: “These people have to go. Could I ask them to leave?”
Walking around and furiously looking for plan B, the security guard caught wind I was in the house and moved people out of gallery seven on the other end. Emily and I walked around and ended up standing in front of the freight elevator, clearly marked for employees only.
I pushed the button.
“What are you doing?” Emily asks. “I don’t think we can use that.”
The elevator is taking forever, so I respond, “We do what we want.”
Classic inside joke.
As soon as the freight elevator opens up, I dash inside, uncovering my guitar case under a moving blanket I’d placed there earlier. They told me I only had about 20 seconds to get it before I’d get stuck in the elevator, so I panicked and pull it directly through the legs of the ladder in the way.
Thankfully, as it’s about to close, Emily’s standing in the doorway.
(She always seems to have my back).
I look at her; she knows.
We’ve been planning our wedding since Valentine’s Day, a bit non-traditional, but time is ticking. Surprising her was going to be a challenge, but I think I succeed.
Nerves are kicking in, I don’t know what to say, as we walk in almost silence minus her comment, “What are you doing?” to gallery seven. It seems like a mile.
When we arrive, I look around the room and have her sit on the wooden bench. Fiddling around with the guitar case, shaking, I put it on and start thumbing through the pile of lyric sheets in the bottom of the case.
The first song I sing to her is, “Song for Her,” a song written nearly two years ago. It hadn’t been heard by a soul prior to recording it in the studio this week. It was a song I’d kept for the woman I would marry, written for Emily, as we’ve discovered so many songs have been over the years before we met.
Her tears begin to flow, triggering mine while I’m trying to play guitar and sing. The strap falls off; she helps put it back on during the song. (Again, she’s got my back).
After it’s finished, my knee hits the wooden floor and my left hand goes for my pocket. In a near whisper, I tell her numerous times, “You’ve stolen my heart,” as well as other words difficult to recall in the moment.
At the end, I ask her: “Will you marry me?” as I hold the ring in front of her.
“Yes,” she says.
I try to put it on. The ring is a bit tight. She quips, “Just shove it on there.”
We laugh through tears. It fits. It looks beautiful on her.
Tears flow; we embrace, kiss, love.
It felt as if the museum was still.
It was a sacred moment; reminiscent of the first time we spoke about marriage.
Following this, the next song I played was “Diamonds and Daises,” a new song that came to me after I found the ring. The lyrics read:
When the sun beats down on your finger, love
It reminds me of the light that you shine on me
When the daises smile on your finger, love
It reminds me of the garden that you saved for me
Singing, be my wife
Oh, be my life
Singing, take me in from the storm
And I’ll be your shelter
And I’ll keep you warm
And you’ll be my lover to the end of time
After that song, I played another new one for her called “The One,” written about our first “I love you” inside Tunnel Park, and the first time we talked about marriage on Valentine’s Day.
After the songs ended, people were allowed back into the space. We sat there in awe, soaking in the weight of the event and feeling “like a million bucks,” as Emily said. We embraced and talked and laughed and looked at her ring.
With too much excitement to look at the artwork (we’ll come back another time), we floated out of the museum and into the entryway outside. We asked multiple strangers to take photos of us; they offered congratulations and kindly obliged.
We ate dinner at XO, an Asian place across the street, telling stories of how smooth I wasn’t leading up to the proposal (she knew when I went ring shopping, when I talked to her Dad, etc.) as well as processing through the night.
Before dinner we prayed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” It was a great time, fun to be out celebrating the next step in our journey.
Next, we walked back to our business downtown, where there’s a great couch and is generally quiet. We called our parents. There were a few additional songs I didn’t get a chance to sing at the museum, so we set up a video camera and retold the engagement story, playing through the songs from the night.
Hopefully, if we’re blessed with kids, they’ll appreciate the video.
The nightcap was a package, wrapped in the brown paper bag with a handwritten note on it. She opened it to reveal a case for a digital converter box, then uncovered the tissue paper to find a CD titled, “Songs for Her.”
It’s a CD recorded in the studio with all the songs I sang for her tonight, three of them written before we met, three after, but all for her.
We’ve seen God’s hand so strongly throughout this process. For me, music has been a vehicle of hope. There have been difficult years and amazing years of singleness, while many prayers by others and myself have been offered up for protection and provision for my future wife.
For Emily and I, it’s been a humbling experience to see all of these prayers answered in unbelievable ways. The strength of the Spirit over this relationship has been simply amazing. The depth of the lyrics written years ago and the relevancy to our situation can only be God.
She is an amazing woman; I’m humbled and honored that she will be my wife.
P.S. The wedding is July 31, 2009 (yes, this year), overlooking Lake Michigan. Here are a couple photos outside the GRAM.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
give them presence
At least weekly, I receive emails from Zimbabwe that are hard to read.
Many of them are about serious struggles and financial needs. Emily and I were writing about the great cost of going over to Zimbabwe, that perhaps it would be better to just write a check for the travel expenses instead of traveling thousands of miles to be with them.
But I was quickly reminded of something our Zim friend Pedzy told me in April.
"You guys coming here speaks enough, man," he said. "It means so much."
Presence.
Yes, that's it.
Money and relief are still critical, yes, but so is presence.
We can't solve the problems over there, let alone in two weeks.
But we can offer listening ears, friendships, encouragement, perspective, prayer. For our friends to see there are others who care enough to fly over oceans and continents to be with them, it often means more than a check.
Email me (aaroncarriere at gmail.com) if you want to help Emily. Or you can make a check out to Kentwood Community Church with "Emily - Zim" in the footnote and send it to:
Kentwood Community Church
c/o Kim Rankens
1200 60th St SE
Kentwood, MI 49508
P.S. Come support the 3rd Rock for Zim concert on Friday, April 3rd too!
Monday, March 09, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
obama and jesus
A recent poll of American's showed Obama is its number one hero, followed by Jesus.
How sad. It makes me think of Psalm 146, which caught my attention shortly after the election.
How sad. It makes me think of Psalm 146, which caught my attention shortly after the election.
Psalm 146
1 Praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD, O my soul.
2 I will praise the LORD all my life;
I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.
3 Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortal men, who cannot save.
4 When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;
on that very day their plans come to nothing.
5 Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD his God,
6 the Maker of heaven and earth,
the sea, and everything in them—
the LORD, who remains faithful forever.
7 He upholds the cause of the oppressed
and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,
8 the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.
9 The LORD watches over the alien
and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.
10 The LORD reigns forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the LORD.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
mercy (is flowing)
While busy working on the computer this morning, I glance toward the street to see a man unzipping his pants. He then begins urinating on our doorstep.
"Someone's pissing on our door!" I yell to the guys, and begin walking over for a confrontation.
By this time, the man's waving his junk around and is well on his way to watering our doorstep. I push my face up to the window to give him the evil eye, yet he continues, though now somewhat shocked, turning, subsequently spraying urine on our window.
The puddle starts rolling down the sidewalk toward the street.
"Call the cops," the guys say, and my brain freezes.
The guy looks helpless. He's drunk. He's old. He's weathered.
While I stand inside, I pull on the unlocked door toward me to make sure he doesn't open it. We make eye contact and our dance begins. He looks at me like as if he's a small child, yet is well over twice my elder.
He raises his hands in front of his face, folding them together like a child learning how to pray, as if I was preparing to jump through the glass and start rumbling.
It was his plea for mercy.
Public urination lands you a non-coveted spot on the sex offenders list, which can ban you from certain homeless shelters. (A man recently froze to death in Grand Rapids because he was denied a night in a shelter because it was too close to a public school).
"Sorry, I had to go," he says, among other mumblings.
In my anger and disgust, I want him to pay, but all I could muster was to open the door and say, "Don't do that here. Please find another bathroom." He continues his plea and eventually leaves.
Immediately, I fill up a Nalgene bottle from the sink and dump it outside, trying to wash away the pee. Then I head downstairs, fuming, scouring the basement for our red bucket. I find it and pour a cap of bleach in it, filling the rest with water, finally dumping it outside while Tingley holds the door.
With mumbles and disgruntled speech, I verbally vent to the guys and forget about it...until lunch.
"Uh oh, did you use bleach on the sidewalk?" Derek asks.
I look down. My favorite shirt. White spots. Destroyed.
Tonight there's an important party (hypocritically enough, I wore my best clothes), so I drive home to change, all the way, of course, blaming the walk-by pisser.
As I'm crossing the street on the way back, all I can think about is the look on this stranger's face, hands folded, begging for mercy.
And it reminds me of me.
I've done this before. (A story for another day).
There was a time I got drunk as a teenager. I came home, thinking my mother was going to be sleeping, peacefully unaware of her son's antics. After stumbling through the door, I stroll into the computer room, and there she is, watching TV on the couch. Playing it cool, I make small talk, then sign onto AOL and pretend like everything's normal.
She knew. (And FYI, this has since become a favorite story of mine to tell at family gatherings. I'm sure she's thrilled every time she has to relive it.)
So I go to bed, thinking I'm James Bond, reveling in the thought that I'd blown past mother's homeland security on Sunset Drive.
Then the room starts spinning. The puke alarm clock starts ringing.
Tip-toe running to the bathroom, I don't make it. A vomit tsunami rushes out of my inner-most being, tagging the carpet and splashing onto the bathroom floor.
Panicking, I close the door and begin "mopping" with a bath towel.
And then I hear a knock. The dreaded knock.
My drunk heart drops. Busted.
My mother opens the door, and I look up like a wet dog, seeped in my own puke pool.
She looks at me and simply says, "Go to bed."
When I wake up the next morning, I assemble fuzzy memories, hoping it was just a dream, but quickly realizing it was a real nightmare. Confronting me at the kitchen counter, she says, "Aaron, you were pretty drunk last night, weren't you?"
And I have the nerve to lie.
"No," I reply.
"Yes, you were. I could smell you when you walked in," she says.
Amazingly, I have the audacity to lie again, fabricating a story about friends of friends daring me to drink vodka or some booze that made me unknowingly drunk, when the truth is, I set out to bong beers. I was trying to throw randoms under the bus.
But still, my mother cleaned up my mess. She had mercy on me. Why?
Because of her immeasurable love for me. It broke her heart realizing her son drank, and shattered it while mopping up my boozey vomit in the middle of the night.
What my mother felt, and what I caught a taste of this morning, is a glimpse into the depth of God's mercy on us, despite our disobedience and poor choices.
This old street man, with his tattered hands elevated, looked me in the eyes to remind me of the mercy I've been shown: by God and others.
And I think of all the times we've collectively peed on God's doorstep, and the sheer volume of requests where we've stood before the Creator, our hands held out, asking for mercy, not wrath.
"Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment!" (James 2:12-13)
"Someone's pissing on our door!" I yell to the guys, and begin walking over for a confrontation.
By this time, the man's waving his junk around and is well on his way to watering our doorstep. I push my face up to the window to give him the evil eye, yet he continues, though now somewhat shocked, turning, subsequently spraying urine on our window.
The puddle starts rolling down the sidewalk toward the street.
"Call the cops," the guys say, and my brain freezes.
The guy looks helpless. He's drunk. He's old. He's weathered.
While I stand inside, I pull on the unlocked door toward me to make sure he doesn't open it. We make eye contact and our dance begins. He looks at me like as if he's a small child, yet is well over twice my elder.
He raises his hands in front of his face, folding them together like a child learning how to pray, as if I was preparing to jump through the glass and start rumbling.
It was his plea for mercy.
Public urination lands you a non-coveted spot on the sex offenders list, which can ban you from certain homeless shelters. (A man recently froze to death in Grand Rapids because he was denied a night in a shelter because it was too close to a public school).
"Sorry, I had to go," he says, among other mumblings.
In my anger and disgust, I want him to pay, but all I could muster was to open the door and say, "Don't do that here. Please find another bathroom." He continues his plea and eventually leaves.
Immediately, I fill up a Nalgene bottle from the sink and dump it outside, trying to wash away the pee. Then I head downstairs, fuming, scouring the basement for our red bucket. I find it and pour a cap of bleach in it, filling the rest with water, finally dumping it outside while Tingley holds the door.
With mumbles and disgruntled speech, I verbally vent to the guys and forget about it...until lunch.
"Uh oh, did you use bleach on the sidewalk?" Derek asks.
I look down. My favorite shirt. White spots. Destroyed.
Tonight there's an important party (hypocritically enough, I wore my best clothes), so I drive home to change, all the way, of course, blaming the walk-by pisser.
As I'm crossing the street on the way back, all I can think about is the look on this stranger's face, hands folded, begging for mercy.
And it reminds me of me.
I've done this before. (A story for another day).
There was a time I got drunk as a teenager. I came home, thinking my mother was going to be sleeping, peacefully unaware of her son's antics. After stumbling through the door, I stroll into the computer room, and there she is, watching TV on the couch. Playing it cool, I make small talk, then sign onto AOL and pretend like everything's normal.
She knew. (And FYI, this has since become a favorite story of mine to tell at family gatherings. I'm sure she's thrilled every time she has to relive it.)
So I go to bed, thinking I'm James Bond, reveling in the thought that I'd blown past mother's homeland security on Sunset Drive.
Then the room starts spinning. The puke alarm clock starts ringing.
Tip-toe running to the bathroom, I don't make it. A vomit tsunami rushes out of my inner-most being, tagging the carpet and splashing onto the bathroom floor.
Panicking, I close the door and begin "mopping" with a bath towel.
And then I hear a knock. The dreaded knock.
My drunk heart drops. Busted.
My mother opens the door, and I look up like a wet dog, seeped in my own puke pool.
She looks at me and simply says, "Go to bed."
When I wake up the next morning, I assemble fuzzy memories, hoping it was just a dream, but quickly realizing it was a real nightmare. Confronting me at the kitchen counter, she says, "Aaron, you were pretty drunk last night, weren't you?"
And I have the nerve to lie.
"No," I reply.
"Yes, you were. I could smell you when you walked in," she says.
Amazingly, I have the audacity to lie again, fabricating a story about friends of friends daring me to drink vodka or some booze that made me unknowingly drunk, when the truth is, I set out to bong beers. I was trying to throw randoms under the bus.
But still, my mother cleaned up my mess. She had mercy on me. Why?
Because of her immeasurable love for me. It broke her heart realizing her son drank, and shattered it while mopping up my boozey vomit in the middle of the night.
What my mother felt, and what I caught a taste of this morning, is a glimpse into the depth of God's mercy on us, despite our disobedience and poor choices.
This old street man, with his tattered hands elevated, looked me in the eyes to remind me of the mercy I've been shown: by God and others.
And I think of all the times we've collectively peed on God's doorstep, and the sheer volume of requests where we've stood before the Creator, our hands held out, asking for mercy, not wrath.
"Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment!" (James 2:12-13)
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
two cents
The neighborhood where we've planted our business growing. It's changing. It used to be the roughest part of downtown. Tomorrow night we'll go to a fancy party where the short film we created is being premiered, and all the who's who of the city will be in attendance.
But yet, the neighborhood remains a mix of the swanky and downtrodden.
Yesterday, we were talking to a guy who owns a music venue on the strip, and we started swapping stories about panhandlers. Naively, when asked for change, I've always thought they really needed to use the bus (though on many occasions, they've walked in a direction opposite of the stop), but this guy lives on a different part of the street, where drugs and sex are the currency.
On a delivery walk this afternoon, warm for February yet rainy, a man stopped me, asking for gas money. He had (what I'm assuming) is crack pipe burns on his lips.
Then there's Rodney, who is mentally challenged but a man of God, who comes in regularly and asks if he can help. He brought our mail to the post office last week in exchange for a few minutes of warmth on our couch.
There's another guy who helped us bring in a chair last week. He openly admitted to being an alcoholic, and asked for a dollar for a beer to go to the liquor store down the street in exchange for his 15 seconds of labor. I told him I didn't want to buy him beer, and he responded by criticizing me, saying, "What? You don't drink?"
I told him I drink occasionally, but it's not adversely affecting the rest of my life.
I'm torn between the Scriptures that often come to mind when I'm faced with these situations. There's times when I have compassion, there's times when I don't. James 2 is a perfect example:
But yet, the neighborhood remains a mix of the swanky and downtrodden.
Yesterday, we were talking to a guy who owns a music venue on the strip, and we started swapping stories about panhandlers. Naively, when asked for change, I've always thought they really needed to use the bus (though on many occasions, they've walked in a direction opposite of the stop), but this guy lives on a different part of the street, where drugs and sex are the currency.
On a delivery walk this afternoon, warm for February yet rainy, a man stopped me, asking for gas money. He had (what I'm assuming) is crack pipe burns on his lips.
Then there's Rodney, who is mentally challenged but a man of God, who comes in regularly and asks if he can help. He brought our mail to the post office last week in exchange for a few minutes of warmth on our couch.
There's another guy who helped us bring in a chair last week. He openly admitted to being an alcoholic, and asked for a dollar for a beer to go to the liquor store down the street in exchange for his 15 seconds of labor. I told him I didn't want to buy him beer, and he responded by criticizing me, saying, "What? You don't drink?"
I told him I drink occasionally, but it's not adversely affecting the rest of my life.
I'm torn between the Scriptures that often come to mind when I'm faced with these situations. There's times when I have compassion, there's times when I don't. James 2 is a perfect example:
My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, don't show favoritism. Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man in shabby clothes also comes in. If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, "Here's a good seat for you," but say to the poor man, "You stand there" or "Sit on the floor by my feet," have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him? But you have insulted the poor. Is it not the rich who are exploiting you? Are they not the ones who are dragging you into court? Are they not the ones who are slandering the noble name of him to whom you belong?
If you really keep the royal law found in Scripture, "Love your neighbor as yourself," you are doing right. But if you show favoritism, you sin and are convicted by the law as lawbreakers. For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it. For he who said, "Do not commit adultery," also said, "Do not murder." If you do not commit adultery but do commit murder, you have become a lawbreaker.
Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment!
Faith and Deeds
What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.But someone will say, "You have faith; I have deeds."
Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by what I do.You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.
There's also Jesus' comments in Luke 6:29-31, and 31-34 (via The Message):
"To you who are ready for the truth, I say this: Love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer for that person. If someone slaps you in the face, stand there and take it. If someone grabs your shirt, giftwrap your best coat and make a present of it. If someone takes unfair advantage of you, use the occasion to practice the servant life. No more tit-for-tat stuff. Live generously.
"Here is a simple rule of thumb for behavior: Ask yourself what you want people to do for you; then grab the initiative and do it for them! If you only love the lovable, do you expect a pat on the back? Run-of-the-mill sinners do that. If you only help those who help you, do you expect a medal? Garden-variety sinners do that. If you only give for what you hope to get out of it, do you think that's charity? The stingiest of pawnbrokers does that.
And, finally, there's the admonition in Romans 14:13 to not put any stumbling block in others paths, which is readily applicable when your pocket change may go to crack or booze or prostitutes.
Interestingly enough, it talks about not judging (something I do instantly when I'm asked for change).
"Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister."
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
mugabe
It's being reported that Zimbabwean dictator Robert Mugabe has put his hand out to celebrate his 85th birthday in unthinkable excess, while nearly all people in the country are starving and unemployed. Here's the dictator's wish list...
Birthday list
2,000 bottles of champagne — Moët & Chandon and ’61 Bollinger
500 bottles of whisky — Johnny Walker Blue Label, 22-year-old Chivas
8,000 lobsters
100kg king prawns
3,000 ducks
4,000 portions of caviar
8,000 boxes of Ferrero Rocher
16,000 eggs
3,000 cakes — chocolate and vanilla
4,000 packs of pork sausages
500kg cheese
4,000 packets of crackers
If you want to support a cause that will actually help the people of Zim, visit VC's website here.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Friday, February 06, 2009
cupoftea
Idumpedawholecupofteaintomycomputerandnowthespacebarandenterkeyarebusted.butthankGodiwasabletogetthefilesout.
help send emily to zimbabwe
Friends, I've been to Zimbabwe twice. At first, it seemed like an unlikely partnership, but both trips have been literally life-changing. Now, my amazing girlfriend electric Emily is going in April. (Editorial note: Emily made her decision to go independently of our relationship).
Here's Emily's support letter; let me know if you want to help send her to Zim!
Here's Emily's support letter; let me know if you want to help send her to Zim!
Dear friends and family,
It’s with sheer excitement and anticipation that I write to you! A few months ago, I met with friends and was given the opportunity to join a team of young adults heading to
Though I signed up with eagerness, I wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting into. I have heard stories over the last few months from friends who have been a part of the Zimbabwe Missions team in the past, and was educated on the nation’s history and current state of affairs. Not a pretty picture to say the least.
Once a thriving nation and Africa’s “bread basket,”
But hope is not lost.
Through Vital Connections, the long-standing ministry in
The group I have the privilege of joining through Vital Connections and
We’ll also be traveling to local villages to work in feeding centers and orphanages, delivering much needed supplies. The team will be developing a children’s program that we can perform many times to connect with children and their families.
Our goal is to involve as many friends, family, and community members as possible for this missions project. Involvement will be in the form of support teams:
• Team members traveling to
• Prayer supporters
• Financial supporters
I don’t want to sound cliché, but prayer truly is the foundation in which this trip is possible. Our team wants to be following the Spirit’s direction in which He takes us—both before and during our time in
Because of this, we will need as many prayer supporters rallying for us in Christ.
Though our economy is tight, I strongly believe the Body can work together to do Kingdom work and continue to build this bridge to
c/o Kim Rankens
I want to thank you ahead of time in joining me on this great adventure Christ has impressed upon my heart.
Your friendship, prayer and financial support makes all this possible. I‘m eager to report back to you the ways in which Christ moved in the hearts of our team and the new friendships we will have in Zimbabwe.
In Christ,
Emily
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