moving on

We're moving on Saturday, July 5.

Our new place is only 1.2 miles away.

And we'll have a moving truck.

Shout at me if you're interested.

zim at the polls

Zimbabwe is "voting" today.

In a video clip on the BBC, Robert Mugabe, Zim's dictator and sole presidential candidate, talks to journalists after casting his ballot. A reporter asks, "How are you feeling today...?"

"Very fit. Very fit. Very optimistic. Upbeat. And hungry."

Hungry?

Hungry!?

Hungry!!!

This is one of the most backwards statements in history.

A dictator who oppresses his own people in every area of their lives, leaving (not leading) a starving nation to fend for themselves, while he sits in a comfortable castle awaiting death, daily becoming one of the richest people on the continent, casts his vote for his own rigged election, itself fueled by violence and murder and deception, and essentially shouts to the world, "I'm hungry."

Hungry for what?

Hungry for more.

More food.

More money.

More power.

More violence.

More castles.

More mirrors.

More of everything, for him, and anyone else willing to put the deaf-and-blind comfort of a few above the cries and suffering of the multitude.

But it's simply more evil.

And we must pray against evil, even "overcome evil with good." (Romans 12:21) And at times, it seems impossible, futile. "But everything is possible for him who believes," Jesus says in Mark 9:23.

The crafty look on Bob's face in the interview reminds me of the story of The Rich Man and Lazarus from Luke 16:19-31, where the rich man looks past Lazarus, a beggar outside his kingdom who longed to "eat what fell from the rich man's table."

They both die, the rich man parked in Hell, Lazarus in Heaven. From Hell, the rich man catches a vision of Lazarus, and says:

"Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire."

Abraham replies that it would be impossible to pass from one state to the next, inferring that turning off the cries of this earth, with its temporary self-indulgence, will reap eternal consequences.

a brother from another mother

A quote from one of my brothers in Zim:

My hope and faith is God for in him I move and have my being. I'm nothing wthout God. So to say I owe him all I have,my life and my strength. The political situation is so bad but our God is greater than all the powers of this world. In Isaiah he says"no any weapon fashioned against you shall prosper". Prices of goods are hiking like hell broke loose.

jesus for president

Last night Barr Dogg and I checked out the Jesus for President tour, featuring Shaine Claiborne, Chris Haw, and a couple guys with banjos, drums and a premier combination of high and low vocals.

They weren't pushing American political agendas, endorsing Obama or McCain or Bush-bashing.

Instead, they're advocating a subversive lifestyle that counteracts all the noise blasting from political podiums. Real change takes place when small groups of people (in this case, Jesus-followers) catch a vision and start impacting the world around them, not waiting for a political system to administer mercy and justice.)

They illustrate how Jesus undermined the whole Roman Empire to become King over all.

They (and the book) examine biblical history and the establishment of empire(s), challenging America and shaking up sleepy people in church pews. I would slaughter their message if I tried to summarize, but it's a timely discussion.

(On a side note, Coldplay's new album is amazing. Strawberry Swing, Lost! and Lovers in Japan / Reign of Love are special.)

one jetta on the rocks, please

It was an exciting morning. On my way to sign up for my first gym membership in two years, I discovered this scene in my parking lot:


Notice the rocks beneath the tires and the orange cone. On my window was a business card from the city Protective Services Officer, which read:

Your car popped out of gear. It is being held in place by rocks. if you need help please call number front.

Thanks.

I've been debating lately whether my bike or car is more unreliable, and after seeing this, the car wins in a landslide. Last week I was musing about the Jetta, and started thinking about all our trials, and how it would be funny to put together a short film about our life together. Then I thought it might be too much like the rental car commercials where the car talks to the owner, so I'm going to have to be a bit more original.

It would be easy to complain about my tattered ride and it's laundry list of misfortunes, but far less enticing knowing I'm among the elite 8 percent of the world's population that actually owns a car, a figure startling enough to keep my complaints minimal. On top of it all, I was able to take a picture of the scene on my Blackberry, which I can use to send email, photos, browse the Internet, call someone in an emergency, access Google maps or contact the tow truck dudes.

In short, I'm blessed, spoiled, fortunate, yet often ungrateful.

Upon further musing, I realized how easily the Jetta could've rolled into another, more expensive car, which would've been a financial disaster, as the Jetta rolls dirty on PLPD. The kindness of the rock-bearing city parking official is duly noted, making more than amends for the recent $20 parking ticket for parking "too close to the curb."

While my mechanic knows my car repair policy, "Only fix anything that prevents the car from physically moving," this issue may be one to look into, even though it's in direct opposition to the policy,* which I just realized leaves out a key transportation element: functioning breaks.

*(For insight into where I may have picked up such a policy, my Dad once bought a huge red pickup truck in Duluth that we drove back to the UP with very limited breaks. By limited, I mean virtually none. It was a brilliant display of driving by my Dad, planning out turns miles in advance, slowing to the proper turning speed or continuing on if traffic presented a conflict. For the record, there are very few stoplights or turns on the trek from Duluth to the UP. Today, my Dad fixes his own cars regularly and is very safe, even having a revelation years back to stop speeding. The red truck was a long time ago.)

deflated

Sad news from Zim yesterday, as the presidential rival pulled out of the run-off election, though the elections are still planned for Friday. One story claimed that dictator RBM said "that only God could remove him from office," and perhaps that should be our prayer.

In talking to a Zim friend on Saturday morning, prior to this announcement, he talked about the escalating violence in the country. The ruling party was knocking on people's doors, ordering them to attend a ruling party rally, or the police would return to beat everyone who missed it.

small is the new big

The Business Review wrote a story on how the film and video industry is impacting West Michigan, including those taking advantage of the new film incentives. She also talked about our company, and how we're approaching the industry differently. You can read it here.

Rapid Growth: LifeStraw

Rapid Growth did a short story on our upcoming project with LifeStraw, a personal water purification tool. You can read the story here.

go see this

Last night I saw Young @ Heart, a documentary that originally aired on the BBC about an elderly (70's, 80's, 90's) choir that takes on the challenge of rock. It really is amazing: hilarious, strange, sad, hopeful, perfect.

(If you're in GR, it's at the cheap theater: Celebration Woodland.)

(To avoid watching terrible movies, visit RottenTomatoes.com for reliable ratings.)

everything in its right place

I’ve been on a maddening house hunt. The intensity is equal to barking at opposing players on the football field.

Our current place? Perfect, but it holds a now vacant room that used to be our “office,” which, unfortunately, still costs money.

The hunt has been exhausting, sifting through endless Craigslist and rental websites daily, as if panning for gold, then rifling off emails and phone messages to strangers, only to attempt to sound intelligent when they call back, “Which place is this again?”

“Oh yeah, that place. How’s the area? What’s the parking? Laundry? Gas bills? When can we meet? Let me check with my roommate.”

We’ve seen a heap of dives, been stood up three times (gosh!) and once told, “Our landlord is the worst landlord ever. He threw away half our stuff. And this area is kinda ghetto, someone tried to steal my friends car and shot at him.”

Great.

Another landlord told me about an exquisite paint job in her glorious apartment; the way she described it sounded like it would cost a fortune. “I think this is going to be a gem,” I confidently told my roommate Barry on the way there, watching his GPS. Turns out, it was an OCD painter who rented the house before us, who allegedly stopped paying rent, went insane and meticulously painted every square inch of the apartment in wild patterns of purple and green, even pink.

As you can imagine, the often-fragile, single male ego clashes with such a color scheme.

However, there’s something about the east side of this city that’s stolen my heart, and I was determined to continue living in it. Two nights ago I was peddling my bike around the eastern neighborhoods at dusk, pen and paper in hand, scribbling down phone numbers and addresses and little notes (“looks abandoned,”) like a doctor penning illegible prescriptions.

And then I saw her.

She was an old mansion, though we would only take a piece of her. She was perfect: first floor, great area, affordable, available, amenitiable (new word).

I scheduled a viewing for yesterday at 4:45.

At 4:25, the owner called. “Sorry, the place has been rented.”

“Oh,” I said. Not much else to say. I’ve drank plenty of rejection.

It left me angry, exhausted, pissed about perceived perseverance without any tangible results, calling out to God for a solution.

“Okay, one more round of Craigslist,” I reason.

And then I saw her: But she was a new “her.”

“Hi, I’m calling about the place in Cherry Hill,” I said. Now an expert at asking the proper questions to avoid monumental disappointments and pink walls, I was walking through it within 20 minutes of the phone call.

And I knew it was finally her. I called Barry.

“I say we rock this one,” I said. Maybe I didn’t deliver the message with the three C’s (calm, cool, collected). It was probably more like, “Hey dude, this place is tight and I’m tired and I think we should rent it.”

Anyways, back to the story.

At 9 p.m., we walked through: Wood floors, tall ceilings, spacey, amentiable, vintage.

“Let’s do it,” Barry says.

The check was written, handshakes were shared, and everything has its right place.

“Nice work,” Barry says.

“It's grace, man,” I reply.

And it is.

Thanks, Everything.

news

Rapid Growth wrote a story on our company move today. Click to read.

zim aid crisis

A picture is worth a thousand words. Read more about the aid crisis on the BBC.