rip: 1996-today

The Jetta died today.

(It's not technically "dead," but dangerous to drive and the fix-it bill is ridiculous.)

I'm still in shock. It hasn't sunk in. We've been through so much.

If anyone hears any amazing deals on crappy cars, let me know.

media: studio launch

The Business Review wrote this story on our studio launch. Remember to check out our launch party on Friday, December 12 from 6-10 p.m. at 40 S. Division, as seen below.

tour//creo: you're invited

support zim tonight

Tonight from 7 to 9 p.m., Vital Connections is hosting a Celebration and Silent Auction to raise awareness and support for Zimbabwe. It'll also be the official launch of the Zim Worship Project, the 16-track CD we recorded in April.


Zim Worship Project: Official Trailer from Vital Connections on Vimeo.

All proceeds from CD sales will go directly to orphans in Zim.

Tickets are $20.

There's stuff up for auction.

Mosiac Space
25 South Division Ave #225
Grand Rapids, MI 49503

See you tonight!

Visit www.helpzimnow.com for more information on VC.

november ride

I'd heard about Lake Michigan surfers before. Then I met electric Emily, who spent five years surfing in California before coming back to the people under the bridge.

This afternoon, she heard waves were out at Holland State park, so we headed west, surfboard strapped to the roof of her Lumina. Trees barren or bursting with color. It was 50 degrees out. Surfing in Michigan? In November? Really?

"This is my first documentary," she says, as I'm rolling video. Can't miss this.

We arrived and crammed into the wetsuits under towels (not as fluid as it sounds) in the parking lot with her other surfer friend, who thankfully let me borrow his extra wet suit hat. Emily had never surfed Lake Michigan, so I stayed back on the beach to absorb her wisdom and roll footage.

She rocked it. It was like riding a bike for her. She gracefully rode three long waves right away, flashing the peace sign before coming back in to fetch me. "I've never taught anyone who hasn't stood up," she says.

California girls. Did I mention she's battling a cold?

Talk about pressure. Your sick girlfriend just dominated Lake Michigan and you don't know what you're doing, only that you're wearing her extra wetsuit, and it's really tight. Really tight.

Emily tells me to stand with my legs at shoulder width, pushes me, calls me "goofy" (footed) and gives me a quick surfing lesson on the beach. We wade out in the great lake, dodging waves, my ankle strapped to the board, not knowing what to expect.

She tells me to get on the board, with my "chin by the marker" and points me in the right direction, her hand holding onto the tail. The waves start crashing.

Then she shoves me off and yells at me to start paddling when the right wave comes.

First try. Failure. Bail. Felt good though.

Second wave. We're moving. I try to stand up. Semi-success.

What!?

I'm in shock. I'm standing on a surf board, actually riding a wave without falling.

When I look back, her hands are in the air. I return the gesture. Air pumps.

Then I fall and it's over. But it felt amazing. Makes you want more.

"Second time," she says, smiling. Great teacher. Lucky student.

Third wave. Disaster.

I'm satisfied and quit before something breaks. I give her the gloves back, she grabs the key from the back of my (her) wetsuit and tells me to run to the car to change, while she wades out into the lake for another round.

We celebrated her first Great Lakes ride and my first ever surf by eating too much Mexican food at Tres Lobos.

It was delicious; and all is well.

my vote

Jesus for President.

viva la vida

Every 13 years or so, someone does something that flattens me. Last night, electric Emily picks me up at "4:30 sharp" for an engagement party in Ann Arbor. "I don't even know how to get to Ann Arbor," I tell her as we're nearing the freeway, still a bit frustrated from the day.

She's driving and looking at directions; I ask if she needs help.

She declines. "I got it."

As we're about to get onto the freeway, she hands me two tickets.

They say "Coldplay."

"Who went?" I ask, confused, curious.

"Nobody yet," she says, HUGE smile.

I look again:

November 3.
7:30 p.m.
The Palace of Auburn Hills.

At some point in the next 30 seconds, I begin to realize she punked me in the best way possible.

"No. You're not serious," I say, followed by a series of shock and awe stutters.

(She has this habit of stealing fluid language from my mouth.)

"Yes. I'm serious," she says. A surprise trip to Coldplay in Detroit for the Viva la Vida tour?

"You're crazy," I say. Wow. She was serious. This serious:

Serious enough to fabricate a story about her friend's fake fiance and ask me before if I like avocados and hummus for the amazing sandwiches and snacks neatly stored in the back seat.

Well into the morning after, I'm still in this "I-can't-believe-you-did-it-stage," but I realized during the show there's no reason, no earning, no scales, no paybacks; she did it because it's her nature to be giving and generous. It's an experience I'm grateful for.

The show was the best either of us has seen.

If the Palace wasn't sold out, it was about ten seats shy.

As she would say, "It was bomb."

The boys from Britain opened the concert as they open their album, plus explosions, laser beams, video, a tight stage and 15,000 people. They played almost the entire Viva la Vida album, including favorites "Lovers in Japan," "Strawberry Swing," "Lost" and "Viva la Vida" (Emily almost lost it here):



I also experienced a spiritual moment that's locked away in "Death and All His Friends," as confetti fell from the rafters.

At one point, they ran into the stands, where two acoustics, a mandolin and harmonica were waiting, and they serenaded us with "The Scientist." A quick shout out for rocking the mandolin, making Courier appear way hipper. (Here's a video from someone at the show):



My respect level for them as musicians and performers rose dramatically. They were spot on. At one point, Chris Martin messed up, laughed and moved on, proving they're only human.

They also played "Fix You," a personal favorite, and a fast-paced "Yellow" for the encore.

In the end, electric Emily got me good. Thank you. I don't know what else to say.

fall to summer

On Saturday night we had a show at our studio, where I sang a song called “Summer to Winter.” It’s about the last couple of years, the struggles and low valleys of the business, and ultimately, the value of surrender.

Heard the summer out calling
Singing, “Winter, come in”
But my eyes keep on falling
Asleep at the wheel

And I’m sick of rejection
So tired of projections
That keep falling short
Leaving my imperfections

And my legs have grown tired
From walking on a wire
So I reach out to You
A sinking man with the blues

Singing, “Come quick to save me
Cause I’ve fallen in too deep
Need your oceans of mercy
Cause You promised not to leave

This morning I received two packages. Expecting a winter jacket delivery, I opened up the boxes and discovered a piece of paper with a list of groceries. Neatly packed are enough groceries to last for weeks. It’s from my sister, who lives 400 miles away.

I didn’t bring any lunch today.

I’m running low on food at home.

This is love and grace and generosity.

Thanks Ali and Matt.

I’m not great with numbers. Recently, I calculated the sales for the business, and discovered we’re over double than all of last year, with checks arriving in the coming months that may take the edge off winter’s sting, or help us make a few dents with our gracious lenders.

So often I forget to give thanks, always looking ahead to the next big thing, forgetting to look back at the evidence, to discover the stories birthed through struggle.

All this has happened during an economic crisis and an international climate of panic. I’m far too uneducated in economics to predict exactly what it should mean for the business, but I know enough that it shouldn’t mean growth. All I know, as the evidence and my Dad suggest, is that we’re wrapped in unfathomable Mercy and Grace.

As Jon Foreman wrote, “Let that be enough.”

tell your friends

Simply summarized, daily life in Zim is a mess. This morning I received this email:

Back here its bad to mention for things ain't going on well. We thought the power sharing was going to change things, turned to be worse. Anyway, hard times never kill. For Paul says consider it all joy in times of trials, for we can do all things possible thru him who strengthens us. For all the things that I want to overcome now I need God's power my brother. Things are going up everyday again.

On Thursday, November 13 from 7 to 9 p.m., we have a chance to respond. Vital Connections is hosting a Celebration and Silent Auction to raise awareness and support for Zimbabwe. It'll also be the official launch of the Zim Worship Project, the 16-track CD we recorded in April.

All proceeds from CD sales will go directly to orphans in Zim.

Tickets for the Celebration are $20.

There's stuff up for auction (Wii, iPhone, Hotels, etc).

To order tickets, contact Josh at 269.303.8649 or josh.white219@gmail.com.

Mosiac Space
25 South Division Ave #225
Grand Rapids, MI 49503

(I'll be posting more media in the coming weeks as the CD is completed, the website launches and the videos are ready. Please email me if you have any questions or want to get involved, there's opportunities available for anyone.)

walking on water

“The writer does want to be published; the painter urgently hopes that someone will see the finished canvas (van Gogh was denied that satisfaction of having his work bought and appreciated during his life time; no wonder the pain was more than he could bear); the composer needs his music to be heard. Art is communication, and if there is no communication it is as thought the work had been still-born. The reader, viewer, listener, usually grossly underestimates his importance. If a reader cannot create a book along with the writer, the book will never come to life. Creative involvement: that's the basic difference between reading a book and watching TV.”

-Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle

venue change

The venue for next week's show changed. Details above.

my first presidential rally

I went to a Barack Obama rally downtown today.

This doesn’t mean I support Obama, nor does it mean I support McCain. I’ve assumed the stance of an Independent this election, though my voter registration card (and brief voting history) would tell a different story.

This was an experiment in observation.

I’ve never seen a U.S. President (or candidate) in person.

Perhaps, when Palin and McCain come back around, I’ll see them, too, though last time, I opted for Jim, and I wasn’t disappointed with that decision.

The gates opened at 7:30 a.m., and by the time we arrived at 7:40, we were about a quarter mile down from the entrance and wrapped around a corner, amongst a sea of people. The political evangelists must’ve arrived at 5 a.m.

I guessed early on that about 80 percent of the people in line were under 25, but the age diversity leveled off as the morning went on and the crowd got bigger. I commented how young people (myself included) have little historical perspective, something my Dad has been quick to remind me of during our lively exchanges this season.

My generation has been too busy having everything handed to us on a silver platter.

Obama’s speech was set right outside city hall, with a couple kids hanging on GR's giant signature artwork while Secret Service guys kept watch on the roofs of surrounding buildings. Someone opened with a prayer, throwing out a heap of pious language that sounded distant, like the monotone King James Scriptures read to us in Sunday School.

A few local politicians spoke; a small plane buzzed overhead, dragging a sign to vote for another local politician. Time passed, I sent photos and emails as a play-by-play of sorts.

The crowd got excited.

They chanted for Obama and change.

They waived signs.

Obama was introduced by a local blue collar worker hit by these hard times, who, bless his heart, made a few nervous mistakes telling his story, “My husban—wife,” and, “I’m looking forward to retiring my wife…retiring with my wife.”

We’ll give him some grace. I’d probably stand up there and just stare at everyone.

Sometimes I can't even play a guitar in front of people without shaking.

Obama came out to energetic music and an equally energetic crowd. Hands holding cameras and cell phones flooded the air. He spoke about the bailout plan, the bleeding auto industry, economic policies, health care, government reform, Iraq, hitting all the stops on the campaign trail.

If you watch the news, the media is pretty much predicting an apocalypse.

The debate on Friday night literally put me to sleep after an exhausting week of work. I’ve been having discussions with people I trust, talking politics over hot drinks, reading a book or two, watching the news, paying attention for the first time in years.

But something doesn’t sit right with me on either side.

I will vote on November 4.

But we’ve pigeon holed each other. I don’t like labels. It’s like playing the gnome game at a carnival. You can hit some issues right, but others inevitably pop up.

Honestly, I wish there was more to say.

I thought the rally would be a bit livelier, but it is West Michigan.

I thought there would be better stories to tell.

But if you’d heard one speech, you’ve heard them all.

I felt like I could lip synch portions of it.

I’d feel the same for McCain and Palin.

After the rally, someone said they experienced an emotional, not rational response to Obama’s speech. We've become enamored with the idea that either candidate will make everything new.

Maybe those of us who hope in Jesus have lost hope in real change. Obama made a comment saying that we are the change. We control our own destiny.

For some, it’s easier to believe in a tangible in-the-flesh politician than a Jesus who rose from the dead, and called the rest to do the same, spiritually speaking.

But I guess we’ll all have our say when November comes.