For those that think dreams can't come true...for those that think that we should play it safe...for those who think we should conform to the norm...this is for you. Read the story below. And if you don't believe it can happen - watch the video afterwards. . . .
Live your dreams - GO FOR IT!
+++++++
CHICAGO—Although she stood to lose her friends, her family, and everything she had worked for her entire life, classically trained dancer Cassie Lisbon, 18, put it all on the line Saturday night when she performed a highly controversial ballet/hip-hop-fusion routine at the Chicago Academy for the Arts' annual spring recital.
The routine, which defied all reason and social order by combining the elegance of ballet with dangerous, never-before-seen "street" moves such as spinning on one's knees and snapping fingers, reportedly lasted four and a half minutes. According to Lisbon, the bold and provocative number was the culmination of a month of rehearsals, 18 years of feeling like she was destined for something special, and six weeks of dating a troubled, but gifted, in-your-face competitive dancer and high school dropout.
Lisbon prepares to bring it.
"It was like my whole life was just preparation for that one moment," said Lisbon, who added that everything had gone silent as she stood backstage before her routine and suddenly realized that it was this recital or never. "I danced the only way I know how—from the heart. Because in the 'hood and on the dance floor there are no second chances."
"I don't care what they say," Lisbon added. "It's my life, and I'm playing for keeps."
Taking the featured spot in the school's final showcase after her uptight former rival, Annabelle, realized she had been following someone else's dream all along and dropped out at the last minute, Lisbon shocked her teachers and fellow students when the classical Stravinsky piece she was dancing to abruptly stopped and morphed into a slightly faster version with a bass beat and rapidly spoken vocals.
"At first I thought something was wrong with the sound system," fellow student Maggie Pinchion recalled. "But when I saw Cassie smile and take out that folding chair, I realized she was just bringing together two radically different worlds to show us all that we can follow the music that beats in our own hearts. It was so tight."
While school administrators are still baffled as to where such a talented ballet dancer could have learned a second form of dancing, some speculate Lisbon may have ventured out into the rough but vibrant neighborhoods surrounding the private academy.
"I can only assume that Cassie must have visited one of the local nightclub establishments where teens hang out and perform spontaneous, elaborately choreographed one-on-one dance competitions to the music of a young gentleman named Soulja Boy, among others," head instructor James Tillingford said. "Of course, there's no way Cassie could have infiltrated this subculture, unless she entered a biracial relationship with a young man who wanted a better life for himself than stealing cars and playing ball, someone who could teach her how to let go of her formal training—along with the pain of her mother's untimely death—and just let it flow so she could, in turn, convince his hardened, cynical friends that she was 'not bad for a white girl.'"
Lisbon, with one of her many new ethnically diverse friends, finds the strength—and rhythm—to show everyone.
Continued Tillingford, "But she'd have to really bring it."
The only student in the history of the form to realize that ballet is incapable of expressing a whole range of different but equally true emotions, Lisbon said the road to popping and locking onstage wasn't an easy one. At times, Lisbon admitted, she felt like giving up and just performing the highly technical routine of graceful leaps and spins she had been training for over the last decade. Fortunately, her friends were there to encourage her.
"I could never have done it without my new girl Shandra by my side, telling me I had a chance to be somebody and I shouldn't let anyone stop me from achieving my dreams, because where she's from, 'hope' is a four- letter word," Lisbon said. "I have to accept that full scholarship to Juilliard on my own terms."
"You can't rehearse for life," Lisbon added. "The rhythm is in you."
Lisbon expressed thanks for the support she received from her father, who thought she was throwing her life away with her "ridiculous dancing hobby," but made it to the recital to stand in the back and cheer her on anyway; her boyfriend, Tay, who not only taught Lisbon how to hear the beat of life but also performed a showstopping break-dance routine in the middle of her performance; and her new group of multiracial friends—especially Little Jay, who was tragically killed in a knife fight only two days before Lisbon's final performance.
Although she is excited to start her new life at Juilliard, Lisbon said she may defer enrollment for a year in order to mentor a promising, similar-looking sophomore who has plans to shake up next year's lower-budget recital in a style all her own.
++++++++
...as reported in The Onion.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Thoughts on randominity
That's right, randominity. What a ridonkulous word. I catch myself with random thoughts in my mind all of the time. Here are some:
Cereal has four stages: "boxed," "fresh" (the stage with newly poured milk), "soggy", and "mortar hard" after the leftover flakes dry out. How the f do they get so hard? You might as well simply take rock and epoxy it to the side of the bowl. I also wonder if there was a leak in your basement, if you could simply pour a bowl of Raisin Bran, enjoy 98% of it, and then past the remaining milky flakes over the hole? Wait, I'm going to market that. . . .
I love doing the dishes - placing dishes into the washer. (I use "love" loosely in this sentence). I hate unloading the dishwasher.
There's nothing better when you're with "the guys" than smoking a tobacco pipe. You just feel more manly. There's then nothing worse than the taste in your mouth for 3 days afterward.
On the road paved with good intentions, I am in great shape. In real life, I am not in good shape. Also, on the road paved with good intentions, I read all the time, am a perfect father and husband, a better friend, a better brother, a better son, and I don't procrastinate ever.
High education isn't necessary for all walks of life - I believe that. Not everyone needs to read poetry by Robert Frost, have a deep abiding knowledge of Presidential History, or even know what year the war of 1812 happened. But I know an adult who could take a few steps forward in that arena. I saw a sampling of his spelling recently. I mean, rock: R-O-K? Seriously?
Do animals have thoughts? Not dogs or (evil) cats, but cows? Chickens? What would a cow be thinking walking into a slaughterhouse?
"This is a great place! So many of my friends here. Cool - a big building and. . . .what the. . . oh crap . . . "
I'm so thankful that God created steak.
My oldest son's belly laugh is the greatest sound on earth. Tied with my youngest son's belly laugh.
New dream career: Cuban band pianist - or percussion player. I'm kidding, but seriously: it's my dream.
And where to study? It couldn't be anywhere but:
You thought I forgot how hot Appalachian was? You're wrong.
Randominity. Have a good day.
Cereal has four stages: "boxed," "fresh" (the stage with newly poured milk), "soggy", and "mortar hard" after the leftover flakes dry out. How the f do they get so hard? You might as well simply take rock and epoxy it to the side of the bowl. I also wonder if there was a leak in your basement, if you could simply pour a bowl of Raisin Bran, enjoy 98% of it, and then past the remaining milky flakes over the hole? Wait, I'm going to market that. . . .
I love doing the dishes - placing dishes into the washer. (I use "love" loosely in this sentence). I hate unloading the dishwasher.
There's nothing better when you're with "the guys" than smoking a tobacco pipe. You just feel more manly. There's then nothing worse than the taste in your mouth for 3 days afterward.
On the road paved with good intentions, I am in great shape. In real life, I am not in good shape. Also, on the road paved with good intentions, I read all the time, am a perfect father and husband, a better friend, a better brother, a better son, and I don't procrastinate ever.
High education isn't necessary for all walks of life - I believe that. Not everyone needs to read poetry by Robert Frost, have a deep abiding knowledge of Presidential History, or even know what year the war of 1812 happened. But I know an adult who could take a few steps forward in that arena. I saw a sampling of his spelling recently. I mean, rock: R-O-K? Seriously?
Do animals have thoughts? Not dogs or (evil) cats, but cows? Chickens? What would a cow be thinking walking into a slaughterhouse?
"This is a great place! So many of my friends here. Cool - a big building and. . . .what the. . . oh crap . . . "
I'm so thankful that God created steak.
My oldest son's belly laugh is the greatest sound on earth. Tied with my youngest son's belly laugh.
New dream career: Cuban band pianist - or percussion player. I'm kidding, but seriously: it's my dream.
And where to study? It couldn't be anywhere but:
You thought I forgot how hot Appalachian was? You're wrong.
Randominity. Have a good day.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Thoughts on stress. . .
For many reasons in my life currently, stress seems to be falling off of my shoulders. We have been wrestling with what to do with a bad situation regarding our neighbors. We have been wrestling with the general stress of life with two kids, a business, and me working another full time job. And I knew it was time to get past my stresses when I saw this public service announcement on TV recently, and it really spoke to me:
I will get past my stress and let it fall off of my shoulders. I will embrace the 60 degree days and love the park (like we did tonight). I will breathe deeply and fully and leave my stress behind tonight, because what good is stress? I will live - today - fully.
And no, I will not smother my kids.
I will get past my stress and let it fall off of my shoulders. I will embrace the 60 degree days and love the park (like we did tonight). I will breathe deeply and fully and leave my stress behind tonight, because what good is stress? I will live - today - fully.
And no, I will not smother my kids.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Thoughts on passion
I was reminded today about passion. No, I didn't spend my afternoon in front of some sordid movie, but rather, had about a one hour talk with a guy who lives with passion. And maybe it's because I'm a guy, but I want to live with passion also. I'm not content to simply sluff through life, paycheck to paycheck, week to week, watching my kids age, my hair gray, and my "wisdom" grow on account of my elderly status. I am, however, convinced that life is here to be lived - grabbed ahold of, and run with. Is life easy? No. But it is to be lived fully - because life is a gift.
And when your passion is put to use - it stirs passion in others.
Passion enables you to play basketball like Jordan.
Passion enables you to run like Eric Liddell (Chariots of Fire):
And passion enables you to sing like this:
All of this comes on the heels of watching one of the most stirring movies I've ever seen in my 28 years on earth. If you haven't seen "once", go rent it, go rent it right now, and let yourself be swept away. Music for Glen Hassard (the main guy) isn't simply a "fun thing to do" - it's passion, and it shows.
Passion. Without it lies the tame existence of the "eat, sleep, repeat" lifestyle. Without it, a man slowly becomes passive. Without it, a woman becomes deadened in her spirit. It's what every child is born with - what few humans die with - and what I desperately want to hold on to.
So I want to know - what are you passionate about?
And when your passion is put to use - it stirs passion in others.
Passion enables you to play basketball like Jordan.
Passion enables you to run like Eric Liddell (Chariots of Fire):
And passion enables you to sing like this:
All of this comes on the heels of watching one of the most stirring movies I've ever seen in my 28 years on earth. If you haven't seen "once", go rent it, go rent it right now, and let yourself be swept away. Music for Glen Hassard (the main guy) isn't simply a "fun thing to do" - it's passion, and it shows.
Passion. Without it lies the tame existence of the "eat, sleep, repeat" lifestyle. Without it, a man slowly becomes passive. Without it, a woman becomes deadened in her spirit. It's what every child is born with - what few humans die with - and what I desperately want to hold on to.
So I want to know - what are you passionate about?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Thoughts on similar, and yet so different (again)
One of the greatest feelings in the world? Holding and consoling my sad son.
One of the worst feelings in the world? Holding and consoling my sad son after he faceplanted HARD going down the stairs to the front door, while I, 8 steps above, watched in slow motion as he tripped and rolled all the way to the bottom.....
Sheesh it's scary to be a parent.
One of the worst feelings in the world? Holding and consoling my sad son after he faceplanted HARD going down the stairs to the front door, while I, 8 steps above, watched in slow motion as he tripped and rolled all the way to the bottom.....
Sheesh it's scary to be a parent.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Thoughts on my life changer
Man, I'm rolling with blog posts lately. Lately? More like always.
Anyways, I recently posted about "trouble" - my youngest child and a brief photo session we had with him in the living room. So, something needs to also be said about the other young unit of the Parsons family. I'm going to call him "my life changer."
Late February of 2003 was a landmark turning point in Ashley's and my life. As every young parent can attest to, we had one of those talks one evening that goes something like this:
"Jeremy, I feel weird."
"Weird? What do you mean?"
"I just feel a little nauseous, and I'm so tired."
"Man, I'm sorry, are you getting sick?"
"No, I think I'm pregnant, go get me a pregnancy test."
"What?"
"Yes, a pregnancy test, and be sure to get the kind that has two tests inside of it."
And, Friday evening, a nearly undiscernable line appeared on that test. It was faint enough for me to say (honestly) "I don't see anything." We went to bed.
We casually woke up late on Saturday in our house on 12th street in Greeley. And, because we woke up late, we woke up hungry. Ashley suggested breakfast, and, never the one to turn down food, I obliged. We went to The Kitchen - awesome food. Greasy. My place.
Like a slow crescendo, we talked about the previous night's event. And, despite my continual reminder that there "really wasn't" a line, Ashley grew more certain all of the time.
Saturday night, the 2nd test was taken. And the result? No doubts this time. Holy crap, we're having a baby. My life changer.
Micah.
My first born, a source of so much joy that I can't comprehend it. I look at him in wonder and think to myself "I can't believe he's mine."
He's the best Simpsons viewing partner (get your phones out and start dialing social services....) that there is. He laughs at my jokes. He's an encouragement (truly) to me in my life. He's smarter than me. He's kind and generous and giving and winsome. He steals the show. He's a world changer. And I couldn't be more proud.
Mostly - he's mine and I'm so thankful.
Anyways, I recently posted about "trouble" - my youngest child and a brief photo session we had with him in the living room. So, something needs to also be said about the other young unit of the Parsons family. I'm going to call him "my life changer."
Late February of 2003 was a landmark turning point in Ashley's and my life. As every young parent can attest to, we had one of those talks one evening that goes something like this:
"Jeremy, I feel weird."
"Weird? What do you mean?"
"I just feel a little nauseous, and I'm so tired."
"Man, I'm sorry, are you getting sick?"
"No, I think I'm pregnant, go get me a pregnancy test."
"What?"
"Yes, a pregnancy test, and be sure to get the kind that has two tests inside of it."
And, Friday evening, a nearly undiscernable line appeared on that test. It was faint enough for me to say (honestly) "I don't see anything." We went to bed.
We casually woke up late on Saturday in our house on 12th street in Greeley. And, because we woke up late, we woke up hungry. Ashley suggested breakfast, and, never the one to turn down food, I obliged. We went to The Kitchen - awesome food. Greasy. My place.
Like a slow crescendo, we talked about the previous night's event. And, despite my continual reminder that there "really wasn't" a line, Ashley grew more certain all of the time.
Saturday night, the 2nd test was taken. And the result? No doubts this time. Holy crap, we're having a baby. My life changer.
Micah.
My first born, a source of so much joy that I can't comprehend it. I look at him in wonder and think to myself "I can't believe he's mine."
He's the best Simpsons viewing partner (get your phones out and start dialing social services....) that there is. He laughs at my jokes. He's an encouragement (truly) to me in my life. He's smarter than me. He's kind and generous and giving and winsome. He steals the show. He's a world changer. And I couldn't be more proud.
Mostly - he's mine and I'm so thankful.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Thoughts on the Kansas City 10K
Another crazy post. Before we begin, can anyone make sense of scientology? And, can anything out there make scientology seem "rational?" Keep that in mind.....
I was reminded the other day about how much I love to run. For one of the first times in months, the sun warmed the ground in Kansas City, and a slight breeze made me believe once again that "yes, this isn't hell." What a long winter. I digress....
The trolley trail is located near my home and it makes for a great location to get 4 miles under my belt at a time. Yes, my fat behind still goes 4 miles at a decent pace. So not all is lost in terms of fitness in my world. And, on this particular day, there was nobody on the Trolley trail. The sky was a glorious deep shade of blue, speckled with sparse clouds blown by a wind out of the south. Alone, I settled into my rhythm, navigating around puddles and mud while my mind does what it always does while I run - rambles through incoherent thoughts. A sampling:
"How many steps until the bridge? 1,2,3,4,5,6,6,6,7,8,8,10,12. . .crap.. . . .my son counts better than me...did that guy just stare me down? Yeah he better drive away, but even if he came after me I think I could either take him, or outrun him...I mean I am a runner, and what's for dinner? I wonder if there's a 10K race I could do?...."
Which leads me to this: the point of my blog. You thought it was about running a 10K? Wrong.
I tried googling "Kansas City 10K" in order to figure out if I could possibly train for and finish an easy 10K in the spring or summer. Heck, even just googling that makes me feel more fit. Several results flashed onto my screen, one of which was titled:
Kansas City 10K
Perfect. Click.....and what do I see? Two guys in their twenties, holding a small trophy while shaking hands. One has really long hair, one has short hair but appears to have a small mustache beginning.
My first thought? "Man, those guys must be fast to have won the race....wait a minute....is that ratty, long, unwashed hair? Is that a peach fuzz mustache? Is that....a DRAGON on the wall behind them? It couldn't be....well, yes, it is....dungeons and dragons????????" Incredulous, I looked further.
This link for Kansas City 10K was, well, for a Dungeons and Dragons-esque tournament held right here in beautiful Kansas city....no doubt in the basement of one of the contestant's mother's home, where he resides in piles of unwashed clothing and dirty dishes. The title of the tournament? Kansas City 10K - meaning - 10K in prizes given out. And, I want to be clear, it's not D&D that they're playing, lest I have an incantation cast on me....you know, after their moms fix their dinner and they apply their pimple meds.
Folks, welcome to the world of Dreamblade. I had never heard of this phenomenon. Well, the winner of the Kansas City 10K tournament was So, here's the definition from everyone's favorite source of info, Wikipedia:
I am speechless.
um....................
um....................
SO, I love running......but I will most definitely not be in the Kansas City 10K.
I was reminded the other day about how much I love to run. For one of the first times in months, the sun warmed the ground in Kansas City, and a slight breeze made me believe once again that "yes, this isn't hell." What a long winter. I digress....
The trolley trail is located near my home and it makes for a great location to get 4 miles under my belt at a time. Yes, my fat behind still goes 4 miles at a decent pace. So not all is lost in terms of fitness in my world. And, on this particular day, there was nobody on the Trolley trail. The sky was a glorious deep shade of blue, speckled with sparse clouds blown by a wind out of the south. Alone, I settled into my rhythm, navigating around puddles and mud while my mind does what it always does while I run - rambles through incoherent thoughts. A sampling:
"How many steps until the bridge? 1,2,3,4,5,6,6,6,7,8,8,10,12. . .crap.. . . .my son counts better than me...did that guy just stare me down? Yeah he better drive away, but even if he came after me I think I could either take him, or outrun him...I mean I am a runner, and what's for dinner? I wonder if there's a 10K race I could do?...."
Which leads me to this: the point of my blog. You thought it was about running a 10K? Wrong.
I tried googling "Kansas City 10K" in order to figure out if I could possibly train for and finish an easy 10K in the spring or summer. Heck, even just googling that makes me feel more fit. Several results flashed onto my screen, one of which was titled:
Kansas City 10K
Perfect. Click.....and what do I see? Two guys in their twenties, holding a small trophy while shaking hands. One has really long hair, one has short hair but appears to have a small mustache beginning.
My first thought? "Man, those guys must be fast to have won the race....wait a minute....is that ratty, long, unwashed hair? Is that a peach fuzz mustache? Is that....a DRAGON on the wall behind them? It couldn't be....well, yes, it is....dungeons and dragons????????" Incredulous, I looked further.
This link for Kansas City 10K was, well, for a Dungeons and Dragons-esque tournament held right here in beautiful Kansas city....no doubt in the basement of one of the contestant's mother's home, where he resides in piles of unwashed clothing and dirty dishes. The title of the tournament? Kansas City 10K - meaning - 10K in prizes given out. And, I want to be clear, it's not D&D that they're playing, lest I have an incantation cast on me....you know, after their moms fix their dinner and they apply their pimple meds.
Folks, welcome to the world of Dreamblade. I had never heard of this phenomenon. Well, the winner of the Kansas City 10K tournament was So, here's the definition from everyone's favorite source of info, Wikipedia:
Dreamblade is a collectible miniatures game created by Wizards of the Coast that debuted on August 9, 2006, the day before Gen Con Indy. The game is a strategy contest that includes an element of chance which comes into play through various die rolls.
Similar to Magic: The Gathering, each game represents a battle between very powerful individuals, in this case psychics called "Dream Lords." These Dream Lords battle one another across the landscape of humanity's shared unconsciousness by spawning dream creatures out of human emotions, in particular Valor, Fear, Madness, and Passion. Although there are many collectible miniatures games available today, Dreamblade's restricted landscape and spawning rules (among other things) result in many aspects which are more similar to a collectible card game than a traditional miniature game.
I am speechless.
um....................
um....................
SO, I love running......but I will most definitely not be in the Kansas City 10K.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Thoughts on 2 dashed dreams
I ran across these old picture that someone emailed me a couple of years ago....sorry to dash your childhood dreams.
and even better.....
Merry Christmas.
and even better.....
Merry Christmas.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Thoughts on trouble
Ashley and I have a pretty keen sense of when trouble is brewing in our household. Whether it be a dirty diaper, or my boys digging into an ice cream bar or grabbing a pack of crayons to go "play" - as a parent you develop the keen sense that trouble is on its way. . .
Ladies and gentlemen....let me introduce you to 30 pounds of trouble. His name is Tyler, he's 2 (almost 3), has the raddest long hair ever, and is the king of making people laugh or swoon. He's never been cuter, or more fun. . . .and when he gave his mommy the big puppy dog eyes at bed time tonight and she got him up to come be with us on the couch, I knew trouble was brewing.
And thanks to my new Canon 50mm 1.4 lens, I was able to capture some of the trouble. . . . this little exchange with his mommy was great...
I am more proud of this guy than I could ever say. I love who he is, I love watching him grow, learn, inquire about simple things in life...I love that he loves his mom and I a lot - loves his brother like a best buddy/mentor - I love the way he goes through this life so winsomely, winning hearts of friends and strangers he might acquaint himself with in a grocery cart. I love his sense of humor, how much he loves the movie Cars, how he can't lay still through the night (good luck to his future wife), and his bed head in the morning.
I love everything about this little man - I love mostly that he's my son. I'll take trouble any day of the week.
Ladies and gentlemen....let me introduce you to 30 pounds of trouble. His name is Tyler, he's 2 (almost 3), has the raddest long hair ever, and is the king of making people laugh or swoon. He's never been cuter, or more fun. . . .and when he gave his mommy the big puppy dog eyes at bed time tonight and she got him up to come be with us on the couch, I knew trouble was brewing.
And thanks to my new Canon 50mm 1.4 lens, I was able to capture some of the trouble. . . . this little exchange with his mommy was great...
I am more proud of this guy than I could ever say. I love who he is, I love watching him grow, learn, inquire about simple things in life...I love that he loves his mom and I a lot - loves his brother like a best buddy/mentor - I love the way he goes through this life so winsomely, winning hearts of friends and strangers he might acquaint himself with in a grocery cart. I love his sense of humor, how much he loves the movie Cars, how he can't lay still through the night (good luck to his future wife), and his bed head in the morning.
I love everything about this little man - I love mostly that he's my son. I'll take trouble any day of the week.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Thoughts on a good reminder
The quote to the right side of my blog is one by a guy named Brennan Manning. His book "A Ragamuffin Gospel" is truly wonderful...and I only read about half of it. I really suck at finishing books for the most part, but in this case, I think it's okay because I gleaned a great deal from the first few chapters. And, almost as importantly, I got a "cool, artsy, hip, eloquent" quote to put on my blog - therefore making me cool, artsy, hip, and eloquent. Those who know me know that that is simply, well, not true. But if I look the part, maybe I can fool some of you. Or not.
Anyways, Manning writes openly about his struggle with, and subsequent addiction to, alcohol in chapter 1 of this book. "I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer." And I love that he is open about that - it gives room for regular folks like me to read his book and feel "welcome" within its pages. It's as if he says "it's okay to be here even if you don't have it figured out. I'm an alcoholic, I'm screwed up, we're all screwed up." By beginning his book with this declaration, he earned my trust. Therefore, when he speaks about the grace of God - how it permeates our being, regardless of who we are or what we've done - I believe it. I contrast this to other books I've read by people who write in such a way as to inspire to you be better. Some phrases that come to mind:
"Live your best life now. Step one...."
"Improve your spiritual life by ________"
"You can be more blessed if you _________"
Quite simply, Manning get is right. The Gospel of Jesus says "come to me - I don't care what you've done or who you are. Just come to me." We do not have to clean up our act first. We do not have to straighten out our lives first. We do not have to pray magical incantations like a sorcerer for Him to hear us and draw us near to Himself. We do not have to give money, meet our quota of scriptures read, or attend or serve in a church before we come to Him. It's laughable to think that we can offer anything like that to Him as an admission fee into His presence. After all, what are we when it compares to God?
I read John 8 recently, namely the first 11 verses. It's a stirring reminder about the heart of Jesus toward the broken and outcast. When a woman has been caught in adultery, the "high religious" bring her to Jesus, asking Him what to do with her. His response?
"Let him who is without sin be the first to throw to throw a stone at her."
And as the crowd dissipates, Jesus is the only one left.
"Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"
She said, "No one, Lord."
"Neither do I condemn you, go, and from now on sin no more."
The good reminder is simple: no matter who you are, where you've been, what you've done - no matter the mess you've made of your life, bridges burned, or baggage you carry with you - the invitation of Jesus remains the same:
Come to me with whatever you have, and I will give you rest.
This, friends, is the Gospel. It's what I want to be about, who I want to be, and what I want to live out. So you can have your religion and self help - but give me the gospel and its Christ, and pour me a beer. You're all welcome to join me.
Anyways, Manning writes openly about his struggle with, and subsequent addiction to, alcohol in chapter 1 of this book. "I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer." And I love that he is open about that - it gives room for regular folks like me to read his book and feel "welcome" within its pages. It's as if he says "it's okay to be here even if you don't have it figured out. I'm an alcoholic, I'm screwed up, we're all screwed up." By beginning his book with this declaration, he earned my trust. Therefore, when he speaks about the grace of God - how it permeates our being, regardless of who we are or what we've done - I believe it. I contrast this to other books I've read by people who write in such a way as to inspire to you be better. Some phrases that come to mind:
"Live your best life now. Step one...."
"Improve your spiritual life by ________"
"You can be more blessed if you _________"
Quite simply, Manning get is right. The Gospel of Jesus says "come to me - I don't care what you've done or who you are. Just come to me." We do not have to clean up our act first. We do not have to straighten out our lives first. We do not have to pray magical incantations like a sorcerer for Him to hear us and draw us near to Himself. We do not have to give money, meet our quota of scriptures read, or attend or serve in a church before we come to Him. It's laughable to think that we can offer anything like that to Him as an admission fee into His presence. After all, what are we when it compares to God?
I read John 8 recently, namely the first 11 verses. It's a stirring reminder about the heart of Jesus toward the broken and outcast. When a woman has been caught in adultery, the "high religious" bring her to Jesus, asking Him what to do with her. His response?
"Let him who is without sin be the first to throw to throw a stone at her."
And as the crowd dissipates, Jesus is the only one left.
"Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"
She said, "No one, Lord."
"Neither do I condemn you, go, and from now on sin no more."
The good reminder is simple: no matter who you are, where you've been, what you've done - no matter the mess you've made of your life, bridges burned, or baggage you carry with you - the invitation of Jesus remains the same:
Come to me with whatever you have, and I will give you rest.
This, friends, is the Gospel. It's what I want to be about, who I want to be, and what I want to live out. So you can have your religion and self help - but give me the gospel and its Christ, and pour me a beer. You're all welcome to join me.
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