Hidden Treasure.

Thursday night I worked at Baskin' Robbins. I worked with Christine, which was a supreme disappointment because Thursdays are always the nights that Luke and I close, and I enjoy being around Luke a lot more than I do being around Christine. It probably has something to do with the fact that Luke and I spend our time talking about stuff like high school, awesome teachers, our favorite foods, and what we like to do with our spare time, whereas my nights working with Christine are full of her critiquing everything I do, her avoiding lengthy conversation, her talking down to me, and me stubbornly resisting the authority she claims to have.

I guess you can say Christine is right up near the top on the "list of people I need to love more," so that's what I've been trying to do recently. I'll follow her directions to the dot, despite that fact that I was taught differently or I know that she's wrong. I'll respond to all her critiques and demands with strong affirmatives - "yes," or "can-do," or "I'm on it."

Needless to say, it was a trying night. (It always is when I work alone with Christine). And yet I had a certain feeling of joy inside me... a feeling of accomplishment and self-worth. I mean, I had gone the whole night without rolling my eyes when she turned away or getting in a pointless argument with her. I had obeyed (to an extent, mind you... I'm still working on it,) Jesus' commands when he said to love your neighbor.

I was kinda in the middle of giving myself some high-fives and pats on the back as I walked out to my car, so it wasn't until I unlocked the doors, turned on the engine, and began brushing the inch or so of snow off my windows that I finally evaluated my surroundings. I looked out over the old, deserted parking lot that once belonged to Wal Mart.

The air was cold, but not a bitter cold. It was more of a mellow cold, with no wind and a soft sort of feel to it. Almost like the temperature wanted you to know that the only reason it was being cold was to produce the snow, and that it was sorry it had to be so chilly. The ground was enveloped in the inch or so of snow for as far as I could see. The low, solid-looking clouds provided a sort of barrier for all of the city's lights, reflecting them back down and illuminating the normally dark surrounding hills. No traffic traversed Highway 395 to my left, so the only noise I could hear was that of my engine.

I felt as if I had come inside a library talking loudly with some Friends, and hadn't realized it until I had crossed much of the floor and sat down. Now everyone in the building - the deserted Wal Mart, the bright but silent electric billboard for Fandango, the two or three abandoned cars around me - were staring at me with accusatory eyes, questioning, what is your problem?

I reached inside and shut of my car, completing the silence, and gave an appologetic wave to my fellow patrons. Seeing only one alternative to driving as a mode of transportation, I began to walk. Again like a library, time became sort of distorted. You know, how you'll go in to browse and end up reading bits and pieces of a book to decide if you want to check it out, and by the time you leave it seems like you've been in there for hours... when in actuality, you've been inside for about thirty minutes.

Such was Thursday night. I walked around for about a week in that parking lot, slipping and sliding in the cold, silent night's embrace. I prayed, walked, sang songs under my breath, walked, watched my breath float away into nothingness, and walked.

I saw maybe a dozen or more cars pass by on 395, and felt a certain urge to go and stop them - to flag them down and show them what they were missing. It felt like they were on their ways to go and try to figure out what they needed. Sleep? Food? Money? Entertainment? No. What they needed was right here. Here was simple, breathtaking beauty bestowed upon such an undeserving earth by a God who loves and cares for us.

Here it was, and all they had to do - all I had to do in the first place - was stop and look for it.


-Daniel

Inspiration.

A while back, Sra. Lozada got me a gift card for Borders. I used the age-old technique; when you don't know how much money is on a gift card, assume there's A LOT of money on the gift card.

So I strolled into Borders about a week and a half ago like I was the majority stockholder and began scanning the shelves for anything and everything that interested me. I arrived at the check-out counter about 45 minutes later with three books: Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, The Scholastic Rhyming Dictionary, and Through Painted Deserts by Donald Miller. All together, they totalled about $30.

Smiling at the clerk as she read out my total, I confidently whipped out my card and slid it across the counter, leaning casually against a display of various upscale bookmarks. She picked it up and I took to gazing off at the coffee shop, pondering what highly sophisticated drink I would later consider choking down.

"Okay," she says, looking at me.

I return her gaze, expecting a "would you like a bag for these?" Nothing.

"Okay?" I question, glancing at the total. $20.98.

"That was $10."

I could almost hear the record screeching to a halt. "Oh, really? Just $10, huh?"

"Yes, you have twenty ninety eight left."

"Oh. Well. Okay, just a second." I fumble for my wallet and open it up. 20 pesos, a one dollar bill, and a Wal Mart receipt for Pez stare back up at me, almost shrugging at my misfortune. I quickly look up at the checker, who has an amused look on her face. "$10, you say?"

About nine minutes later, I find myself running back across the parking lot in front of Borders, having pillaged my car for all my loose dollars and quarters. I had barely scraped together $15.00 (including the $10 on the gift card,) so I had some serious re-thinking to do. I walked out with just one book, Through Painted Deserts, wondering if I had chosen right.

Boy did I. It seems I had forgotten just how much I love Mr. Miller's writing. He writes like I think... like how I try to write.

I open up the book and see this on the dedication page:

"Mom,

Here is the first book, rewritten a bit. I didn't know, when I was living it, that it was about leaving home. I think you always knew. Thanks for letting me go. This will always be yours."

I read that, stopped, and then re-read it about three times. Wow. I dunno what it is about it, but it just kinda takes me aback whenever I read it.

Anyway, I continued on and was immediately neck-deep in Miller's ideas, ironic writing style, humorous approach to life's problems, and unique take on his Christian faith. The book recounts a road trip that he and a friend, Paul, took from Houston, Texas, to Portland, Oregon. (Or that's at least where I think it ends... I haven't finished it, so I'm just drawing from context here.)

Note to reader: DO NOT READ THROUGH PAINTED DESERTS IN A SEASON WHERE ROAD TRIPPING IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE!

I have been looking at mom's big road atlas whenever I get the chance recently, tracing over highways and interstates I have never been on. I can imagine the scorched, red-rock mountainsides of New Mexico and the dripping green shades of Oregon and Washington. I can visualize flying down some deserted road, woven tree branches of the thick forest hissing past. I can feel the ocean breeze kicking up and sending the smell of the sea into my face. I can picture coming up over a hilly street lined with lamp posts and gazing out over miles and miles of cityscape.

But it's winter, I'm broke, and I've got calculus to worry about.

Ah-ha! That's what makes Miller's book so inspirational! You see, he talks about all these things in life that we focus on - he calls them "the how questions." Questions like "how do I become happy?" Or "how do I get money?" Or "how do I make my life better?" When in actuality, the important questions are the "why" questions - "why do I want money?" "Why do I need a better life?" "Why does it seem that I always need to be entertained?"

I guess, drawing from the above paragraph, the reason I go crazy over Donald Miller's books is this reason: He never fails to remind me how simple life really is, and that the only reason it's complicated is because we make it complicated. I mean, look at John the Baptist. His life was simple - he had only what he needed and did only what God wanted him to. He didn't feel the need to become popular, to maintain a good reputation. He didn't want to earn money to buy new things. He made life simple by just following God.

I've decided I need to take a step back real quick and look at some things in my life that I'm stressing over. Do I really even need to be stressing over them? Do I really even need to be spending my time doing them?

I haven't decided yet, but I'll let you know.

Thanks for reading.


-Daniel

The More Things Change...

2008. Cool, huh? Let's see that again. 2008. As in "class of 2008" or "August of 2008."


Okay now that I got that out of my system, here's the latest:

I've been thinking these past few days about the "new year." And when it gets right down to it, everything's the same.

Everything?

Why yes, everything.

Let's see... I still miss Robbie, Stacey, David, Terra, Jeff, Marin, and all my college friends terribly. I am still worried about these coming finals, and the pressure to get an A in dirty calculus is still on my mind. I still love Jesus and I'm still working through the issues in my walk. I still can't wait until June and then consequently August. I still love to write, to play the drums, and to flip up the visor on my helmet and feel the wind crashing against my face. And most of all, I still have the same friends, circumstances, family, and concerns as I did at 11:59:59pm on December the 31st of 2007.

In fact, what's so significant about the transition from December 31st to January 1st, anyway?

When I was 11, my family and I went on a road trip to Washington, DC. While there, we took a bus tour of Capitol Hill in a bus that had no windows, which allowed one to film, take pictures, etc. unobstructed. Supremely excited, I hastily "called" the window spot so I could... well, sit at the open window. When we boarded, however, the tour guide informed us that you had to be at least 12 to ride in the window seat (for safety reasons.) Needless to say, I was supremely bummed and spent the rest of the day moping.

When the woman told us I couldn't sit there, I remember my brother saying something to the effect of, "that's stupid... what difference does one day make, anyway? Like, as soon as you're 12, you won't jump out a bus window."

This is the same thought I've been prodding at... I mean, it's just one day. One minute. One second, actually. What difference does it make? 2007, 2008?

I've come to the conclusion that it's needed to mark progress, just stupid that it's a second's transition. So from now on, I'm not going to view December 31st at 11:59:59pm at the turning point. Rather, all of 2008 is the transition phase. That fits much better, because one year is significant.

I realize this all seems to be both a very trivial and a very juvenile revelation.

Score.


-Daniel