A Report.

A Report of Recent Activity:

Declared Major: Global Studies

Job: Pedal Cab Driver with MileHi Pedicabs

Currently Reading: "Freakonomics," by Steven Levitt & Stephen Dubner; "Crazy Love" by Francis Chan.

Purchases: Tall iced coffee (extra sweet with cream); gasoline; "Les Miserables" by Victor Hugo; No. 3 Meal at In-N-Out.

Listened to Recently: "My Response," message by Robbie Halleen; NPR Reno; Mewithoutyou.

Angry At: The cost of education

Satisfied With: My choice in education

Occupying my Time: Reading (see above); Final Fantasy XII.

Worrying me: The fact that I'm running low on money.

Comforting Me: The fact that you can see the stars better in Nevada.

Getting me Excited: Disney World!

Living: In Dayton 'till the 25th.

Driving: Ford Thunderbird. I want to wear a leather jacket and listen to some Deaf Lep.

Getting me Pumped: Videos on Youtube found by searching "Wolf."

Mellowing me Out: The fact that I have no homework/schoolwork to be doing for the next few weeks.

Challenging me: Doing push ups.

Inspiring me: Living Stones.

Calling to me: A new blog entry. Hence this off-kilter post.

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

Oh Theology.

I went to Theology class the other day expecting to get our final exam review sheet, maybe some words of encouragement, and a chuckle or two. Dr. Turner's Intro to Theology class has been a favorite of mine this semester, partly because I have never taken a formal study of theology, and partly because Dr. Turner is a great professor. What I got was a mind-blowing lesson that still has my thoughts racing.

Dr. Turner started out with three key positional truths. "I'm going to say some things today that might go against what you've been taught. Realize that everything I say, however, will not violate these truths;

1. We are saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ.

2. Heaven never gets worse, only better.

3. Hell never gets better, only worse.

With these three points scrawled on the board, he drew two diagrams, explaining each.

You may view your life like this: You are born, sometime in your life you accept Christ and are "saved," then you live the rest of your life, then you die. From death, because of your decision to accept Christ, you enter into eternity with Him and begin your eternal life.

I agreed - this was the model I was familiar with. We live our mortal life, then once we die, we begin our eternal life.

He drew a diagram sort of like this (I'll try my best at drawing with letters:)

Born |--[saved]-----| Die

\-------------| 'Born' into eternity |----> [live eternally]

He paused, then continued. What if, instead of being born into a finite life and then someday entering into eternity, we are born into eternity? What if our life looks something like this:

/------{heaven}---->

Born |------[saved]--------| Die

<-----{hell}----/

This way, Dr. Turner explained, we are eternal beings from the get-go. At first, I thought he was splitting hairs. Then he explained further.

If we are born mortals and one day become eternal, there seems little point in living after you have accepted Christ. Once you are saved, you might as well die and go live in heaven, beginning your eternal life. Some would claim that the point of living after you accept Christ is to "preach the Gospel."

"But... what does that mean, exactly?" Dr. Turner asked, "I mean, do we preach 24/7? Or what? It almost seems like a cop-out answer."

But if we are born into eternity from the get-go, our lives take on a whole new meaning. Because if we are eternal from birth, our actions matter. What you do in this area, (he circled the line segment between "[saved]" and "| Die") matters.

I thought about this. It made a lot of sense but raised even more questions.

This means that you can't merely accept Christ and then live a life doing whatever you want, knowing that you have your "fire insurance." It means that your life, your words, your actions, matter.

It seemed like I had heard all of this before, but never explicitly mentioned all at once. It was awesome to see it all hashed out. But there was more.

Dr. Turner then wrote the word "Misthos" on the board. He defined misthos as the transliteration of a Greek word meaning essentially "payment for labor." He then cited several instances in Scripture where the word was used. The first was Matthew 20:8, where the master of the vineyard pays his workers their wages. (The word 'wages' was translated from misthos). The second is in 1 Timothy 5:18, where Paul quotes older Scripture, saying that the worker is entitled to his wages (again translated from misthos). Third, in James 5:4, where James warns not to withhold wages from workers, because by working they are entitled to their wages (and again, 'wages' was translated from misthos).

So far, so good. But then things got a little tricky. Dr. Turner explained that misthos was used a few other times in Scripture. In Matthew 5:11-12, we are told that though we will be persecuted, our reward in Heaven will be great. Yet the word reward here is translated from misthos, the same word which was translated 'wages' on other occasions.

"It seems that our... dare I call them cowardly?... Bible translators were a bit uncomfortable with the concept of us receiving our misthos, our wages, from God," Dr. Turner said. He then pointed out two other instances, in Luke 6:35 and Revelation 22:12, where misthos is translated 'reward' instead of 'wages.'

Next, he explained the difference. Reward implies that it's something that might happen out of good graces. A wage is something you are entitled to by a legal contract. If you work, you get paid. It's not up to the good graces of your boss, it's up to the letter of the law. He has no choice but to pay you.

It seems that the same thing happens between us and God. When we diligently serve Him, we are entitled to our misthos. We work for God, God is required to pay us.

This is where a lot of my questions come from. Referring to those three positional truths, I realize that we cannot earn our way into Heaven. Furthermore, God is the one Who gives us the opportunities to serve. We cannot do good for God without God having set us up to do that particular good. Therefore, we do not by any means control God - quite the other way around. But by doing good for God, we are entitled our reward. Because God is just, and He rewards the good and punishes the bad.

Thus, we are able to build up wages in heaven. Our experience in heaven is able to become better the more good we do on earth.

I told Dr. Turner that this sounded a bit like Christian Karma, where we do good and are rewarded for it, or the theology of Mormonism, where there are different "levels" of heaven which we can earn our way into. He denied both counts.

First, Karma implies that we are repaid for our good in this life. If you lend someone in need $5, you will find $5 later that day. (Obviously this is a simplified version, but you get the idea.) Dr. Turner explained that with our misthos, we are not entitled to it until we are in heaven. Thus, we are to do good expecting nothing back.

Furthermore, "Mormonism claims that at some level we can become like God. This is not supported in Scripture," Dr. Turner said, "the idea of misthos is not that we can become so good that we become like God, but rather that God displays his divine justice by paying us back all that we have done for Him."

I asked what exactly our misthos looks like. "I mean is it, like, a mansion we get or something?" I said facetiously.

"Honestly," Dr. Turner answered, "I have no idea. I only know that Heaven is incomprehensibly good - better than we are able to wrap our minds around. Yet by diligently serving God, our experience can become better."

I'm still not exactly sure what I think about all this. Nor have I read the original Greek to see the different uses of misthos. But I was blown away and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it all. Let me know what you all think.

As for now...

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Jet Planes and Snow Storms.

I flew to and from Nevada this year for Thanksgiving break. It was awesome because I was able to wake up in the Ghetto, go to my Global Century class, attend chapel, leave campus, and arrive at the Cat Hut in Reno later that afternoon. The miracle of modern science. Although I did not get nearly as much homework done this break (23 hours on a train each way leaves you little option but to read about World War II, India, and the "Fault Line Wars" of Islam,) I still enjoyed the trip.

I decided, gliding over the Sierra Nevadas in an aluminum tube, that I like flying for the same reason I like snow storms.

I once complained loudly to a good friend of mine that I hated missing classes for the newly instigated "CCU Symposium" earlier this year. Yet a month later when 24 inches of fresh, scintillating powder ventured from heaven to CCU, I rejoiced via text message to that same friend at the news that there would be no classes the next day.

Luckily, she called me one it. She asked me why I despised missing classes for the Symposium yet enjoyed missing them for a snow day. It caught me by surprise, really. I hadn't thought of it that way. I'm glad I have friends who do that.

Thinking about it, I realized why I was okay with missing classes due to snow. When we get adverse weather and classes are cancelled and businesses shut down, our human plans are hopelessly foiled. Observed correctly, a snow day is an inescapable reminder of how small and powerless we humans are. I think when we start shooting big guns or driving fast cars, we humans are tricked into thinking we're these all-powerful, unstoppable beings. Then some clouds roll in and we find that it's too cold to shoot stuff and our fast car only has 2-wheel drive.

It's fun to have to change your plans because of weather. Comforting, really. It's a relief to realize that you are not all-responsible for the running of things. When in the Bible Job's life is demolished - when his family dies, his wife leaves, his fortune is destroyed and his health is compromised - Job cries out to God and asks the Almighty, "God, what the heck?!" God answers his likewise; "Brace yourself like a man. I will question you and you shall answer Me." God then proceeds to ask question after question for three whole chapters. Job, Who is it Whom stores the winter snows in the mountains? Who is it, exactly, who calls the stars by name? Job, remind Me Who knows the comings and going of every mountain goat and locust. And Who is it Whom measured the foundations of the earth?*

Because it's not Job. It's not me. It's not you, either. But sometimes we forget that, y'know? We get a little too full of ourselves, a little too confident that we'll ace the test in Nonverbal Communication the next day. Then we wake up and realize that the test is cancelled because God called snow from the sky onto your doorstep.

The same realization hits me when I fly. The plane jams you back into your seat, the wind roars past the windows, over the wings, creating lift enough to hoist a 20,000-pound hulk of machinery and people into the sky. The ground runs away, leaving you with the intangible clouds for comfort. Then you look down onto Reno, onto Denver, onto wherever. And you see all of those huge obstacles - all of those highway patrol cars in speed traps, all of those tall buildings which tempt you to reach their uppermost floor, all of those fences too high to climb - and they suddenly are put into perspective. Tiny objects on a tinier world. Insignificant compositions of circuitry and hormones and brick held by an invisible force to an insignificant sphere of magma and water in an insignificant solar system.

Looking down onto the familiar streets of Reno, one realizes how out of control we really are in this life. We may be able to compute the third derivative of sin(x-9) or build bombs that destroy cities or decide which pants to wear today. But then we walk to our door and realize that we're trapped inside our apartments by trillions upon trillions of uniquely crafted flakes of crystalized water.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*This is the Daniel Paraphrased Version of the Bible (DPV). Look up Job Chapters 37-42 for the actual text.

The Story.

I want to write a story.

It's an adventure story, sort of like an action movie transposed from the silver screen onto tangible pages. The stunts are real, the special effects are amazing, and the acting is superb. The characters are real - more real, it seems, than most people you meet on the street - so full of emotion and hope and agony are they that we all yearn to meet characters like them. There are fight scenes that make adults gasp and high schoolers cheer and stomp their feet on the sticky movie theater floor in excitement. There's this really tense moment (or maybe two or three, I forget exactly) where you are literally on the edge of your seat in anticipation, wanting to yell out loud in the theater, "hurry up! They're coming!" but at the same time you know nothing will come of it except annoyed fellow spectators.

Wrapped up in this action is a love story. It's a story so pure and heart wrenching that it's enough to make old men tear up. The main character falls in and out of love, the whole time missing out on the One who loves him the most. At times, he and his Lover are so very close to perfect union when something happens which draws his attention away. The audience rolls their eyes in frustration at the main character's immaturity and blindness, but at the same time cheers him on as he stumbles in and out of crushes, in and out of danger, in and out of heartbreak.

There's also a horror element. The main character has a seedy past which resurfaces time after time in the most gruesome ways. The character witnesses unspeakable evil, stands by as hatred and injustice run the show, and frequently finds himself allying with such atrocities to advance his agenda. The audience has a lot of trouble telling if the character is the villain or the hero.

Side by side with the horror is the mystery. The plot line reveals innumerable unexplainable occurrences which never seem to resolve. It's like a perpetual episode of Lost, as one mystery stacks up on top of another and then another. The audience shakes their heads in confusion more than a few times as the plot reveals twist after twist. One moment the antagonist is clearly defined, but the next scene leaves a nebulous understanding of who's who.

The setting is one of the best parts. The whole story takes place in this whimsical land of wild animals and exotic plants, with danger and beauty waiting with a smile around every turn. The land is huge, the oceans are bigger, and the people who inhabit it all are a mysterious bunch of pilgrims, each on their own way to writing their own best-selling story. Yet however big the whimsical world is, it pales in comparison to the greater World, the universe surrounding it. The gigantic world is but an atom in the body of a superior system, beyond comprehension of any of the characters.

The soundtrack is something out of this world. The opening number itself takes a lifetime to compose, not to mention the theme song and the closing title. The music is so rich and full of life that it makes you want to dance. No matter who you are or what your background, you want to let loose and move to the pulse of the song. It's music that makes you wonder what being truly alive is and leads you to question whether you are really living.

I've already started the story, but I'm still very near the beginning. There are a lot of unknowns and a lot of sketchy drafts so far. The plot line has changed a bunch and I expect it to change a bunch more. I'm not exactly sure who will play what character or even if those characters will make the final draft. But it's been fun so far. I look forward to sharing it with you all sometime.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

GDP.

Ghetto Dance Party. This Friday. 9:30PM. Ghetto Stairwell.

So read the posters which we scattered all over campus earlier this week. The Ghetto Dance Party is one of the biggest traditions on campus, dating back more than ten years. About this time, (either late October or early November,) the Ghetto stairwell transforms into the hip-hoppin'-est place in all of Lakewood.

Starting Friday morning, we gathered up the Ghetto guys and set to work. Trevor, Eli, Tim, and myself went off to Wal-Mart and cleaned them out of rootbeer and Gardettos. By the time we came back to the Ghetto, the guys in bottom-left and bottom-right had already started clearing their stuff out. We hauled all of the rootbeer and snacks into the RA room and then checked in with Chad, Justin, Zach M, Zach T, Tyler, and Damian. Most of their furniture was stacked in their kitchens and their couched and armchairs were out on their porches. All according to plan.

Next, Trevor, Eli, Phil, and I drove over to the Music Center for some treasures we heard would be in one of the practice rooms. Sure enough, in the room at the end of the basement hall, between an ancient standing piano and the wall was stacked sheets of sound-proofing foam. We snagged all we could carry and headed back to the Ghetto.

Now came the tricky part - sound proofing the GDP (Ghetto Dance Party, that is.)

You see, Lakewood City ordinances demand that all loud, fun activities be over by 10:00pm, even on weekends. As such, we usually start the GDP at 8:00 and go until we get shut down, shortly after 10:00. This year, however, there was a jazz band concert the same night ad in order to get the GDP approved by Student Activities, we had to bump it back to 9:30 so the two didn't conflict. This left us oly 30 minutes of grace before the 5-0 chowed up to shut us down. Our solution? Soundproofing.

I covered the front windows in both rooms with sound-proofing foam, fitting two layers into the window sill and then another layer thumbtacked over top. On the outside, we piled couch cushions and pillows up against the glass. The back sliding doors were the hardest. We put the couches against them, then stacked the armchairs on top of the couch, then filled the gaps with cushions and pillows. On the inside, we taped sheets of foam onto the glass. Finally, we closed the bedroom doors and stacked the CCU mattresses against the doors from the inside, then exited through the windows.

On the front of the Ghetto, we put two couches on end at either side of the stairwell entrance, then draped a tarp over it with a slit cut in it so people could pass in and out. We tied mattresses to the bottom of the stairs to block music from going up the stairwell and out the top.

Once the sound system arrived, we thought we were in trouble. The subs were as big as our bath tubs and the mains were the size of clothes hampers. We set up all the lights and speakers in the two rooms, plugged in Trevor's iPod, and let her rip.

It was whisper silent outside in the parking lot.

In fact, you could drown out any sound at all by humming or carrying on a conversation with someone. Brilliant! It had worked!

We finalized the arrangements (by that I mean we put out the food and set up the Thug Jug,) and got the party started. By 10:00, the two rooms were packed with gangstas of all sorts dancing their faces off. The Thug Jug, unlike last year, worked marvelously, and the party-goers enjoyed as much rootbeer as they could possibly desire.

We wrapped things up at about 11:15, playing "Closing Time" by Semisonic and telling everyone thanks for coming. As the thugs shuffled towards the exits, we realized that the cops hadn't received any complaints, otherwise they would have been all over the Ghetto cul-de-sac. We cleaned everything up in a hurry and went to bed.

This morning, I woke up, walked out to the living room, and saw the place trashed with rootbeer bottles, chip bags, sound-proofing foam, mattresses, rope, and crumpled up peices of duct-tape. The morning after a CCU party.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Random Thoughts of Late.

It's been busy around here recently. A little too busy, even for my tastes. We just had King Cougar, a CCU tradition, and I was charged with making a video to show during the intermission. It turned out pretty good, although we had some technical difficulties and I ended up dubbing over my own narrator voice live while the movie was playing (My computer hasn't been well recently, which is also why I haven't posted anything in a while... it's a long story.)

Now then, down to the point of my post: Random thoughts of late.

Random Thought 1.) Zombies. I attended the annual Denver Zombie Crawl the other night, and it didn't disappoint. The organizers were trying to break the world record for biggest zombie gathering, a staggering 4,000. I don't know if we did it or not, but there sure were a TON of zombies. We met at a park off the 16th Street Mall and got our faces painted. I tore up an old t-shirt and wore it along with some ratty jeans. By 6pm, it was full-on zombie mayhem. The park was elbow-to-elbow undead, ranging from a zombie Pope to a full zombie construction crew.

A little after 6, the organizers gave the green light and we flooded onto the 16th Street Mall, groaning and shuffling past stunned bystanders. I would estimate that by about 6:30, only about 1 in 10 people on the Mall were NOT zombies. We absolutely took the place over. A "Free Mall Ride" bus was forced to stop at a red light as we exited the park, and the zombies immediately overtook it, banging on the windows with fake blood on their hands, trying to pry open the doors. The people on the bus looked pretty unnerved at the sight of hundreds of the undead trying to gain entry. Soon after, the Mall Rides stopped for about an hour and a half until things calmed down.

In addition, "survivors" were marked with an 'X' in duct tape and ran around the Mall in an attempt to escape the zombie hordes. My friends and I found that chasing the living with the goal to eat them is one of the most fulfilling things you can do here on earth. We cornered a girl after a long chase in front of a Subway sandwich shop and everyone descended on her, groaning and reaching, as the people inside looked on perplexedly. Good fun.

Random Thought 2.) ADD. The other day I was hanging out with some friends of mine, having a good time, when one of them asked me: "Daniel, have you ever been diagnosed with ADD?" I absolutely hate this question. I hate it for a couple of reasons, most of which you all probably know. I answered her, "Forgive me for answering a question with another question, but do you know what ADD stands for?"

"Attention deficit disorder," she replied uneasily.

"Right. Attention deficit disorder," I confirmed, placing emphasis on the last word before continuing, "which is weird, because usually you don't walk up to someone and ask them if they have a disorder." She already looked like she regretted asking the question, but I continued on anyway. "And at that rate, who is it exactly who determines what is normal and what is abnormal? Who is the authority for what is orderly and what is disorderly? I mean, just because my mind works differently than most peoples', doesn't necessarily constitute a disorder."

I felt like a jerk after answering her in that way, but I really truly despise that question. I wonder what my life would be like if my mom had listened to my kindergarten teacher and put my on Ritalin. I wonder how sick my mind would have become, how repressed my thoughts would have been.

Random Thought 3.) Music. I have been reflecting recently on a seemingly innocent question; "What kind of music do you listen to?" When getting to know someone or when breaking the ice, this seems to be a quintessential inquiry. Yet I wonder why we never ask the question "do you like music?" This lead me to reflect on my own answer to that question; "yes, of course I like music." I wonder if anyone when asked that question would respond, "no, I don't care for music."

It seems unlikely. We assume that everyone enjoys music, it's merely a matter of which kind of music they enjoy. I wonder what that says about human nature? It seems every culture has their own style of music, their own instruments, their own tastes. We always gravitate towards music, it's just a matter of which variety we gravitate towards.

Random Thought 4.) Names. I wonder when was the last time you checked what you name actually is. I know I haven't checked since I got my driver's license, which I guess wasn't too long ago. Yet I bet there are some people who have never checked what their name really is. They're told what it is and reciprocate that in their lives, telling others their name. I don't know why this strikes me as weird, but it does. What is my name?

I suppose this concludes my random thoughts.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Sunday Nights.

I've decided on my favorite part of the week.

Last night I climbed into Scooter's car and headed across town to Nick and Beth's place. We arrived right on time - 9pm - and realized everyone else was running late. This was the last thing on our minds, however, due to the presence of Nick and Beth's new adorable puppy, a month-old German Shepherd.

Sufi, as she is called,* is a little smaller than a football and, given the chance, will mob all over your face with a vengeance, licking and nibbling. After a good fifteen minutes of playing with Sufi, the rest of the group arrived. Cameron, Stephen King, and Austin pulled up and we let them in through the back door of Nick and Beth's quaint apartment complex. After a few minutes of talking and petting Sufi, Beth bid us farewell and left with a smile.

Now it was just the bros left. Nick, my old RA, Scooter and Cameron, my old roommates, Stephen King,** a good friend of ours, and Coop, last year's Chapel leader and an awesome dude. Within a few minutes, we had coffee brewing and Nick's ornate hookah up and running. Not long after this, we all sat around the coffee table in the small living room and got down to business.

It did not escape me that two of my least favorite things - black coffee and smoking - somehow seemed so appealing at the time. I sipped the hot, bitter beverage between mouthfuls of chocolate muffins and vanilla ice cream. I breathed in the fruity, dusty smoke from the hookah, enjoying the smell but disliking the taste.

We opened our Bibles, our minds, and our lives to each other. Between the bubbling of the hookah and the quiet barking of Sufi (who soon zonked out on Scooter's sweatshirt in the corner,) we fellowshipped and shared life. I listened in awe to Nick as he told us about what it's like being married. I smiled when Coop told us how nervous he is for his own wedding on Friday. I nodded in agreement with Scooter and Cameron as they talked about how strange it is being a sophomore. I sympathized with Stephen King as he recounted to us the hardships of a long-distance relationship.

I couldn't help but smile the whole night - it's times like these when it's so easy to realize that God is good.

I was encouraged, built up, and offered advice. I chipped in with knowledge when it was applicable. I saw a microcosm of the fellowship of God in my friends as we laughed and as we somberly nodded.

After a few hours which absolutely flew by, we prayed for each other, cleaned up the living room, scrubbed the hookah, and began to depart. Next week we'll begin our study in "Devotional Classics," a book which consequently was gifted to me last year by my D-Group leader, Scott.

I've decided on my favorite part of the week, and I absolutely can't wait for next Sunday night.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Named after Sufi Islam... the "ballsy" Muslims, as we call them.

**That's his real name. For real.

...And Another...

Here's another video we made for the New Student Retreat. We were supposed to tell them the rules for the weekend.

My Day Downtown.

I love the city.

I knew this even before I lived in Denver, a realization gleaned from family vacations to Washington DC or Los Angeles. As such, when I finally began putting "180 S. Garrison St. Lakewood, CO 80226" as my address, I was elated. The feeling hasn't diminished.

I've always found it hard to place my finger on exactly what it is that captures my imagination in the busy, dirty metropolitan areas of America. After giving this much thought, I've decided to not worry about it. Do I really need to know why exactly I'm wired this way? After all, I've always found I don't like poems as much after I've been forced to dissect and analyze them.

That being said, I woke up this morning and decided something in the time between when I rolled out of bed and when I took the obligatory morning leak - I'm going to spend today downtown. I had been to the heart of the city two nights before for our Classy Date Night with the Boondocks girls* and I had realize during that time that I had neglected visiting the epicenter of Denver for some time.

After showering and drawing up a schedule for the day,** I gathered the necessary items:

-Longboard

-Lenin, Stalin, and Hitler - The Age of Social Catastrophe, by Robert Gellately

-The Next Christendom - The Coming of Global Christianity, by Philip Jenkins

-Wild Swans - Three Daughter of China by Jung Chang

-The Bible (New King James Version)

-Drumsticks

-Blue "Sherwin Williams"3-gallon bucket

-Brimmed hat

-iPod

-$2 Cash

-"Free 16oz Jamba Juice" smoothie coupon

-Notebook

-Pen

Having acquired all of these, I packed them into the backpack, hopped on my longboard, and left campus.

Belmar Shopping Center

I boarded from CCU to Belmar and encountered my first surprise of the day. The usual quiet, completely long-boardable streets of Belmar were crowded with people and tents, all smelling of pasta and grilled meat. There was a festival, "A Taste of Italy," going on. I waded through the crowd somewhat clumsily, holding my longboard in one hand and my bucket in the other until I arrived at my destination - the brightly colored storefront of Jamba Juice. I entered the store, immediately taking in the cool air and scent of fruits. Approaching the counter, I smiled at the barista*** and whipped out my free smoothie coupon.

"Hello!" I said

"Hi, what can we get for you?"

"Well, yesterday I had the White Gummy. What other secret ones do you have?"

"Uh," she looks over at her co-worker before continuing, "we have the Pink Star and the Strawberry Shortcake and... uhh..."

"Okay, I'll have the Pink Star," I reply, sliding her the coupon.

The Pink Star is okay. Not nearly as good at the White Gummy. As it were, I left the store sipping on the tangy drink. As soon as I cleared the masses of wanna-be Italians, I tossed down the longboard, leapt on, and headed down Wadsworth Boulevard to the nearest bus stop for the 16L route.

16L Bus

The 16 Limited route goes on westbound Colfax Avenue to Civic Center Station, downtown. I grew familiar with the 'Ol 16L (as we city-folk call it) earlier this year when I had to commute downtown daily for my job with Environment Colorado. I boarded at the Colfax and Wadsworth stop along with a cross-section of American citizens. There were two businessmen in clean, pressed suits and holding briefcases. There was a family of Mexicans, all laden with grocery bags. There was a white, amorous couple wearing clothes from The Gap. There was a group of four members of the ICP.**** And there was me, wearing my yellow "Clash of the Classes" t-shirt, Jake's old Etnies backpack, carrying a longboard and a blue 3-gallon bucket.

We rode down Colfax for about a half hour, stopping every block to exchange passengers. Everyone on the bus was subjected to the ICP hooligans' profanity-ridden conversation. A younger, attractive woman boarded the bus about fifteen minutes into the ride and, due to the scarcity of seats, was forced to stand near the group of miscreants. The group began talking about her, not bothering to lower their voices. After about five minutes of this degrading presentation of American culture (God bless the USA...) I stood up, walked to the back of the bus, and told the lady that my seat was open. She didn't say anything, just walked to the front and sat in the vacant chair. All four of the guys were looking at me as if I had just shouted, "I think you guys have the combined IQ of an old sneaker." Which was the desired effect. I smiled at them nodded, and asked cheerily, "how are you guys doing today?" They didn't answer, just glowered at me and, after a few seconds of silence, began commenting on my attire in the same challenging tone they used to discuss the young lady. I didn't mind... I was more or less used to it. One advantage of going through public high school.

The bus finally shuddered to a halt at Civic Center Station and I hopped off, tossed down my board, and weaved through traffic to the 16th Street Mall.

The 16th Street Mall

Hands down my favorite place to be, 16th street consists of fifteen or so city blocks of all pedestrian (and mall shuttle) traffic. There's always stuff going on, and tons of shops and restaurants line the street. Unfortunately, there is a strictly enforced "No Skateboards, Rollerblades, or Bikes" rule so I was obligated to pick up my board and walk. Fortunately, there are free mall shuttles that endlessly patrol the street, so I hopped on the nearest one and headed down to Larimer Square, and The Market.

The Market

This is where I spent most of my day. The Market is a local food vendor/coffee shop, deceitfully large given its minute front entrance. I found a nice table in the corner, right by the bread rack and the coffee beans shelf, whipped out my stack of books, and started reading.

It turned out be be an extremely productive four hours. I read all the required text for two of the three books I brought (and put a sizable dent in the third book,) reflected on a few Psalms, and enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells of the bustling marketplace. I grew to love The Market. The workers were all extremely friendly, most with dreadlocks and tattoos. From the snippets of conversation I caught while taking frequent study breaks, I came across the feeling that they were about to get off work and go straight to a protest against the illegality of pot or the practices of Big Business. It reminded me once more of my job at the beginning of the summer, as my fellow canvassers exhibited the same air of upbeat activism.

After a I closed Lenin, Staling and Hitler - The Age of Social Catastrophe with a triumphant thud, I realized two things. One, I was famished - save for the Pink Star smoothie and the iced coffee I had bought during a reading break from the coffee shop, I hadn't ingested anything all day. Secondly, my legs felt like Jell-O due to a lack of activity. I remedied both of these at once by heading back to 16th Street and Chipotle.

Back on 16th Street

I went to the Chipotle at 16th and Wazee and quickly wolfed down a large burrito. I sat at the bar facing the window and watched with awe and wonder as the city moved and shifted. Mall shuttles came and went. An occasional police car rolled by ominously. A group of street canvassers for Greenpeace, clipboards in hand, walked by talking to various mall-goers. A daring young man zipped by on his fixed-gear bike, risking the large fine should he be caught riding on the mall. A man with liberty-spiked hair laughed and slapped the behind of the young woman walking beside him, much to her delight. A little boy ran by, giggling hysterically, as his mother chased him furiously down.

I love the city.

After I had ingested the entire burrito, I tossed away the trash and headed up the mall to scope out my favorite spots. The first was, predictably, occupied. You see, contrary to the everyday observer, busking (as it's called) requires quite a bit more than just 'banging on a bucket on the street corner.' First, you need to find a good bucket. My preferred one is the orange Home Depot multi-use bucket. They're by far the strongest and produce a variety of tones depending on where you hit them. The white buckets with the "Do not let your child reach into this" warning on the side are the worst; poor sound quality and unbelievably fragile. The one I had on me - the blue "Sherwin Williams" bucket - was decent. It was durable, but the playing surface was warped, making drum rolls hard to perform. In addition, the rim (which produces the highest-pitched tone) curled down if I hit it too hard.

Secondly, you have to find the right street corner. There are a few coveted ones - California & 16th and Larimer & 15th stand out. Some you avoid like the plague, such as 16th and Glenarm, where "loitering" is prohibited.

Lastly, you have to correspond your desired corner with other street performers. For example, the dreaded hand-drummers^ were on 16th and California, which ruled out my second choice of 16th and Stout. Two percussion routines in a row means bad business for both groups involved. You have to space yourself out in order to maximize the interest level and consequential propensity to give of your audience.

All the being said, I settled in on 16th Street between Curtis and Champa, right by the opening of an alleyway, and started up. I was there for one hour and walked away with $45 in cold hard un-taxable cash.^^

Satisfied with the day's events, I longboarded to the nearest Route 16 bus stop and headed back to campus. As the large, smelly bus pulled away from the curb, I looked over my shoulder at the shrinking Denver skyline.

I'll be back to see you soon!

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

P.S. I realize this blog had nothing to do with "CCU, UNR... faith, and intellectual fear." Sorry, but when you finally break through writer's block, you try not to be picky.

*I'm living in freshman housing, and as such I get to participate in these awesome activities. The Boondocks is the Ghetto's sister stairwell, so we took them out for a night on the town on Thursday.

**Yes, you heard me right. It took up a whole page of notebook paper and was entitled "Things to do while Downtown."

***I couldn't think of what else they'd be called... Smoothie-smiths?

****Shaved heads with pigtails, bright orange pants, Multiple lip piercings... the whole nine yards.

^There are four or five of these guys. They all bring a bongo or other hand-drum and play for HOURS on end. They're also kinda jerks.

^^I've considered dropping out of school and traveling America busking instead. What job right out of college pays $45 an hour?

Writer's Block

Hello everyone out there!

I first wanted you to know that I am, contrary to popular belief, still alive. I haven't posted anything or updated this blog for a long long time, and I am sincerely sorry. It's been a hectic past four weeks, let me tell you. Ever since I arrived in Colorado, I've been pedal-to-the-medal and as such, I have found myself short on time to be writing extracurricularly.

In addition, I've been experiencing a nasty case of writer's block. I have to admit that I have several half-baked posts sitting on my dashboard* but I just haven't been satisfied with anything I've come up with.

Sorry for the delay. I'll at least update my blog this time around, and once things quiet down (they are going to quiet down, right? Right?!) I'll post a more informative and hopefully more creative post.

I've been working on an idea recently. It'll probably be the subject of my next blog. It concerns CCU, UNR (or really just any secular school, I guess), faith, and intellectual fear. Oh yeah, it's going to be juicy.

Until then, hold tight!

Thanks for waiting,

-Daniel K

*That's basically the "home page" here at blogger.com. If you have an account you know what I'm talking about.

Nothing New.

My first post in what seems like years. It's crazy to think that it's only been twelve days since I last blogged. Now we're one day away from the end of WoW* and the beginning of the new semester.

I haven't had a lot of time to write because I've been constantly trying to tie up any loose ends for WoW. The opening video came together splendidly, and I'll try to attach it to the end of this post (I say "try" because it wouldn't upload the other night...) Other than that, I've been scheduling clubs, organizations and ministries to come to the Job/Involvement Fair, running the info tent, and facilitating Parent/Prof. Coffee. It's all fun stuff, and since I don't have any classes to worry about, I've welcomed the full schedule.

I suppose the reason I'm writing this is to jot down some thoughts I had earlier today before they float on out of my head forever. Here goes.

Last year my RA was Nick. He was a senior (meaning now he's graduated) who's getting married this September. I love Nick and thoroughly enjoyed his RA-ness, but he did have some strong opinions about things. For instance, he is one of the foremost figures who influenced me to become a pacifist**. Among these opinions was one regarding CCU's President Bill Armstrong. Armstrong is extremely conservative in thought and faith, which chafes Nick's liberal worldviews. I have never spent extensive time with President Armstrong, and as such I relied on other people's experienced to shape my opinion. Nick's opinion of Armstrong, which I value a lot, was not a high one. As such, I've never been too big of a fan.

Yet today in WoW, we had what's called "Call to Community," during which the CCU Brass emerge from their lofty positions to get some face-time with the students, parents, and faculty to kick off the school year. The last speaker, unsurprisingly, was President Armstrong himself. As the leader of my school rose to speak, I felt myself readying a good eye roll or two. Yet what was said took me by surprise. Armstrong spoke in his confident, resounding voice about CCU and his hopes for the campus. During one point, he reminisced about a time a student asked him what the goals for CCU are. He responded*** that students at CCU should learn well, have fun, honor Christ, and change the world.

When I heard him say that, I raised my eyebrows and felt a surge of confidence and liking towards him. Those goals for the school - for me - sounded like something I wanted to get behind.

But surely I can't agree with Armstrong!? Yet I did. Completely.

About that time was when I realized that I was being stupid. I was fooling myself into the same trap I've been trying so hard to avoid recently. Armstrong, despite his conservative agenda and mindset, is still a Christian. Which means that right or wrong, outdated or savvy, grumpy or cheerful, we are brothers. We are family. We are on the same team. It was a freeing thought, really. I didn't have to resent CCU because of our leadership anymore. I didn't have to grumble whenever I received an email "From the desk of President Bill Armstrong." Because we are family.

It's more or less like how I feel with American Christianity. It has earned itself such a bad rep (and it's not completely unfounded, either. Take a look at a megachurch that uses tithes to build a brand new cathedral while the homeless starve on the streets.) Yet despite how much I want to scoff and distance myself from them, we are family. I can't just go around denouncing the people who worship Jesus right beside me, y'know? That just doesn't make any sense.

I'm not saying I agree 100% with where Armstrong wants to take CCU. I'm not completely onboard with his thoughts or ideas or interpretations. But that's okay, really. I mean without some conservative thinkers, where would we be?

In short, it was nothing new. Just another way I realized I was being tricked into wandering from the path I try so desperately to cling to - a path of acceptance, tolerance, love, and compassion. A path that unites a student body with its overhead and a school with its country. A path that works to tie things together, not tear them apart. A good path, in short.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*That's Weekend of Welcome, in case you're wondering.

**I use this term loosely, since the traditional interpretation alludes to non-action. I believe in taking action wholeheartedly, but my disagreement comes with what action should be taken.

***I'm not sure of his exact words, hence the lack of quotation marks.

Here and Now.

Hello to everyone out there diligently reading this blog. I would like to officially welcome you to my 100th (published) post! Since it's been almost exactly two years since I started blogging, I thought I would dedicate this blog to giving everyone a little snapshot of my life in the here and now.

First off, I am back in Denver and about to start gearing up for the 2009 Fall semester at Colorado Christian University. I am looking forward to another year of activities, adventures, and learning. I will be living back in the Ghetto, the same freshman stairwell I was in last year. This time around, however, I will be an RAR (that is, a Resident Assistant's Roommate) living with the RA of the Ghetto and helping run activities and events throughout the year.

In addition to being an RAR, I am on the Weekend of Welcome (WoW) committee. Hence why I am here so early.* Planning WoW has been a lot of fun and a lot of work... two of my favorite things. The other committee members and I will meet tomorrow to start finalizing all of the events and times, and then begin executing them accordingly. This year's orientation weekend is going to be excellent!

The leadership seminars and other such crud will begin on August 14th, which I will also be attending due to my involvement in the Resident Housing Association (RHA) and the Discipleship Program (I'll be a D-Group Leader.) Once all of that is over, classes will start and I'll be back in action as far as school goes. For RHA, I will be the Director of Freshman Communities. This means I will gather representatives from the freshmen stairwells to help plan all-freshman activities, let the freshmen class's voice be heard around campus, and help unite the stairwells into one large community. As I also mentioned, I'll be a D-Group leader for the fall semester, meaning I will lead a group of 6 to 8 freshman guys in a Bible study every week until Christmas. I don't want to reveal anything yet in case word gets out, but suffice to say that I've got some SWEET stuff planned for my group.

On the academic side of things, I've unofficially** decided to major in Global Studies (AKA International Studies) and I know what you're thinking: "What will you do with that degree?" Forgive me for answering your question with another question, but why are you asking? I think what you do is superfluous in comparison to who you are. Secondly, I don't know what I want to do. All I know is that I took a few global studies classes last semester and I really liked them (and the professors) so I want to study what I love while I'm here. Vocation can come later.

Along with that, I am considering a double-major in English or Communication... meaning I'll either be a Global Studies/English major or a Global Studies/Communication major. I haven't decided which one yet but, much like Global Studies, I enjoy learning about both of them and as such desire to major in one. I suppose there is the third option of graduating early, which is completely doable given the AP credits I came in with.*** I just don't know if I want to rush the the most amazing time of my life.****

As far as off-campus activities go, I am still involved with my church, Light and Life Community Church. I am the youth intern and as such I help run the weekly youth group services, play in the worship band, lead a freshman boys' small group, and shoot videos to be used in messages. I absolutely love helping out, and I'm really looking forward to this coming year, when I start in with the freshman guys and continue with playing the drums.

In the realm of employment, I am pleading the fifth. Although I do still have a sweet gig downtown every weekend involving a bucket and some drum sticks.

I believe that about sums everything up. Life was pretty slow over the summer - a lot^ of time to relax and chill out - which is something I've never particularly liked or enjoyed. Yet it was really awesome to get to see all my friends and family. All in all, I'm happy I went back to my old stomping grounds for a few weeks, and I'm also happy to return to Colorado.

I'll be keeping you all up to date on my school-time activities in the weeks to come.


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K





*Classes don't start until the 24th of August.
**I say "unofficially" because I have yet to declare a major with my academic advisor in anything.
***Something to the tune of 'a whole semester's worth of credits.'
****Have I mentioned I love college?
^Perhaps too much?

Onward and Upward.

I've always wondered what the correct way to take bad news is. By that I mean I wonder how I should react to bad news in a way that accurately reflects who I am. I think too many Christians put on the plastic "everything's okay with the Lord in my life!" expression. Yet you read through the Bible - heck, just the book of Psalms - and you really see the full gamut of emotions displayed when bad news is brought. People tear their robes, rip out beards, get in fights, beat their chests, and cry out.

Sometimes I feel it's appropriate to get all dark and brooding, y'know? I want to shut up and think over what I've heard. I feel this conveys a sort of pensive, reserved personality. It's like saying, "that's bad news, but I'm not going to let you know how I really feel. Maybe I'll give you the scoop, and maybe not. Because I'm edgy." I'll ride my bike or go jogging to accentuate this response.

Other times I want to attack. I'm not good at physical fighting, which is good because it keeps me out of trouble. But I want to sort of flex what I have - intellect. I want to respond with a borderline attacking manner of dialogue. I want to try and show the bearer of bad news that I'm smarter and much more clever than they are, in an attempt to browbeat them into feeling bad that they've told me. I'll start making my words bigger and more obscure and say stuff like, "That's almost as inconceivably unintelligible as the first words vomited from a child's gullet."

Other times I want to just spew out words. I'll hear the bad news and go on for a while about my shoes that got ice cream spilled on them or my friends and how things are different now than they were before. I'll ramble about stuff that's been bothering me recently, bringing everything from the most insignificant occurrences to the present issues to the surface to be most un-triumphantly exposed to the light.

I guess what really matters is what you do with the news.

After the initial shock is over, how do you respond? How do you seek solutions to problems, resolve conflicts, or change your course accordingly? You can get bitter, that's for sure. You can think of all the reasons why it's not your fault, all the ways you've been wronged, all the misery that wasn't deserved. I've found the bitterness response to be mostly if not fully useless, however.

I suppose you could just shrug it off. You can take a step or two back from your life, back from your past, back from the stupid decisions and troubles you've had. You can realize that you're only 19, you live in America, and oh yeah you worship the God of the universe Whose name is Love.

In the end, you can decide to stay where you are and lament, sit still and fester. Or you can move. You can shake your head briefly, give it all one last fleeting glance, and move onward and upward.

After all, you're not the first one to receive bad news. And you won't be the last.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

The Ghost of Ghettos Past.

I leave in five days to go back to CCU and the Ghetto to start my second year. Whenever I think about this fact, I feel a rush of excitement swarm over my body, not unlike the times in elementary school when I would wake up and realize that it was field trip day. This is due to the fact that my previous year at CCU revolutionized my life and my faith.

Never before had I lived in a community of guys. Quite the opposite, really, since I resided with my Mom and sister through most of high school. I learned what it was like to live as men - eating cereal for breakfast lunch and dinner on weekends, leaving the toilet seat up permanently, trying to understand the mysteries of the women-folk, and of course the 'pants optional' rule. I realized that, despite how things seem sometimes, I'm not alone in a lot of my circumstances.

In addition, I learned the incredible value of a communal faith. My experiences here in Nevada had, unbeknownst to me, placed a distinct emphasis on the individual side of my faith. It was my relationship with my Savior, and I went to my church to read my bible, etc. At CCU, however, I saw the beauty and necessity of a group of believers. I saw how the epistles were written to communities, how the Torah was recited to a community, how the Church is not a building but a community of Christ-followers. Looking back, it all seems so obvious, the importance of community. I guess I just had to experience it to come to terms with the necessity.

I remember how I felt before my first day started. I asked my RA, Nick, how difficult classes were. I asked if he did well his freshman year, if the professors were hard, whether the classes had vertical learning curves. I was scared to death that I would fail. I had done well in high school, but that seemed so trivial. Dayton High School isn't exactly the pinnacle of college prep, and I had convinced myself that everyone around me knew exactly what was in store for them.

I recall meeting my roommates. Dan was first, since he showed up early for the athletes' retreat. He had spiky blonde hair, three tons of Top Ramen, and spoke with a humorous, hesitant tone that to me gave no indication of his Missouri origin. Cameron was next, lumbering in with his super deep voice and autographed Leeland t-shirt which he promptly pinned to the wall in our bedroom. He was a surfer dude from southern California, tanned and muscular. He walked around for the first week or so of school barefoot. Mike was last, carrying his guitar and amp up the stairs into our room with his dad close behind. Quiet and reserved, he didn't look anything like his Facebook pictures led us to believe.

I remember, a few weeks into my college experience, how I echoed the words of a friend; "One month ago, I was scared of coming to college. How strange." From there, everything was a blast. I reveled in the challenge of some professors and breathed in the simplicity of Gen. Eds. I stayed out late some nights and woke up early some mornings.

I got acquainted with the other members of the Ghetto through various exploits. There was the Jeep ride to downtown with Camo, the days of Winter Term with Nick, the visits to Chili's with Logan, Dan The Man, and Austin, the trip to Copper Mountain with Big Mike, and the 'draining' with Scott and Austin.

Now I stand poised on the edge of my second year back in the Ghetto. I'm pretty scared, to be perfectly honest. I know that nothing is ever the same, especially given the nature of a community - each year brings new challenges, new faces, and new opportunities. Im afraid that the Ghetto guys won't be as fun or as cool as my group were. Or that there will be a lot of fighting and bickering. Or any number of things, really.

Yet at the same time, I'm unbelievably excited. I can't wait to see how the Ghetto grows together this coming year. I look forward to game night with the Boondocks, to my D-Group, and to everything else the Ghetto entails.

And besides, I'm sure that three or four weeks into this coming semester, I will once again be saying to myself, "One month ago, I was scared of coming to college. How strange."

Funny how life works.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

My Ride Home.

I walk out of the back door of Baskin Robbins, boots clomping on the ground and helmet in hand. I say goodbye to my coworkers and walk around to the front of the store, out of the shadows and into the relentless illumination of the Casino Fandago's flashing billboard and parking lot lights. I throw a leg over my bike, put in my earphones, and lower the helmet onto my head.

I click on the ignition, turn the switch to RUN and hit the starter. I can't hear the engine over Switchfoot's "Rebuild (Feat. Relient K)" but I can feel the vibrations of the pistons idling beneath me. My left foot deftly shifts the bike into first gear and I let out the clutch to start my ride home.

As I cruise north on Carson Street, I see a couple ambling down the sidewalk, holding hands. As I drift by them in my traffic lane, I feel an unexpected yearning to do as they are - to stroll down the sidewalk in front of Comma Coffee late on a Wednesday night, enjoying the night and in no hurry. I bet they were having an amazing conversation, those two. A talk about life and death, morality and justice. I notice the fact that this yearning is not a new thing. While working on the fire crew, we would drive through King's Beach frequently on our way to and from the project sites. I would look out the window of the smelly, dim crew carrier and see beautiful young people enjoying the summer sun, swimming and boating in the lake. And despite my general dislike of the "beach scene," I always wanted to join them. I wanted to kick off my heavy boots and smelly work clothes and jump into the lake. Back when I worked at Keva Juice, I had a marvelous view into Ming's Chinese restaurant. I would stand there on nights when I closed, behind the counter, listening to Kelly Clarkson crooning over the radio and see all of the happy people eating delicious fried rice and sweet and sour pork through the front windows of the smoothie shop. And I wanted that. I wanted to be hanging out with friends, not wearing a visor and scrubbing a carrot juicer.

Author Donald Miller in his book "Blue Like Jazz" says this: "Everybody wants to be fancy and new. Nobody wants to be themselves. I mean, maybe people want to be themselves, but they want to be different, with different clothes or shorter hair or less fat. It's a fact. If there was a guy who just liked being himself and didn't want to be anybody else, that guy would be the most different guy in the world and everyone would want to be him." I could really relate to this quote on my ride home tonight. Why did I want to be ambling down the street holding the hand of some pretty girl and talking of life and death? Why didn't I want to be riding a 2003 Triumph Speedmaster on Carson Street? Why did I want to be playing on the beach with beautiful young people? Why didn't I want to be smelly and dirty after a day of hard work? Why did I want to be eating with friends? Why didn't I want to be wearing an apron and visor and closing Jen and Gary's store?

I've been trying really hard lately to want to be myself. To want to be Daniel, to like what I have and have what I like. To be satisfied scooping ice cream and watching the Colbert Report and living in Nevada. I realize that I don't want to idolize myself, to want everyone else to be me or to like me. Yet I think a lot of the time I do what I do in hopes of escaping myself. I want to buy new clothes so I don't look like Daniel. I want to go jogging so I'm more in shape than Daniel. I want to learn to fight so I can beat Daniel up. It's a disconcerting moment when you realize that you are the root of the world's problems. When you admit that so many people are starving while your pantry contains moldy bread that you didn't want to eat. When you see homeless people and come home to a house with a guest bedroom. When you want people to be less self-centered and yet spend your time focusing on yourself and how to become fancy and new.

* * * *

As I leave Carson City, I lay low on my gas tank and hook my boots onto the passenger pegs, hunkering down below the tiny windscreen attached to the front of my bike. I shift into top gear and twist on the throttle, leaving my previous thoughts behind as the speedometer climbs and climbs. I crest the hill and descend into Washoe Valley, keeping an eye out for prowling highway patrol cars. The night air screams through my helmet, trying to drown out John Mark McMillian's "How He Loves." As I glance down at the lighted displays of my bike, I see something has changed. Suddenly I have an altimeter squeezed in next to my tachometer. And a fuel gauge has appeared next to my gas cap. Lighted switches of all shapes and sizes surround me, covering the gas tank and protruding from the handlebars. In fact, I notice I am no longer riding home, but flying low over Washoe Lake, water kicking up high behind me.

This may seem odd at first, but I think that in reality every boy wants to fly jets. It's something that we gain a yearning for at an early age and then slowly smother with cars and girls and Halo 3. Yet it's still there, buried but not extinguished. I don't think I know one guy who would honestly say no to flying a jet. This in mind, I comfort myself by pulling back on the joystick and feeling the aircraft rise higher and higher, leaving the valley far below. I glance out of the cockpit and see lights shimmering beneath me, obscured by the scorching exhaust belching from my vehicle. I pull the jet into a vertical climb, gravity whimpering as it struggles to overcome the force exerted by the powerful jet engines directly behind me.

I see nothing but the stars above me now. I'm so close to them I feel like if I open the cockpit one may hit me in the face. One heavenly body in particular sticks out from the rest. It's bright and big, getting bigger as I speed upward. My eyes strain to make out this unusual object as it increases in size. Soon it is right on top of me and I am able to decipher black markings carved into it's surface:

SPEED LIMIT 50 MPH.

I shoot past the sign and let go of the throttle, bike engine sputtering as the friction of the motor slows my momentum. I sit up straight and swing my legs forward to their proper positions, leaving the passenger pegs wondering what they did wrong. I quickly downshift as the speedometer hits 70 MPH and hear the engine roar louder in frustration at having to work harder to maintain the same speed as before. I know that at this rate I will soon be riding through Pleasant Valley at the comfortable speed of 55 miles per hour. I could probably get away with going faster, but I wonder what the point of that would be. The Colbert Report doesn't start for another 20 minutes, and that leaves me plenty of time to finish my ride home.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

My Many Faces.

Today at work, I found myself scooping ice cream with some fine coworkers and serving it up for the low, low price of $1.07.*  After giving a falsetto rendition of a customer's order, I was compared by a coworker to his "crazy uncle."

This comment got me thinking.  Over the years, I've been compared to a lot of people.  I thought I'd give you the highlights.**

People I've been compared to:

Kramer from "Sienfeld"

One of my roommates dubbed me this after the third consecutive time I burst into our apartment wild-eyed and launched into a comical anecdote.

Michael "Goob" Yagoobian, from "Meet The Robinsons"

Well, I guess I do have a tendency to creep around and speak in ominous dramatic statements.... (And we both suck at baseball.)

A Dinosaur.

More like you're a dinosaur.

Sid from "Toy Story"

This epithet dates back to my days in Latchkey, when I used to show up over the summer with a magnifying glass and some GI Joes.

Doc from "Back to the Future"

Probably one of my favorites, as I easily relate to the whole slipping-in-the-bathroom-and-making-genius-discoveries business.

Kaa from "The Jungle Book"

Okay, so once or twice throughout the school year I lured someone into a trap by coaxing, "trust in me.... trussssssst in meeeeeeee."

A Kid in need of Rittalin

Yes, thank you Hans.

Donald Miller

Probably the greatest human to be compared to, a friend made this comparison after reading this very blog.  Score!

If your favorite didn't make it on here, please let me know.  Thanks to everyone and your incredible powers of comparison.

Thanks for reading***

-Daniel K

*Can I get a "Dolla Scoop Night?!"

**Or, rather, the ones I can remember.

***And perhaps contributing to this vast collection.

Thriller.

Today I woke up, read, listened to music, and took a shower.  Heading downstairs, I took my all-too-familiar place on the couch in the living room and turned on the TV.  Deciding to be a grownup this morning, I flipped to CNN to see what was new in the world.  The screen read, "Jackson Casket Being Driven to Staples Center."

Oh, of course... Today is Michael Jackson's funeral.  That's cool and all, but I'm not too huge of a Michael Jackson fan.  I turned the channel up one to HLN: "Remembering Michael Jackson." Then up another to Fox News: "Michael Jackson - 1958-2009."  Up another to MSNBC: "Michael Jackson Memorial."

Seriously?  That's ALL that's going on in the world, CNN, HLN, Fox, and MSNBC?  That's ALL I need to know this early Tuesday morning?

I think it's so weird that everyone's making a big deal out of Jackson's death.  It sucks, yeah.  He died unexpectedly at an early age and his name was know world-wide.  Yet I can't help but think that this is all so ridiculous.  What makes a person's death important or unimportant?  What makes it worth the focus of every major news channel and what makes it forgettable?

I'll admit that my feelings toward Jackson's death may be, in part, fueled by jealousy.  Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt that CHP will spend thousands and thousands of tax dollars to close down interstates and escort my memorial motorcade across California.*  Yet despite my feelings of jealousy, I still can't shake the ludicrousness of it all.

So many people are mourning the death of a single person, while elsewhere in the world, thousands of people are dying while defending justice or standing up for what's right.  I guess if they were better singers or songwriters or could dance the Thriller, more people would care.

*                *                *                *

I heard a joke soon after Jackson died that went like this: "Ferrah Fawcet died and went up to heaven, and God granted her one wish, so she said, 'I wish that my children could be safe.'  And that's how Michael Jackson died."  The news announcer just said that fans are taking respite in the fact that Michael is now in a "better place, where there is no pain or sorrow."  I listened to a song once that went, "Everybody wants to get to heaven, but no one wants to go there now."  All three of these instances only reinforce the fact that so few people realize what heaven entails.

Suddenly, because Jackson was accused of child molestation and Ferrah Fawcet was such a good person, she goes to heaven and he burns in hell.  Suddenly, because he was so loved by people, Jackson without-a-doubt goes to heaven.  Heaven is nice and all, but I want to stay here on earth a bit longer, partying and having sex and whatnot.

Look, the gospel message is offensive because of this claim: "I am the way and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me (John 14:6)."  That, my friends, offends A LOT of people.  Jesus is the way to heaven, and nothing else.  Which means that unless Jackson made a personal commitment to following Him, he didn't make it.  If Fawcet failed to make the same commitment, she failed to enter heaven, too.**

That's hard, and I understand that.  Before I became a Christian, that's what set off my 'red flag' alerts about the Bible... it's so black and white, so exclusive.  Yet as my understanding of the Bible increased, I realized that Jesus' invitation to, "come, follow me," extends to every single person alive.  There is no one on earth beyond the reach of God's invitation or His love.

Heaven isn't a reward dolled out to people who are exceedingly popular or who said nice things or starred in hit TV shows.  It's a promise given to those who say, "I wish that I will die that You, Lord, may live through me.  May my life stop and Your will take over."

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Neither would I want this to happen, by the way.  When I die, I want a party to commemorate the day.  A party where God is remembered more than I am, and where tears are shed only in confusion to God's plan, not in bitterness or anger towards my passing.

**Now I personally have no idea whether Mr. Jackson or Ms. Fawcet made such a commitment or not.  That's not up to me to judge.

Learning.

Recently, I've come to the conclusion that I have a lot to learn.  I know, I know... a shocking proclamation coming from me, but I feel like I should let you, my readers, know.

I mean, there's so much out there to learn, and I know only a tiny speck of what is to know.  I used to feel a little insecure about CCU because they don't offer the world's largest array of degree programs.  But then I started thinking about other universities, and even though they offer more options, they still don't offer everything.  I have a feeling that no matter what university I could have gone to, I would have felt the same way... I have this annoying tendency to not like what I have.

However, despite all there is to know, there are a few things that I really want to learn.  The top seven are as follows:

1. Another Language - I only took two years of Spanish in high school, which means that I'm rather far from fluent.

2. Photoshop - I've seen some really sweet stuff done with picture editing programs, and I want to learn how to do it myself.  Plus, who wouldn't want to put Hans' face on a variety of different animals... crabs, horses, birds.  The possibilities are endless!

3. Final Cut  - (Or some other legit video-editing program).  I've discovered that I really like to make videos.  Unfortunately, I'm editing them all on iMovie, which isn't exactly up to Hollywood standards.

4. Boxing and Kickboxing - Maybe it's the "guy" in me, but I want to learn to fight.  Three years of wrestling taught me that wrestling isn't very applicable to real-life situations.  Although I don't plan on fighting people (rather the opposite, actually) for some reason I still want to know how.

5. Magic Tricks - It would be sweet to have a hand quicker than the eye.  And everyone loves magic!

6. Card Counting - It's not gambling if you know you're going to win!

7. Engine Mechanics - I would love to be able to take apart and rebuild an engine, or just troubleshoot and fix stuff under the hood.

Well there you have it... Some things I want to learn sometime.  Anyone know some good teachers?

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Getting to the Point.

I just got ripped off by Bank of America.  Again.  If I can offer one piece of advice to everyone out there, it would be this: Do not bank with Bank of America.  Anyone but them.  This blog isn't about the ripping off, so I won't go into detail... ask me in person sometime and I'll disclose the full details of the rip off.

So what is this blog about, exactly?  Glad you asked.  In Matthew chapter 5, Jesus is sitting on a mountain and teaching the multitudes of people who had followed Him "from Galilee, and from Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and beyond the Jordan."  The people had just witnessed Jesus heal many people of their lifelong disabilities and crippling diseases, preaching in synagogs with the words of the prophets dripping from his tongue.  He is the Messiah - the Promised One sent by God to free the Jews from Roman occupation.  The Conquering King, who will rise up and strike down Caesar and the oppressors.

So in light of that, Jesus sits down with hundreds and hundreds of eager Jews who are ready to hear him give a Braveheart-style sermon.  And this is what He says; 

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, 

      for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 
Blessed are those who mourn, 
      for they will be comforted. 
Blessed are the meek, 
      for they will inherit the earth. 
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, 
      for they will be filled. 
Blessed are the merciful, 
      for they will be shown mercy. 
Blessed are the pure in heart, 
      for they will see God. 
Blessed are the peacemakers, 
      for they will be called sons of God. 
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, 
      for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.  Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."

Not exactly a 'down-by-a-touchdown-with-one-minute-left-in-the-fourth' speech.  Yet when I came home today after having been frustrated almost to the point of straight-up yelling in the face of the Bank of America branch manager, it wasn't a Coach Carter speech or a Mel Gibson monologue that reminded me of who I am.

I love reading about Jesus because the more I do, the more I see that the punches kept on rolling with Him.  Everyone expected Him, the Messiah, to kick some serious Roman butt and take back the land of Israel so that the Jews could finally know rest and live in God's kingdom.  Yet Jesus goes not to the leaders or to the popular 'celebrities' or to the intellectuals.  He doesn't go to the White House or the Pentagon or the G8.  He goes to the bums on the street.  The prostitutes, the embezzlers.  The average Joes, the rejects.

Okay, but You're still going to take things over, right Son of God?  You're forming an elite fighting force of God's warriors to attack, right?

Then He preaches to love your enemies, to walk an extra mile with your oppressors, to give your cloak to someone suing you for your shirt.  He gives us a third path, not of violence nor of apathy.  A scandalous, nigh impossible path where we walk by Spirt and Truth to enact change impossible through retaliation or indifference.

Yes yes yes, but when do we get to the whole 'taking back God's land' part?  When do we get to live in communion with God after having crushed His enemies?

Finally, to top it all off, Jesus gets Himself killed.  And not just killed, but beaten and thrashed and stripped of all dignity and spit on and then nailed to a tree.  And then He dies, slowly, between two thieves.  Murdered in cold blood.

What?!  What happened to the righting of the wrongs?  The crushing of injustice?  The healing of disease?  What happened, Messiah?  I thought You would save us...

*                *                *                *

I think what concerned me most before I came to follow Christ was a simple question: What is the point of my life?  Going through high school, I thought about this a lot.

Why did I get good grades?

To get into a good college.

Why?

To get a good degree.

Why?  

To get a good job, of course.

...But why?

To get a lot of money.

Why?

Well... so I can afford to buy the newest iPod and send my kids to college and own a nice house and pay the bills and go on good vacations and... and...

Why?

I followed this train of thought, asking why I wanted what I wanted.  I came to the conclusion that my objective in life - the point of my life - was to be happy.  So I had my answer:

I exist to make myself happy.

And I hated that answer.  It seemed so... empty.  Pointless.  The point of my life was pointless.  Luckily (or unluckily, I suppose,) it was easy to think about other things and forget my findings.  I could focus on a Geometry test or a book report or the upcoming wrestling match against *gulp* Trinity Perkins.  So life was fine, because I could easily avoid thinking about the pointless point of my life.

I suppose I could live my life helping others, though.  I could get that good job to give more to charities and educate my kids to go do great things and love my wife and treat her like a queen.  I could help others out of financial situations and maybe even serve in the Peace Corps!

But where does that leave me when I die?  Even if I spend a life helping others out, there would still be skeletons in my closet.  I would still have wronged more people than I could count.  I probably would have stolen - if not a priceless piece of art, then gum from a store.  I still would have made people's lives miserable - fired bad employees, cut people off in traffic while flipping the bird, made fun of people I didn't agree with, talked down to people who offended me.

Even if my heart was weighed after my death, good deeds versus bad ones, the "bad" side would break the scale.  We get so used to doing wrong that a lot of the time we don't even realize we're doing it.

*              *                *                *

So when I read in the Bible about Jesus and what He preached, I was intrigued to say the least.  He promised a life full of hardships, persecution, rejection, and bad days.  A life spent denying what comes naturally and clinging to a God who we have not seen.  A life where the least become the greatest, where the meek inherit the earth, where you find your life when you lose it.

This was so utterly different from the "get a 6-pack of abs or girls won't want to have sex with you" message of the world that I wanted to know more.  It was different, it was beautiful, and it was dang confusing.  Seriously, what does all that mean?  Will the meek literally inherit the earth?  How do I find my life by losing it?

After a while of researching the Bible and the claims made by Jesus, I decided that the life He described was the life I wanted to live.  Even if I didn't fully understand and even if it was weird, I wanted what He described.  I wanted to leave what I knew - to leave a life full of wanting to be something I'm not, full of trying so hard to get something I don't need, full of experimenting with a hundred different things just to be happy - and take the alternate route.

I wanted a life where no matter how many time a bank steals my money and then asks for more of my money to balance out what they stole, I know that there are more important things to get mad at.  I wanted a life full of mystery and love and community and adventure.  A life where I cannot simply run away from my problems.  A life where I get to wait for my girl and not have to worry about the latest fashions or the coolest hairstyles to find her.  A life where I don't need anything that can be taken away from me.  A life spent glorifying the only One who is worthy of it, through sacrificing my comforts and advantages to help others.

And that is the life I'm trying my hardest to live.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

The Argument.

The other night I watched the movie "Thank You For Smoking" on TV.  I had seen it a long time ago, but I didn't remember much about it.  I came to the conclusion that I really enjoy the film.  It centers around Nick Naylor, the chief spokesperson for the cigarette industry in America.  Although exceedingly cocky, I like Nick's attitude throughout the film.  He realizes that everyone has something they do well.  As Nick puts it, "Michael Jordan plays ball.  Charles Manson kills people.  I talk.  Everyone has a talent."

There's one scene in particular that's got me thinking recently.  Nick is helping his son do homework when the following conversation takes place; (ignore the different font and colors... I was too lazy to re-type it so I just copy/pasted it off a website.)

Joey Naylor: ...so what happens when you're wrong? 
Nick Naylor: Whoa, Joey I'm never wrong. 
Joey Naylor: But you can't always be right... 
Nick Naylor: Well, if it's your job to be right, then you're never wrong. 
Joey Naylor: But what if you are wrong? 
Nick Naylor: OK, let's say that you're defending chocolate, and I'm defending vanilla. Now if I were to say to you: 'Vanilla is the best flavour ice-cream', you'd say... 
Joey Naylor: No, chocolate is. 
Nick Naylor: Exactly, but you can't win that argument... so, I'll ask you: so you think chocolate is the end all and the all of ice-cream, do you? 
Joey Naylor: It's the best ice-cream, I wouldn't order any other. 
Nick Naylor: Oh! So it's all chocolate for you is it? 
Joey Naylor: Yes, chocolate is all I need. 
Nick Naylor: Well, I need more than chocolate, and for that matter I need more than vanilla. I believe that we need freedom and choice when it comes to our ice-cream.  And that Joey Naylor, that is the defintion of liberty. 
Joey Naylor: But that's not what we're talking about 
Nick Naylor: Ah! But that's what I'm talking about. 
Joey Naylor: ...but you didn't prove that vanilla was the best... 
Nick Naylor: I didn't have to. I proved that you're wrong, and if you're wrong I'm right. 
Joey Naylor: But you still didn't convince me 
Nick Naylor: But I'm not after you. I'm after them [gestures to the crowd].

This conversation sums the movie up quite nicely, in my opinion.  It's a satire mixed with the right amount of truth to make it subtly hilarious.  However, I'm not trying to review the movie here.  I'm making a point, so I'd better get to it.

The first thing Nick's conversation with Joey reminded me of were those Dell and Mac computer ads.  Sounds strange, no?  But hear me out.  When Nick makes the claim, "I proved that you're wrong, and if you're wrong I'm right," it screamed of the computer commercials.  The Dell commercials try to prove that Mac buyers are wrong, while the Mac computers try to prove that Dell buyers are wrong.  Nothing actually gets solved and no value is derived from the statements.  Except that the other guys are wrong.

Taking this to a macro level, I can see echos of it throughout our society.  Port-of-Subs sandwiches are pretty good, but if Subway can prove that PoS is wrong, then Subway is right.  UNR isn't the greatest school out there, but if CCU is wrong, then UNR is right.  Iraqi people are people just like you and I, but if they are wrong* then America is right.

It's strange to see how much we use this logically defunct mindset in our everyday lives.  It's even stranger** to think of a life void of it.  I don't think we would get so hung up on the little stuff, y'know?  Maybe we would stop caring about what country someone is from to or what car they drive or what band they like and just enjoy who they are.  Maybe we wouldn't feel such an urge to steal or kill or trash talk if we realized this.  I think that Nick, in a different scene in the movie, offers a strong counterpoint to this argument.  When talking to an elementary school class about smoking, he exhorts them to "stop acting like sheep... and find out for yourselves."

Stop taking other people's word for it and find out for yourself!  If the government says that someone is a threat, maybe we should see if it is credible advice.***  Instead of not liking Mac computers or Port of Subs sandwiches or different colleges or other races because of what someone tells us, maybe we should find out for ourselves.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Whether the grounds for this claim are based on skin color, culture, religion, or whatever.  The minute Iraqis become wrong and Americans become right, we suddenly find ourselves with the privilege of dictating to them how they should live.

**And a tad inspiring.

***Take this with a grain of salt.  Obviously if someone has a bomb strapped to them, they can readily be considered a threat.  But even then we still have to decide how to deal with said threat...