The First Update

Greetings from Denver!

Things have been clipping right along here in the Mile High City. I sit in a Starbucks, gazing out the window when I pause to think, and see the sure-fire signs of Fall. People walking around in sweaters. Leaves losing their glowing green hue and shifting slowly into yellow. A coolness in the air. And of course, pumpkin spice lattes advertised on the window spread.

By now, you're all probably wondering to yourselves, "that's great Daniel, but what have you been up to?" Well, thanks for the interest. Let me give you an update.

As you may recall (and if not, please scroll down below this post and familiarize yourself with the one which precedes it), I have set forth a List of Things to Do during my fourth and final year at CCU. The good news: I have been slowly shipping away at them. The bad news: I don't know where my freakin' camera battery is. I originally intended to have photographic evidence of my adventures, both for entertainment now and for "oh, those were the days" moments later on in life. Alas, in true Daniel fashion, I have misplaced the battery and charger to my digital camera. I have no doubt that it will turn up eventually, but until then, I'll have to paint you some word pictures.

First off, I spent the week before last camped out on the corner of 10th and Broadway downtown, with the number "36" scrawled in red Sharpie on my right hand. That's right - I attended the Sniagrab. Some friends and I went down to the all-too-familiar street corner on a Monday night and checked in. As previously mentioned, I ended up being number 36 in line, which is a personal record.* I would go to class and/or work during the day, then load up my sleeping bag and head downtown for the night.

And so it went. Monday night. Tuesday night. Wednesday night. Thursday night. Friday night. I stayed up pretty late on Friday, visit the 16th Street Mall and eating Big Fish burritos from Illegal Pete's. At 2am when the bars let out, I sat with some Ghetto guys on a low wall and watched the spectacle. Drunk bros punching each other in the arm, drunk girls tripping over their high heels, etc. Some classic entertainment. At 6am the next morning, we packed up our tents, drank some free coffee** and then waited eagerly for our gift cards.

At 8:30, the staff rolled through the line, handing out the coveted "Bonus Bucks" cards. I received mine with a nod and smile, storing the $100 business card in my pocket. At 9am when the doors opened, I flooded in with my friends and began snatching up the deals. In the end, I didn't walk away with very many things. Freshman year I secured gloves, socks, sunglasses, a helmet, and some headphones. This year I walked out with a Winchester sheath knife, a Camelback backpack, and a pair of gloves. For a grand total of 11 cents. Booyah.

I went home and scratched "Win Money at the Sniagrab" off of my list.

Next up, you may ask? Excellent question. I am rehearsing for the school play currently,*** planning an unnecessary all-nighter to knock out some projects that are due in October, and looking to get an act together for King Cougar. Hopefully I'll get my camera up and running by then. Stay tuned.


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K



*I believe I was 60-something my freshman year.
**Compliments of Sports Authority
***And I may do the musical in the Spring, being as I ended up with a very minor part this time around

The List.

My senior year at Colorado Christian University has officially begun. It's been a long and exciting journey, to be honest. I've laughed, I've cried, and I've spent a lot of time doing pointless stuff. Don't get me wrong - I've enjoyed all those trips to Jump Street, getting my Final Fantasy XII characters up to insanely high levels, and spending hours playing Desktop Tower Defense on my computer. But as I look at my calendar and see that I only have nine more months left of college, I start to feel like I'm passing up a very important opportunity.

Not anymore!

I've spent the past few weeks compiling a list of things I want to get done during my final year at CCU. Lucky for you, this is where I'm going to post it and follow up on it. Here's how things will work:

1. I post The List.
2. I start doing things on The List, documenting with photographs as needed.
3. I blog about my experiences and include said pictures.
4. You send me money.*

And so without further adieu, I give you.... The List.


1. Go to the Homecoming Dance
2. Attend the Christmas Tree Lighting**
3. Attend the Christmas Concert
4. Participate in a drama (play or musical)
5. Win money at the Sniagrab
6. Submit a piece of fiction to Paragon***
7. Perform in a "Tuesdays" coffee house
8. Host either O'Malley's or King Cougar
9. Participate in either O'Malley's or King Cougar
10. Spend the night on the roof of the Beckman Center
11. Go on a road trip
12. Play at least one game of every intramural sport
13. Pull an unnecessary all-nighter
14. TBD

As you can see, I am going to leave The List open-ended for now. I'll be adding to it periodically over the next month, as more ideas come to me. Be expecting updates soon!


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K


*Non-sequential unmarked bills only, please.
**I have somehow managed to miss this event every single year, despite putting aside time in my schedule to attend.
***The annual student Literary Magazine at CCU.

Oh, Hypocrisy.

My super-attractive girlfriend and I were talking the other day when we began discussing the people we get along with most easily and, conversely, those whom we find hard to enjoy.

I explained that I get along easily with those who can see the bigger picture. Those who don't make a big deal out of little things. Those who are open to discussing new ideas, who understand my sense of humor, and who have a general air of optimism.

Those who I have a hard time getting along with? I thought about it for a little bit. Annoying people. But what makes someone annoying? I surmised that at the heart of it all, I didn't like people who were hypocritical. I know, I know. Deep, right? Real original. I mean, who honestly sees hypocrisy and says, "I think that's fantastic"? But anyway, hypocritical people are the worst.

The thing about hypocrisy is that the more you look for it, the more you see it. And it's the biggest catch 22 in history. By saying I don't like hypocritical people, I am in fact being a hypocrite. It's a humbling thing, really. Try it out for a day. Keep your eyes open for hypocrisy everywhere you go. It starts out fun, and you'll feel really great. You'll see people driving alone in SUVs who ask for their coffee in their own cup so as not to waste (I'm sitting in a Starbucks right now, observing.) But keep looking, and soon the game will stop being fun. You'll get super pissed at someone for cutting you off in traffic. Then a couple miles down the road, realize that you need this exit, and cut over to get off the freeway. But its different for you, right? After all, it was only that one time, and it was only because you didn't want to miss the exit. Right.

I mention all of this because I had an epiphany.* As previously mentioned, I'm at Starbucks right now. I rode my bike here, being as its a beautiful Friday morning and I have some new music on my iPod to listen to. On my way here, I passed by an elderly couple on their bikes. I called out "on your left," then whizzed by. I could have sworn that the old man said something as I went by, but I had my earphones in and could easily have imagined it. Plus, I was going quite a bit faster than the couple, so I figured it didn't matter.

As is usual, my imagination kicked in. You see, I have this deep-seeded suspicion of the world around me. The origins of this suspicion can be easily traced to the movie "The Truman Show," wherein a man lives his entire life on a TV set without knowing, while the rest of the world watches.

What if that old man had been calling out my name? What if he had been trying to tell me something important? A warning, or good company to buy stock in? In fact, what if that old man was really me? Sometime in the future, as an old man, I decide to go back and tell myself some valuable piece of advice. I can't remember exactly where I was on this day, but I know I'm going to be riding down that road. And then, I see myself! I call out my name as I whizz past, but my younger version is too busy listening to "Empire State of Mind" and imagining what it'd be like to be a rich and famous rap star.

And then I'm gone, and my whole trip into the past is wasted. And by now, I bet you're wondering what this has to do with hypocrisy.

Well, if there's another thing I can't stand, it's angsty young people. I've spent some time over the past few years in youth groups working with high schoolers, and that is my number one annoyance with them. They'll tell me about this really harsh dumping they just endured, or some catastrophic event where their sister deleted their video game save data. I can look back at my own life, back on similar experiences, and realize that what was a huge deal back then really didn't make the slightest bit of difference in my life now. When I try to tell them that it's not the end of the world, they get this "you don't know me" attitude. Like my advice is dated or superfluous or stupid. I don't know what it's like. I can't help.

But the thing is, I can. And I'm trying. Believe it or not, you're not the first person to get dumped. To get hurt. To get wronged. But they can't see that a lot of times, so it leads to endless frustrations for those trying to offer advice.** Today, on my bike ride past the old couple, I realized something. That old man didn't have to be an older version of myself in order to offer important advice.

Why is it that I assume I'm the only one qualified to give advice to myself? That old dude had been around for a pretty long time, by the looks of him.*** He probably could have offered a ton of useful advice. I would try to say something like, "no dude, you don't know me." And I bet he'd think of me the same way I think of high schoolers. I wonder if he'd have the patience to keep trying.

Oh, hypocrisy.



Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K





*And naturally, my first reaction was to blog about it. Alright, 21st century!
**One of the reasons I'll never be a youth group leader.
***No offense, old dude, if you're reading this. I might add that your beard was very distinguished.

The Adventures: Reloaded

No, but seriously this time.

I'm picking up blogging again. I've decided that I miss the eclectic, episodic style of blogging, and that I want to start this one up again. Here's a quick recap of these past months, to get everyone on the same page:

I enrolled in a class called "Advanced Creative Writing: Fiction" this semester. The goal for the class could be summed up quite simply this way: write a novel. I had wanted to take the class ever since I heard about it my freshman year, and so I decided to become an English Minor in order to do this.* It didn't disappoint. We began by reading a few chapters from a book about writing books. Then delved into some theory, honed our character development and dialogue skills, and then turned in chapter one. After that, it was pretty much every week that we were required to turn in a chapter of some sort. Ten chapters, ten pages each. All said and done, we needed a 100-page manuscript to pass the class.

In May when we turned in our drafts, I was at ten chapters and 118 pages. And my plot was nowhere near done. Since school's let out for the summer, I have completed chapters 11 and 12, and have almost finished chapter 13.** I should have the whole work done in a few weeks, probably rounding out to 15 or 16 chapters. I'll need a mess of revisions and re-writes, which means I'll need an army of proofreaders... so if you're interested in receiving a copy,*** leave me a comment and I'll mail you one when it's ready to go.

Writing my novel was an extremely entertaining experience. I began with a clear idea of what my novel would be. Over Christmas break, I developed the setting and characters. It would take place at Montana State University, and center around three different students. Aaron, a delinquent freshman who gets his kicks out of provoking people into fighting him. Justin, a Christian sophomore who just wants to get by and graduate. And Eric, a senior who belongs to a secret society of sorts. I would develop the setting, MSU, and then have the characters go about their lives, sometimes interacting with each other, but mainly keeping to their own groups of friends. I would use this to explore the deeper questions in life. Why are we here? What are we to do with our lives? How do we deal with pain and loss? Where do we find joy? You know, the stuff novels are made of.

About January, however, I decided that I wanted my novel set in Portland. Or Seattle. Somewhere gloomy and melancholy, where a brooding high school senior named Isaac lived with his mom in a large apartment complex. Isaac was really into the bike scene, riding his stripped-down fixed gear through the back alleys and along the river with his younger high school friends. A reluctant leader of younger guys who looked up to him and expected more of him than he wanted to give. I'd use this to explore the deeper questions in life. Why are we here? What are we to do with our lives? How do we deal with pain and loss? What is a really cool name to give a fixed gear bike?

By the third week of class, we had to turn in our statements of intent. The basics of our novel - who was/were the main character(s), where did it all take place, who was the narrator. By this time, I had it down for sure. Forget the deeper questions in life... My novel was going to be set in space. Humanity had migrated across the stars. Interstellar travel was made possible by the discovery of superhumans who could utilize a Force-like power to propel ships through the vastness of space. The colonization of the stars was just underway, however, with the rules of the wild west in play - whoever has the biggest guns makes the rules. Our protagonist wakes up in the medical ward of a ship without any memory. He stumbles his way into a fierce conflict between the Federation and the rebels, unsure of which side to join.

The week after that, I had it down for sure. My professor roller her eyes as I pitched my forth (and final) plot line. I ended up with Izaac^, a young superhuman who lives in the enormous city-building of Denver sometime in the distant future. Spurned by the most prestigious superhuman academy on the planet, Izaac falls in with a group of resistance fighters who want to deactivate the source of the superhumans' powers.^^

And so the writing began. Now here I am, six months, 13 chapters, and 150 pages later. I realized the other day, however, that I want to start writing things completely unrelated to Izaac or his plight with the resistance fighters. I think this will help me finish, as it will provide an outlet for the times when I don't feel like sitting down and writing. I can write about whatever I want!

Politics? Sure. Starbucks? You bet. Summer time in Colorado? Why not.

Oh, blogging. How I've missed you.



Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K




*This is only a slight exaggeration.
**I decided to take a break from chapter thirteen to update my blog, in fact. I just got done with the only romance scene in the whole piece, and it was exhausting. Romance is annoying.
***And you promise not to steal my idea and publish it under your name.
^Spelling it "Izaac" instead of "Isaac" is how you know it's set in the future.
^^This is purposefully vague. I was only half-kidding about my fear of someone stealing my idea.

Many Honorable Return of the New Year.

I watched the New Year roll its way over the glittering streets of Reno in from an overlook halfway up Geiger Grade. I've wanted to watch the fireworks from up there since my senior year of high school, but for one reason or another I never did. Yet being as I had a car, a new camera, and some spare time, I decided to go for it this time around. I drove the winding and twisting road up to the scenic overlook dressed in every scrap of winter clothing I brought with me from Colorado and parked next to a small four-door car which boomed with the sounds of expensive subs.

I climbed out of the truck with my backpack in one hand and a folding chair in the other. Trying not to block anyone else's view, I set up the chair, zipped my jacket up to my nose, and sat on the cold plastic on the cold mountainside during the cold night in the cold state of Nevada. I dug into my pocket and fished out my cellphone. A click of the "Volume Up" button on the side caused the front display to yell at my eyes, "11:52!" I winced at the brightness and set the phone on my thigh. Just in time.

I spent the next few seconds digging out my new camera from my backpack, stuffing it under my coat to keep it from catching cold, and then jamming my hands into my jacket pockets.

Volume Up. 11:53!

I can never decide if city lights look like embers from a dying fire or man's poor imitation of God's stars. Bother metaphors appeal to me. In the former, you get an explanation for the pulsing, flickering, and moving patterns of the city's luminescence. It looks as if a caravan of giant gypsies stopped over in the valley for the night, got cold from drinking the frosty waters of Lake Tahoe, and so sparked up a fire to warm their huge gypsy feet. Much later, when they were all going off to sleep, the most safety-conscious giant gypsy got up and stomped out the flames.

In the latter, you get a good picture of Man's hilarious ineptitude. In attempting to replicate God's nighttime spectacle, we end up with some stars spread way too far apart, some lumped together, some blinking, some shifting from green to yellow to red. The colors are all off, and it wastes a lot of electricity.

Volume Up. 11:55!

About this time every year, I get to thinking that I need to do something rash. I look around my folding chair for opportunities. There are a handful of parked cars around me. Maybe I could go and kick the tires of one until the occupants get out to stop me, then I could defeat all seven of them in hand-to-hand combat. Moving my gaze onward, I see a sign that reads "CONGESTED AREA 25 MPH." I need that sign. It will be my souvenir from the night I finally saw the fireworks from this overlook. Jake left his bag of tools in the back of the truck. I could probably go right now and get the wrench I would need. Someone might try to stop me, but I could always defeat all nine of them in hand-to-hand combat and then be on my way with my sign. Whatever I'm going to do, I need to do it fast because I'm running out of time.

Volume Up. 11:57!

Time is a weird thing. It's a weird thing because we hate it so much. There's never enough when we want it most and there's a surplus when we desire to get on with life. I once heard my good friend Robbie Halleen use our hatred of time as proof that we are eternal beings. "Fish don't complain about the ocean being too wet," he said, "and worms don't complain about having to be underground all of the time. That's because they were made for those environments. But humans always feel the chafe of time on them, which indicates that this is not where we're supposed to be."

Volume Up. 11:59!

I press the "Power" button on the side of my camera and flip the view screen open. My eyes wince at the LCD's brightness. The camera's computer blinks at the blobs of light in front of it, confused for a second or two. Then it slowly understands and adjusts the lenses to make the picture sharper. There she is. The city of Reno, all laid out in front of me. I wonder if the folks watching from behind me are annoyed that I'm filming. The light from my screen is a bit bright so I try to cover it with my other hand. I know that in some movie theaters, they'll kick you out for even opening your cellphone. I hope that no one tries to kick me out of the overlook. For their sake, of course. I wouldn't want to defeat all twelve of them in hand-to-hand combat.

LCD Screen Display: "12:00"

The fireworks leap off the tops of the casinos downtown. I'm recording it all on my new camera. A few seconds later, I hear the faint pops and booms of the explosions. I try all sorts of tricks with the camera. I center the fireworks and zoom in as far as it'll go. Then I pan out a bit and put the fireworks near the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. Oh yeah, I think, this will work great for a title sequence. I plan to later put the words "2011 - A Year In Review" in the black empty space where the night sky is. Of course, in the final edit, I will have Auld Lang Sine playing. Of course I'm going to make a "2010 In Review" video. It will be full of all the awesome stuff I do in 2011. Or rather, all of the awesome stuff people around me do in 2011, because there's not much chance that I will give the new camera to someone else to film.

LCD Screen Display: "12:03"

Shouldn't these fireworks be over by now? They are for me, as I flip the screen shut and power off the new camera. I place the new camera into the new camera bag and then put that whole apparatus into my old backpack, stand up, stretch, pick up the folding chair, and walk back to the truck. I stow all of my effects in the passenger seat and head off down the hill. I can see the fireworks sparkling all the way until I exit onto South Meadows Parkway and head for Dad's place.

Happy New Year, one and all.


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

It's Been a While.

And for that, I am sincerely sorry. Things have been ridiculously busy around here, what with being an RA, President of RHA, having a girlfriend, and planning for King Cougar.*

Yet I want to maintain this blog. On that note, I am about to copy/paste an opinion article I just wrote for Veritas, the CCU student newspaper. I know this is the cheap way out, but like they always say, "it's better to kills two birds with one stone than write an opinion article and not post it to your blog."

Deal.


What’s In a Name? (OR) The "Ghetto" Only in Name

I remember a phone conversation with one of my soon-to-be residents over the summer. I told him that I was the RA of the Ghetto for this year, and that I was really excited to get to know him. He responded by asking me a question. “Is the Ghetto, like, junkier than other stairwells?” After a moment’s pause, I responded in the negative and began informing him on the history of stairwell names – how they were chosen years ago by students who wished to express the zeitgeist in the stairwell. And while I don’t know for sure why the founders of the Ghetto decided to call it such, I would like to give an account of the current meaning of the term “Ghetto” as it pertains to CCU.

The history and scholarly definition of the word “ghetto” is not a glorious one. Princeton’s WordNet defines it as “1. Formerly the restricted quarter of many European cities in which Jews were required to live; ‘the Warsaw ghetto.’ 2. Any segregated mode of living or working that results from bias or stereotyping; ‘no escape from the ghetto of the typing pool.’ 3. A poor densely populated city district occupied by a minority ethnic group linked together by economic hardship and social restrictions.” Yet the word has become more of an adjective in today’s world; one might describe a trashy car or a shoddy production as “ghetto.”

Where does that leave the Ghetto Stairwell? Is this a passé name which should be thrown out with last semester’s class notes? To flee from this ugly definition, should we propose a name change for the stairwell? When faced with an undesirable reality, there are two paths one can take. The first is to flee from the tide. You distance yourself from the cause of your grief. You shed the old skin and start anew. You wash your hands and walk the other direction as quickly as possible. Yet I submit to you that the more noble reaction is to effect change within your circumstances. Rather than spurn the connotation of the word “ghetto,” we should strive to reverse the polarity of the term. We can make “ghetto” mean something different. We can redeem rather than be repulsed. The beauty of language is that it is always in a state of flux. It is alive and moving. Most importantly, it is created by man and can therefore be re-created by man.

So it is with the Ghetto Stairwell. We seek not to “be ghetto” as our culture defines the term, but instead tell the culture what “ghetto” now means. Our goal is to reinvent the word and bring light into a dark area of language. When the tax collectors come to John the Baptist and ask, “What shall we do,” John does not tell them to stop being tax collectors. He instructs them instead to only collect what they are required to. In other words, don’t flee from your blighted profession – redefine what it means to be a tax collector.

In I Corinthians, the Apostle Paul is telling off the religious folk of the Corinthian church for expecting their obedience in Christ to mean financial or material gain. The Corinthians obviously thought that a mark of Apostleship is wealth and power. To illustrate a true Apostle, Paul writes that “we have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world.” In other translations, it is interpreted as “everybody’s garbage” and “the filth of humanity.” It is not a far stretch to say that Apostles ought to be the Ghetto of the world. Let it be so.



Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K



*The annual male beauty pageant. My friends and I will be hosting this year.

In With The Old.

Some of the biggest disappointments in my life have stemmed from the realization that something I thought new and cool and unexplored was, in reality, old hat. I remember, for example, the time I climbed Mt. Whitney with my boy scout troop. I returned to the pitiful elevation of 3,000 feet a hero, walking as tall as the mountain I had just scaled. After all, so few people had accomplished such a feat. I was like Emilia Earhart or Neil Armstrong. Yet when school started that September, I recall that during my first class, our new english teacher Mrs. Bowen had us play Classmate Bingo in order to better acquaint ourselves with each other. During the course of the game, Mrs. Bowen asked if anyone knew the tallest mountain in the contiguous 48 states. My hand shot up like a rocket and I exclaimed, "It's Mt. Whitney in California! I climbed it!"

"Me too," Mrs. Bowen replied in a heartbeat, "twice."

Suddenly my golden mountain lost its luster. It looked more like a mountain of lead now. I mean sure, I had climbed it... but who hadn't? Mt. Whitney, as I had just learned, was old news.

Now, as a 20-year-old white male living in America, there are certain thoughts and ideas I am exposed to on a regular basis. Yet the coolest and most alluring by far -- head and shoulders above Kanye West, MTV, and the partying scene -- is the idea of relative truth... The concept that Truth (note the capital T) is a fickle, tenuous, moving, amorphous concept whose definition invariably, by its nature, changes from person to person.

In short, Truth to one person is not always Truth to another.

This idea fascinated and enthralled me, as it does with millions of my peers. I mean, gone are the days where any shmuck on the street could spout off what Truth is. Truth is so much more complex than that, you see? Truth can't possibly exist within a single religion. Why, just look how many religions there are in the world! This concept, when I was first clued onto it in high school, was so... hip. It's what all the great thinkers of our time are soliciting. It is in movies, books, magazines, and TV shows. People eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Yet most promising of all, It makes our world safe, quiet, and happy. If the Truth confessed by an angry Christian and the Truth proclaimed by a fanatical Muslim are both true, then there's no reason to fight. What's true to you is awesome, and what's true to me is fantastic. There's no need for conflict in our utopia anymore.

As such, one of the most profound disappointments of my life came when I was listening to a message on the Gospel of John a while back. The pastor explained that Jesus had just been apprehended by the Jewish elite in the Garden of Gathsemane and beaten all night. The plotters decided that the best and most hands-free method of killing Jesus would be to send him before the cruel and unforgiving Pilate. All the Jews had to do was say that Jesus was leading an insurrection, and Pilate (who was in charge of brutally putting down any threats to Caesar,) would take care of the rest. Accordingly, the plotters hand Jesus over to be investigated.

While I was listening to the pastor read the discourse between Jesus and Pilate, an interesting few lines of dialogue caught my attention. Pilate asks Jesus if He is proclaiming to be a king (a direct violation of Roman law, as only Caesar was king.) Jesus replies, "You are right in saying I am a king. In fact, for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me." Pilate remarks, "What is truth?" and then leaves to go talk to the Jews.

What is truth? Pilate is asking that of Jesus. What is truth. Mrs. Bowen was telling me that she climbed Mt. Whitney twice as Pilate was asking Jesus that rhetorical question. And suddenly, this amazingly entrancing idea that Truth is in the eye of the beholder was loosing its charm. The concept that Truth is relative isn't new at all. It isn't the latest thing and it wasn't thought up by our clever little generation. Pilate was tracking with it in year 10. And here we are in year 2010 acting as if this is all the rage. It was at that moment that I saw this idea not as a great leap forward in human thinking but a step sideways in our search for answers. It isn't some intellectual progression of thought, it's a regression of mind back to archaic thinking.

I said that this was one of the biggest disappointments in my life. This is true because it had been something that I had poured my intellect into for years, dazzled by the "new" shine it emitted. Yet it was also one of the most freeing realizations as well. Now that relative Truth wasn't any more progressive in thought than the concept of absolute Truth, I was able to think through my own beliefs more clearly. I wasn't worried about sounding old-fashioned or out-of-date when I proposed that Truth is a set, definite thing.

The idea that Truth to you is true and Truth to me is also true was an idea Pilate had going through his head. It seemed to be Jesus who was suggesting the new way of thinking... The revolutionary way of thinking. This example serves as a microcosm to why I decided to follow Christ. I wasn't interested in keeping alive some ancient, outdated set of beliefs. I didn't want to become part of a worn-out tradition. Instead, the life and the teachings of Jesus appeared to me as a breath of fresh air from the cloying stench of pop culture. Jesus told me to share instead of horde, and I agreed that that was a better way to live. He asked me to respect others before I took the best for myself, and I agreed that that was a more mature method. He told me that Truth is out there, solid and unchanging, even though sometimes I have no idea how to decipher it, and I agreed that that was a more wise understanding of things.


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

The Least Wonderful Time of the Year.

It's Sunday, May 2nd. I leave the Ghetto for the Dining Commons, messenger bag in my left hand and Zach at my right. We walk the length of Waite Hall together silently, anxious to see if we can get in. As per our plan, Zach approaches bottom-left of the Quik Stop, large cardboard box in hand, and knocks loudly. If they answer, he is to ask them for any canned goods (he's collecting them for the summer). If they don't answer, then we're golden.

We wait for about a minute. No one answers. Our revenge is at hand.

Almost unbelievably, they have left they window open. I snatch my knife out of my pocket and flick open the blade in a well-practiced movement, then set about prying their screen off. It pops out of place with minimal effort. With a quick look over at Zach (who is keeping watch) and another over my left shoulder towards the Ghetto, I see that the coast is clear and I slip inside the room. Moments later, I open their front door and let Zach in. The day is ours as we pull from my messenger bag three huge bags of confetti and some old rotten fish. Zach sets about throwing the bits of rotting seafood all over the room, while I tear open the first bag of confetti and set to work.

In less than five minutes, we exit the room through the front door. The whole place wreaks of fish and every square inch is covered with confetti - floors, counters, furniture, oven, cabinets, fridge, freezer, everything. Win.*

Zach and I are pumped as we finish our walk to the Dining Commons. It's Finals Breakfast night, so the place is packed out with hungry, study-weary CCU students. The jazz band is just striking up, loud and full, and I can see Phil, my roommate, playing his trombone with the rest of them. The Student Union will be packed tonight, as will the Library and any other available studying spot. There will be no parking spaces in any of the central parking lots. Finals week will be in full swing.

- - - - - - - - - -

It's Thursday, May 6th. I leave the Ghetto for the Dining Commons via longboard. I have nothing in my hands and no backpack. Why would I? I took my last final the other day at 10am. School is over for me. I arrive at the front doors to the Caf. a few minutes later, set my board in the atrium, and swipe my student ID at the kiosk. I've finished this semester with meals to spare, so I'm going to take advantage of the Caf. while I still can.

After eating, I head back to the Ghetto. I pass Jorden on my way. She's heading in the opposite direction, looking flustered and cute at the same time. "I overslept!" She explains. "I meant to study this morning!" I hug her and tell her she at least looks dressed to kill, then tell her she'll do great. We part and I return to the Ghetto. The sound of vacuums can already be heard, despite the fact that it's only eight in the morning. I enter my room and look over the kitchen. Still spotless, just the way I left it an hour ago.

I walk to my bedroom. Phil isn't awake yet, so I forgo cleaning in there. I return to the kitchen and work on scrubbing some stubborn stains from the tile floor. I check out of CCU in two hours, and when that happens, the kitchen (which I signed up to clean) and my bedroom have to be showcase condition. I hear footsteps on the stairs outside and, eager for a conversation, fling open the door. Zach and Clayton are on their way down. "Sullivan!" I say in a faux-deep voice. Clayton looks over his shoulder and replies, "What's up, Mountain Face?" I tell them to kick some ass on their finals, then I go back into the kitchen, leaving the door open, and return to the dirty floor.

After thirty minutes of cleaning, I decided it's cramping my style and head out. I longboard to the Student Union to see if anything interesting is going on. Nothing much there. I use my last remaining free drink coupon at the Cougar Tracks Cafe, then sip my enormous drink** as I meander around campus. I head over through upperclassmen housing. The drone of vacuums can be heard as I longboard through the bottom levels of the Peaks. Doors are open, giving me a look into the disheveled apartments full of half-packed boxes and cleaning supplies.

The Student Union will be empty tonight. The Library will be still and silent. There will be more empty parking spaces than full ones in the lots. Finals week is over. By ten o'clock tonight, 90% of on-campus students will be gone, some straight home, some to hotels, others (like myself) to friend's apartments in the area.

- - - - - - - - -

It's Friday, May 7th, at 12:00pm. I enter CCU campus through the main entrance on my motorcycle. I've come to pick through the enormous amounts of garbage left by students in their hasty flight from campus the previous night. The parking lot is completely empty except for a handful of cars. Freshmen housing is completely still. Campus is deserted. As I meet with my few friends who are still in the area to tour through the CCU dumpsters, I can't help but feel a sadness for the state of the campus. I won't live in the Ghetto for a while. The Library and Student Union and Dining Commons and everything else will sleep for the summer.

It's the least wonderful time of the year, in my opinion. But at least it leaves me with sufficient time to do the things I've had to forsake in the mad rush of college life. Like write.



Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K






*This was recompense for a below-the-belt prank pulled on the Ghetto a week earlier. Some freshman girls thought they could juke us and walk off scotch-free. Think again.

**You always go big when you get 'em for free.

A Night in the Union.

I sit here in the Student Union, typing at my computer and tossing an occasional woeful glance at the clean fan blades above my head. It's rare that well though-out pranks fall through, especially when I've been planning them for this long. The last time a prank fell flat like this was back in high school, during the infamous Rapper's Delight Prank.

Back then, the plan was just as premeditated as this one had been. It was simple, quick, and clean - three excellent ingredients for a good prank. It involved two people, some privy knowledge as to the "all-call" code on the DHS intercom system, an old portable CD player, a burnt CD containing the Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight," some headphones from the Dollar Store, and duct tape. The execution was straight-forward; Hans distracted Mrs. Walker with a pointless question, I breezed by looking purposeful (which, I suppose, I was) and entered into the back room where the morning announcements were made. I drew out the CD player, headphones, and duct tape and set to work. Within twenty seconds, I had taped the headphones to the "talking" end of the phone, hit PLAY on the CD player, and dialed the all-call code. Then came the hang-up; I turned the volume on the CD player all the to one side. The wrong side. Thus, the ding-dong-ding signaling an announcement yielded nothing but dead air waves.

People sometimes ask me what my number one regret in life is. Without hesitation, I cite this prank. It was just so close to being epic.

Now, perched upon a tall chair in the corner of the Union, I can add one more to the list. The clean fan blades taunt me from above. At least I escaped detection.

It was just as smoothly executed. This morning at exactly 2:50am, all the alarm clocks and cellphones in my room want crazy. Five minutes later saw my roommates and I rubbing the sleep out of our eyes and putting on all the necessary gear - warm clothes, bags of dumpstered* confetti, flashlights, and a note reading;

"Feb. 23rd, 2010 -
PLEASE do not turn on the fans until after 8:30pm, they are being re-wired."

At 3:25am, security left the Student Union to go on patrol. One benefit to a small school like CCU is that the security patrols at 3:00am aren't in a big hurry and aren't too observant. Trevor followed the Security truck around with a walkie-talkie while Eli, Phil, and I sprinted from the Ghetto to the Union. I went inside and set to work shutting off all the lights and gaining entrance to the back closet where the fan controls are. A few moments later, Eli and Phil came in through the door carrying a tall ladder. They set it up under the nearest ceiling fan and called out for me to hurry up. I finished picking the lock and hastily shut down all of the fans in the room, then speed-walked over to the waiting ladder.

As I shimmied up the rungs, Phil and Eli took up their posts at opposite sides of the Union, listening to Trevor's incoming reports on Security's whereabouts. Reaching the top of the ladder, I drew out a large bag of hole punches from my coat pocket and set to work. This was where the plan started to fracture. Since the blades are slightly tilted, confetti began sliding off the edges even as I put it on. It didn't help that I was in a big hurry and had adrenaline dancing through my veins. Once the top of all of the blades on the fan had been sufficiently covered with tiny pieces of paper, I climbed down and relocated the ladder.

"Security's over by Beckman," Eli reported. This mean we still had a good amount of time. I repeated the task of climbing the ladder, placing the confetti as carefully as I could, and then relocating until all of the fans had been hit. Just in time.

"He's headed back this way!" Eli said as I folded up the ladder. We paused for a moment to review our work. It was sloppy. A decent amount of confetti covered the floor of the Union. We hastily swept any off of table tops and chairs so it didn't look like it had fallen from high above - perhaps someone would guess that a punk strolled through the building and dropped it our of his pockets as he went.

Perhaps. But as it turns out, perhaps not. Our intended target was 3rd Tuesday Coffeehouse - the monthly showcase of CCU musicians and other artists. It draws a pretty big crowd into the Union, and we were going to turn on the fans in the middle of the second act, dusting everyone with tons of confetti. But sometime during the day, someone connected the dots and looked up at the fans. I passed by the Union at 3:00pm today and saw a custodian on the same ladder I had used the night before, holding a garbage can in one hand and a duster in the other.

Bummer.

So here I sit, looking at all the happy, oblivious people. The first act is wrapping up. I have the lock picking tools for the back closet in my coat pocket still. They have no idea what they avoided.

Oh well. On the plus side, I enjoy 3rd Tuesday just as much as any other CCU student.


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K





*Dumpstered (adj) - an item obtained from a dumpster. Ex: We ate some dumpstered bread yesterday.

Language.

I wonder if there's a point you can reach where you take nothing for granted. It seems like we're always being encouraged to obtain such a mindset. Parents, pastors, the elderly -- all extol you to avoid taking things for granted. Yet I think if I actually tried to realize how much of a gift everything I have is, my mind would explode. The most fitting illustration I can muster is one of a childhood game that John ad I used to play. We'd pile dirt into a mound and then shove a hose into it and turn the water onto a trickle. We would wait for the water to burst from the dirt and rush in with mud to patch up the hole in the mound. Then we'd wait for it to happen again. And again. I feel like I can realize one instance at a time what a gift things are -- after hearing a particularly moving piece of music, I can be truly thankful for the ability to hear. After a delicious dinner I can fully appreciate my sense of taste. After a good night of pedicabbing, a fat wad of cash in my pocket, I can be thankful for my ability to work. but something always creeps up on me without my noticing.

I bring this up because I have realized something new to be thankful for, something I had never previously considered; Language.

I'm taking a conversational Spanish class this semester. Its kicking my butt. Abut 90% of the class is taught in Spanish (and if it weren't for me, the entire thing would be) which means that I understand anywhere from 10% to 11%. My professor, Prof. Miraval, is from somewhere down south (and I'm not talking Alabama... Im talking south of the Equator) so even his English is entrenched in a thick accent. Occasionally he'll switch to English and it'll take me a few moments before I realize that the shift has taken place.

Prof. Miraval's approach is unique. "I do not teach translations -- I teach es-panish" (his words.) It's a really good approach, but unfortunately I have not taken Spanish since high school. He encourages me to listen to Spanish music, watch Spanish TV shows, read the Bible in Spanish, and get my news from the Spanish version of CNN.

In so doing, and I have been astounded with the concept of language. Prof. Miraval took a look at my Spanish Bible (a version from 1909) and said, "thees ees a good version, but nobody e-speaks like dees anymore." This made me realize that Spanish, just like English, has changed over the years. We don't use words like "thou" and "shall" anymore. In retrospect, I don't know why I didn't assume that the same thing happens in other languages, but Prof. Miraval's comment took me completely by surprise. The Spanish spoken today isn't the same they spoke in 1909. Go figure.

I've also been in awe of the complexity of language. It's really an odd thing if you take the time to turn it over. I'm typing into my keyboard and different squiggly lines are appearing on the screen. Your eye sees the squiggles and then your brain connects them with a sound (although no sound is heard, unless you're reading this out loud right now,) and then you recognize the sound patterns and make sense of what is being said. What?!

Also, think for a moment about the different ways you can say something. If you've read 1984, recall for a moment the conversation Winston has with his colleague during the lunch hour at the Ministry of Truth (forgive my lack of page reference, but I don't have the book with me currently.) Winston's 'friend' is working on the newest addition of the Newspeak dictionary and he's most excited about the elimination of synonyms. Newspeak seeks to reduce everything down to a single word. There would be two ways to express something - the affirmative and the negative. You would say something is "clever" or "unclever." That's it. You couldn't label something "witty" or "really clever." It would either be clever or not. All that to provide an example of the beauty of language. It's not merely a tool to be used, but also an art to be mastered. I proof-read someone's half-assed report on the Holy Roman Empire and dryly correct spelling and grammar mistakes, ignoring the lack of creativity and originality, then open a book by Donald Miller or Emily Bronte and revel in their mastery over the English Language.

And I can't help but wonder, sitting in Spanish class staring blankly at Prof. Miraval as he speaks a mile a minute in Spanish, if some day I'll be able to understand Spanish thoroughly enough to write a blog like this in Spanish. I wonder if I'll ever come to a point where I can read an entire Spanish novel and reflect upon the literary devices and underlying motifs the same way I can when I read "1984." It'd be really awesome if I could.


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

X-Treme!

Thanks for watching,

-Daniel K

Viewing the World.

Ever since I came to CCU, I've had a nagging fear in the back of my mind. You see, I have always viewed myself as a seeker of knowledge. Through high school, I prided myself on being able to achieve A's in my classes, on being able to compete with Hans in calculus class and John in English. I love to learn new things, from the correct usage of a semicolon to the formula for rotational volume of a solid to how the Persians defeated the Spartans at the battle of Thermopylae.

When I began investigating Christianity, this didn't change. I remember the time Robbie gave a message in youth group and he mentioned angles. Afterward, I approached him and asked, "God is all-powerful and exists everywhere, right?" He answered in the affirmative. "Well then, why does He need angles? Does He just get tired or bored and so He employs them? Or what?" My hunger for answers found new food in Christianity, because it was something I had never formally learned about before. What is the Trinity? Why was Christ's death necessary? How is Jesus both the Son of God and yet fully God?

After a while of meeting with Robbie, drilling David, and interrogating Stephanie, I came to a place where I was ready to be vulnerable to the doctrines of Christianity. That is, I was ready to begin to show humility and think, "maybe I don't have it all right, and perhaps this Jesus character can help me with some things." This was when I began asking more crucial questions such as "What does it mean to be a Christian? How do you become one? What ramifications would that have on my life?"

I'm guessing most of you know the end of that story (or, rather, the beginning.) So I return to the statement I made in the first paragraph - the nagging fear I've had. Given my background, how my mind works, and my knack for asking questions until the fog is cleared up, I was afraid to go to a Christian University because of an observation I made regarding many Christians. The more I read Christian books, listened to Christian music, attended churches and the like, the more I saw this lurking intellectual fear of secularity among believers.

Christian parents don't want their children reading Harry Potter because they think it's about witchcraft. Pastors are afraid to concede that the Qur'an and the Bible teach similar lessons on few subjects. College students are uneasy about visiting Mosques or Buddhist Temples because they might get brainwashed. Worship leaders don't want to listen to the Beatles or Three Dog Night because they don't exemplify Christian values.* (please read footnote.)

As such, when I departed Nevada for Colorado in August of 2008, I was excited to be sure, but also a tad bit apprehensive. If I asked my economics professor to explain why communism seems to lead to bloodshed, would she respond that it was because communism was from the Devil? If I questioned my history professor on why she thinks America has lasted so long as a democracy, would she answer that it was because God loves America the most? If I was confused about a math problem, would my professors tell me to pray about it? I was concerned that intellectual fear would permeate my college experience.

I think the other day in my World Religions class was when I drove the last nail into that coffin of apprehension.

Since my time here at CCU, I have been relieved to be able to ask more and more questions of my professors and consequently tap into their vast reserves of knowledge and experience. I have seen trace amounts of intellectual fear here at CCU, but sparsely among students and never among the professors. On the contrary, I have been encouraged by multiple professors to explore and learn from such extra-biblical sources as the Qur'an, the Gilgamesh Epic, and the Ramayana. I have learned about the philosophies of Nietzsche, Hitler, and Lenin. I have studied the values of communism and capitalism as well as the shortcomings of the two.

And the other day in World Religions, Dr. Smith really put words to both my fear and my relief. We were discussing the two main methods of exploring religion. Dr. Smith explained that one could look at religion from without - from an objective, removed position. This position would mean studying the demographics of church attendance, the hand positions of people during worship, the movies and books and music that are sought out by the attendees. These dry, objective statistics would yield results, surely. Irrefutable facts about that religion. Yet at the end of the day, what have we really learned about that religion? The second method of studying a religion is from within - immersing yourself in the religion, not being afraid to seek truth and value from the beliefs, and not sitting in the seat of scoffers when faced with a religion's tenants or practices.

"We always study a worldview from within a worldview," Dr. Smith explained, "and the idea that the ultimate form of knowledge - knowledge in its purest form - comes from removed, objective 'science' is in itself a worldview with a definitive beginning and geographic location."

You see, the West is obsessed with natural science. Absolutely consumed by it. And we have this notion that our worldview is the ultimate one, the correct one, the quintessential one. Our view that objective 'science' is the way, the truth, and the life is simply that; our view. And maybe - just maybe - other worldviews out there deserve just as much credibility.

Here I raised the question that perhaps all of those "other" worldviews were simply steps leading us to this one, final, correct worldview. "What I mean to say is," I explained after being called on in class, "maybe this worldview that regards tangible, detectable results as the only way to find truth is the very pinnacle of worldviews, the capstone in human history."

Dr. Smith responded, "And you could certainly argue that. In some areas, this worldview does in fact seem to be at the top of the pyramid. For example, if you take your car to the mechanic, you don't want to hear that there is a demon in the engine. If you ask why the earth spins on its axis, you don't want to hear that it's because God is spinning it on His finger like a basketball. But I would caution you against using this natural science-based approach to all of life's questions."

Like the question of religion. Why does it exist? Or more perplexing, why has it always existed? From as early as we can research, after all, man has engaged in religious practices.

Dr. Smith ended by encouraging us in this way; "Don't assume that by holding a Christian worldview and a Christian set of beliefs, you are losing something in your studies. Don't be fooled into thinking that you cannot fully apprehend knowledge without first conforming to the worldview which proclaims natural science as god. In fact, I submit to you that in many ways, you only run the risk of gaining more because you don't limit your knowledge to what is tangible and testable."

I feel like this entry is getting long enough (and I've spent several days preparing it already,) so I will leave you with that. Expect more to come on this, though.


Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K




*Hear me say that I realize this is by NO means my opinion on ALL pastors, ALL worship leaders, or ALL college students. Such a sweeping generalization would be foolish and naive. I am merely pointing out observations I have made at one time or another over the past few years I have spent in Christian culture. I make it a point in my life to seek out Pastors, worship leaders, college students, etc. who are not afraid of "the world."

New Year.

I think New Year's Eve is my new least favorite holiday.

There. Do you see what I just did? I gave you the end point of today's post. You don't even have the read the rest of this blog, because you already know how it ends.

Still reading? I assumed as much.

You see, when I was a senior in high school, Mr. Rohrer was my AP English Literature teacher. A little while into the school year, we were reading The Curious Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in AP English Lit., when Mr. Rohrer decided to impart unto us some wisdom. We, his oh-so-intelligent class, were complaining about the fact that before the novella was even halfway done, the ending had been revealed. [Spoiler Alert!] You know early on that Jekyll and Hyde are one in the same, and that a potion turns mild-mannered Dr. Jekyll into the unruly and violent Mr. Hyde. The rest of the novella is spent reading through letters and journal entries which trace the circumstances which lead Jekyll to become Hyde.

Mr. Rohrer explained it as such;

A lot of people know when they pick up the novella that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are one in the same. Before they crack open the pages, the reader is aware that Jekyll creates a potion which turns him into Mr. Hyde. What matters is not so much how the story ends as how the characters get to that end. Thus, a majority of the novella is dedicated to describing how Jekyll became Hyde, and not working towards revealing that the two are one in the same.

Contrary to New Year's Eve, I think this is one of my favorite concepts. What matters in my life is not so much how it ends as how I get to that end. I already have a pretty good idea of how my life will end. That's not the kicker. The real mystery is how I get there. What leads me to my death? Is it greed? Love? Adventure? Apathy?

This may seem like a rather morbid way of thinking about things, but go ahead and take a minute or two to consider what you want to lead you to your death. Because [Spoiler Alert!] you're going to die, and I don't believe that's what's important here.

If I just give you the end; "I think New Year's Eve is my new least favorite holiday," and not the middle -- not what led me to that conclusion -- it all seems like a letdown, doesn't it?

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

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.