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