Because really, don’t you think it’s time to move on to more serious subjects?
So my mind was made up. Destroy the little stone house. Throw the tennis ball back into the woods. Move on with my life. Find something better to write about. Something, I don’t know, theological. I do have a seminary degree. And I think I have some notes somewhere on an idea I had about the fragmentation of evangelical ecclesiology in post-modern America.
Okay, I’m warning you before you read any further. This situation is about to get freaky.
When I began blogging as Pilgrim, I shared with you that after I left the pastorate, I had a hard time feeling engaged with worship on Sunday mornings. I maintained a cerebral connection to Christianity, but I was emotionally numb. Nothing moved me. I wondered if this detachment might be a kind of penance that I had to pay for all the years I spent planning worship and, consequently, not really worshipping myself.
That hard and dry season has now passed. I feel myself opening once again to the joy and wonder of our faith. A good thing has happened to me, and I want to tell you about it.
Here are a couple of details that you should know about me: First, I was a Baptist minister, so I was part of the family of faith known as evangelicals. Second, I left my congregation in February of 2010. My family and I started attending churches all over our city. We went to many kinds of churches from various Christian traditions.
And I felt dead inside every Sunday.
For two years….
And now I want to tell you about another beautiful thing that I saw and experienced at Laity Loge. In July of 2012 I saw Dale Bruner’s Bible in the Great Hall. I first saw it from across the room as he was preparing to lead a session. He turned a page and I saw notes and markings in the margins. I recognized it as a well-worn tool of a New Testament scholar. After the session I asked him if I could hold it.
And he let me. Can you believe it?
Yes, this is another post about the naked tennis ball I found at Laity Lodge. I’m going to ask you to trust me with this. I’m following my instincts. When it comes to things of the Spirit, sometimes you pay attention to what catches your eye or your heart. It is not always given that you should understand. Only that you should follow….
I went to Laity Lodge on June 7th, hoping that if I remained open and worked hard at listening, I might hear from God.
What follows are excerpts from the journal I kept that weekend.
Thursday – 6:00 pm
As I emerge from the river, water streaming from my car onto the dusty road that winds upward from the bottom of the canyon to Laity Lodge, a thought comes to me. If I have come to this place with a desire to hear from God, then I should be prepared to pay attention to everything. Whatever happens to me will be my reality. And in any reality there is the possibility of lessons learned and messages received.
My first vow of the weekend is to accept what comes to me and to seek meaning in all things great and small.
My second vow follows logically from the first. I vow to allow myself the luxury of believing that God might have a message just for me.
Saturday, April 7th. Holy Saturday, the 46th and final day of Lent.
Today is the final day of lent for 2012 and my 46th straight day of posting here. It was an ambitious goal, but I’m glad I tried it.
Knowing I had this deadline each day caused me to shift gears and begin to think like a writer again. Because one secret to writing well is to avoid sitting in front of a blank piece of paper trying to think of something to write. That way is creative death. The move you make is to open your eyes and begin to look closely at the world around you. Every day you and I encounter enough subjects for 40 or 50 essays. If you want to write, begin by looking at the world around you and noticing things. Every time you see something interesting, write it down in the notebook that you CARRY WITH YOU ALL THE TIME. Writers, you do have a notebook, right? Continue reading
Friday, April 6th. Good Friday.
I was on my way back from the artist hermitages at Laity Lodge last weekend when I saw an ashtray near the outdoor fireplace. That kind of surprised me. Laity Lodge isn’t exactly the kind of place where people do a lot of smoking. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone smoking in the 20 years I’ve been going there.
That doesn’t mean people don’t smoke at Laity Lodge. But it doesn’t seem to be common. And generally you don’t see ashtrays except in places where people smoke a lot.
I say there are two likely explanations for the existence of this ashtray. Continue reading
Thursday, April 5th. Maundy Thursday.
My first ever Maundy Thursday service. I am fifty years old, but I am young at heart and ready to experience all things new.
Saint Luke’s, how your beauty has broken my heart. Your priests have proved to be gentle and kind. The two I have met know my name and greet me with great love. Tonight John Badders smiled to see me. Gillian met me in the parking lot with a gentle hug.
The service was beyond words in its beauty and meaning for me. Like a great work of art hanging in a sacred space. Metaphysical claims about truth and God and existence simply have no place before such beauty. Continue reading
Wednesday, April 4th. The 43rd day of Lent.
Two books I commend to you.
Einstein, a biography by Walter Isaacson. I loved this book so much that I decided to read it again in a year. That will be sometime in 2012. There is much about Einstein’s life that is charming. He was apparently a delightful man in many ways. Not a good husband. A somewhat absent father. But for a man who had such a mind and who lived so committed to his work, he was apparently a person that you and I would have enjoyed knowing.
Late in life he was working at Princeton. He was very old and became forgetful about everyday things. His mind remained sharp, though most of his stunning and seemingly intuitive breakthroughs occured in his 20s. But he would forget little things. One day while walking home from Princeton he became lost. He knocked on a door and asked a woman to call his wife. She was shocked to find Einstein on her porch. He was a world famous figure by then. She went to the phone and came back to find him at her kitchen table helping her daughter with her math homework.
Kind of a cute story. Continue reading
Tuesday, April 3rd. The 42nd day of Lent.
First the Hamstring.
For those who didn’t read my previous post, after almost a year of vigorous exercise and dieting, I was feeling pretty good about myself and eager to take my new body out for a spin. I played softball for the Saint Luke’s team and forgot to stretch my legs. I pulled my hamstring on the second ground ball hit to me at third base. Pulled it bad.
How bad? This is how bad. I had no idea you could pull a muscle and it would bruise.
This bad boy put me out of commission for a few days. But I’m back to full exercises now. It’s still a little sore but not slowing me down. I’ll be back at the softball diamond with the Episcopalians a week from Easter.
Maybe I’ll see if I can play in the outfield this time.
We’re moving toward the end of Lent. Today is my 42nd straight day of writing. It feels good to get back in the swing of this discipline. I feel that I’ve recaptured something within myself, something that feeds my creative impulse. Continue reading
Monday, April 2nd. The 41st day of Lent.
There is a somewhat controversial program that many ambitious ministers try to implement in churches, mostly without success. I’m talking about the infamous “nametag” member identification strategy. The idea is that the members of the church wear nametags so that visitors and infrequent attenders can remember their names. Visitors are sometimes offered temporary nametags – the stick-on kind – if they wish to wear them. Most congregations hate the idea and respond with resistance. Many pastors have tried the nametag thing, only to be shot down by the will of the congregation.
The pros of the nametag concept are fairly obvious: Continue reading
Friday, March 30th. The 38th day of Lent.
I’m at Laity Lodge this weekend. I write for this retreat center in a secret way, which I greatly enjoy. I rode up with Paul Soupiset, who has become such a close friend over the last couple of years. Somewhere between Boerne and Kerville, a funny sound started coming from the right front wheel well of Paul’s car. We stopped so that Paul could take a look at it. While he was under the car doing manly repair stuff, I wandered over to the place where grass met pavement and became intrigued with a cute little scene I found there.
At my feet was a tiny rock, embedded in some soil that settled into a small clearing at the last rainfall. Miniscule weeds looked like bushes to me. And the only sign of human existence in the tableau was a bit of shiny metal, perhaps a link from a small chain, discarded by someone and looking as mysterious and out of place as the Monolith in 2001 A Space Odyssey. Continue reading
Thursday, March 29th. The 37th day of Lent.
In the early days of blogging, back before there were more blogs than people, the comments were much more interesting. It was kind of a novel thing to leave a comment. Early comment systems didn’t have spam filters or other controls. On my first blog, you couldn’t edit or delete comments. And initially, there weren’t many Christians reading my first blog. So a lot of the comments were from people who were not part of the American Church culture.
I was a little sad when Christians found Real Live Preacher. Things changed after that. Continue reading
Wednesday, March 28th. The 36th day of Lent.
I’m correct in thinking that everyone who does one of these “write every day in Lent” things is allowed at least one completely sucky entry, right?
I hope so.
Cause I’ve been on the computer all day writing articles for my clients AND meeting with a client trying to get her website finalized. And all I can think about is my hamstring.
Believe it or not, Sunday was the first time I’ve ever really pulled a muscle. In all the years that I was an athlete, I never did. I had some injuries but not the classic “pull up short and grab the back of your leg” muscle pull. And of course the 30 years I spent watching TV, writing, working on the computer, or reading never lead to any physical injuries. Continue reading
Tuesday, March 27th. The 35th day of Lent.
Okay, technically it wasn’t Welfare, but it was government assistance so let’s not split hairs.
In November of 2007 Jeanene quit her job because Shelby was in a crisis and we needed an adult at home. Like many Americans we had health insurance through her job, but we thought we’d just call up some insurance company and get different insurance. I was working three jobs at the time to make the money we needed. Pastor, writer for the High Calling, and I was working for the Christian Century setting up their blog network. I’m not counting Real Live Preacher as a job, but I was doing that too.
So I don’t want to hear anyone say that this stuff only happens to lazy people. I’m a hard working guy. Always have been.
But then a series of bad things happened. Continue reading
Monday, March 26th. The 34th day of Lent.
I was pretty excited about the softball game on Sunday with the Episcopalians. It’s just a recreational league. No practicing or anything. Whoever shows up can play. I put on my extraverted personality and took the initiative to meet people. After all, I was the new guy trying to fit in. The guy in charge asked if I would play third base. Sure, no problem.
As the game began I realized this was the first time I had participated in any kind of competitive team sport in many years. This used to be such a big part of my life. I’ve been working out hard for about a year now with P90X, so I felt well prepared to step back into team sports.
Sadly, things did not go well. Continue reading
Sunday, March 25th. The fifth Sunday of Lent.
This morning I was in the Episcopal 101 class at Saint Luke’s. The priest teaching it came into the room, and I immediately sensed that something was wrong. I can’t tell you what made me think this. Something about him seemed heavy. As if he was carrying a burden of some kind. Of course, he has to go ahead and teach his class, not matter what’s going on. And he must lead several worship services on Sunday, regardless of what is happening in his own life.
I was instantly alarmed and concerned for him. I kept watching him closely throughout the class. He read from his notes and talked to us as if everything was normal. But I continued to have a sense or feeling that something was not right. Later, in worship, I watched him at the front. It seemed to me that his head hung a little lower than usual. Something seemed amiss. Continue reading
Saturday, March 24th. The 32nd day of Lent.
I stole a pen recently without realizing it, so delighted was I by the way it felt in my hand, that it seemed as if it ought to be mine. It felt like my pen. If I had stopped to think about it, I would have realized I was stealing it. But I wasn’t thinking like that. I was just using the pen and it sort of became my pen. As if there are deeper laws of ownership in the universe that scoff at little things like who paid for something.
I wrote with this pen for several days, jotting things down in one of my notebooks. I liked the smooth way it laid its ink down on the paper. I was happy with the pen.
It was my pen.
Then one day I came back into a more rational state of thinking and realized, to my surprise, that I was in possession of a pen and had no idea where it came from. I realized that, in fact, I must have stolen it from someone. Continue reading
Friday, March 23rd. The 31st day of Lent.
It’s a fascinating thing to try and make your way into the culture of a church. For years I watched this from the inside. Because who is more in the fold than the preacher, right? But now I am an outsider, attending services and wondering if there is a place for me in this church we’ve been visiting.
The great news is that I’m coming at this from such a position of grace. I don’t expect or even want them to go out of their way to make this easy for me. It’s not easy to become part of a spiritual community, nor should it be. Any sort of human community takes some effort to join. Churches that are too friendly and fawn all over visitors give me a creepy feeling anyway. I don’t trust that. Because in real life, if you are going to enter into a relationship with a group of people, well, you have to put forth some effort. And they have to become willing to trust you enough to be vulnerable and all of that. Continue reading
Thursday, March 22nd. The 30th day of Lent.
The first Sunday I was at Saint Luke’s, I paid attention to all the people processing up and down the aisles. Episcopalians are big on procession. The more times up and down the aisle, the more people involved, and the more crosses and candles and banners, the better.
I knew this. I didn’t understand it, but I knew to expect it. And when you start becoming part of a new spiritual tradition, it’s generally a good idea to embrace all the new stuff with innocence and curiosity.
I did notice that the first guy down the aisle had a rod or a stick with a golden orb on the end. And there was a feather tied to the orb. Saw that right off. Turned to Jeanene that first Sunday and said, “What’s up with the feather?”
A couple of week’s later, we got to know James, who is the man with this mysterious, feathery staff. I asked him about the feather, and his answer was completely surprising and delightful. Continue reading
Wednesday, March 21st. The 29th day of Lent.
I’ve always been glad that I was born in 1961 because my life divides itself easily into decades. It’s a bit of an artificial division, but it seems as though each of the five decades I have lived represents a major stage of human development.
My early childhood years. I came into the earliest stages of consciousness. I have many memories of those years, but they are not tied to dates or external cultural things. They float in my mind, isolated in the small world of my childhood home. I simply wasn’t aware of the passing of time or of years and dates. I remember when my brother was born in 1964. I only know the year, of course, because I know how old he is. And I remember watching Neil Armstrong walk on the moon in 1969. I was seven and perhaps just coming into an awareness of the larger world around me.
My adolescent years. I went to junior high and high school in the 70s, graduating in 1980. I became aware of the Viet Nam war. Mostly I remember being relieved when it was over, though I was six years too young for the draft. I became a social being in the 70s. I emerged from my comfortable family and had to learn to relate to my peers. And I discovered the power of love, awakening with a sudden jolt to the presence and allure of girls. I was absolutely enchanted by them, but had no idea how to relate to these strange beings. Our sister was an infant, so my brother and I had few opportunities to gain experience with girls. I tried a classic Baptist-kid rebellion, drinking and carrousing at a level that would probably seem pretty tame to some folks. Then I became serious about my Christianity about the age of 17. Just as my second decade came to a close, I decided that I had a clear message from God that I should be a minister. Continue reading
Tuesday, March 20th. The 28th day of Lent.
Of course, one of the dangers of writing from the unconscious and writing every night without much time to edit yourself is that everyone can see your shit. Take me for example. Something like twenty-five straight days of writing during Lent and how many of those are about how I used to be a minister but now I’m not? Or how I’m looking for a church but it’s weird sitting in the pew after all these years.
For Christ’s sake – and I mean that literally; Jesus is probly up in heaven rolling his eyes right now – stop talking about that shit.
I know. I’m sorry. It’s obviously on my mind. I try not to think about it, but it’s right below the surface, so if you scratch, you know, it just comes out is all. Continue reading
Monday, March 19th. The 27th day of Lent.
Tonight I met Chris Chappell for a beer and conversation. When Chris’ family joined Covenant Baptist Church in 1990 he was a sophomore in high school. One of his sisters was an 8th grader. The other a 5th grader.
Now Chris is in his 30s. He has four kids. His sisters are both married with children as well. It is a matter of some pride for me that I was their pastor for so long. I married all three of them and was there for the birth of most of their children. Chris called me and said, “It seems so weird to be at church and not have you there. I miss talking to you. Maybe we could get together.”
Well, hell yeah we can. And so we did. We met at a local pizza place. He had a Red Stripe Beer and I had a Diet Coke. Continue reading
Sunday, March 18th. The fourth Sunday of Lent.
This morning Jeanene and I were attending the beginners’ class at Saint Luke’s. It’s a simple course on the Episcopal Church that is taught periodically for people who are new to Saint Lukes and possibly considering joining. It’s very strange being a novice in church. In my own tradition I would have taught courses like this. Now I don’t know anything. And there are a LOT of details to know in this tradition.
John Badders, our associate rector, is teaching the course. Today he handed out a three page summary of Anglican sources of authority. I knew what I was getting. A ridiculously simplified version of a complex subject. I know this because I used to make similar little handouts for various courses I taught at Covenant. “Historic Baptist Distinctives and Principles,” “Interpreting the Scriptures, “Church history,” etc.
But one of my disciplines right now is to be a novice. I need to let go of any sense that I know a lot about Christianity and embrace a more child-like point of view. So I got the paper and paid careful attention as we went through it. Continue reading
Saturday, March 17th. The 25th day of Lent.
I never gave my mind to the Church. Never. Even when I was a small boy and every adult that meant something to me was some sort of authority figure in the church, when someone would read a Bible story and it was clear that everyone believed it simply because it was in the Bible, a quietly defiant voice in me would say, “That never happened like that.”
I was happy to give my body to the Church. And even my words. Lying came pretty naturally to me. Not cruel or mean lies, but the kind of lies kids tell to get along with adults. The desperate, fearful lies a boy will tell to keep the big people he loves happy. And maybe because he is wonders if somewhere up in heaven, Jesus will be happy with him too. Those are the lies I told. Continue reading
Friday, March 16th. The 24th day of Lent.
What an amazing thing this Lenten writing discipline has been for me.
The story so far:
- Depressed and desperate, I launch my anonymous Salon blog in December of 2002. I wasn’t sure why I did it. I had a sense that in this medium I could tell the truth about myself. I was tired of the filters that came with being a pastor.
- To my surprise, people seem to like my writing. I feel so proud. Maybe I could be a “real writer.” For some reason I have obsessive thoughts of that phrase. “A REAL Writer.”
- January of 2003, Eerdmans sends me an email asking if I want to do a book. (Those were the golden years of blogging. Not that many of us, so things like this actually happened.) My head explodes with shock and delight. “?Does this mean I am a real writer?”
- Book comes out in 2004. Yay. Bit of a let down though, as it doesn’t really sell that many copies.
- Start writing essays for Christian Century in 2005. By then I had decided that I was indeed a writer, and it had nothing to do with being published.
- I wonder if maybe I could write for a living. Write Write Write Write Write Write Write. Somehow years go by. Continue reading
Wednesday, March 14th. The 22nd day of Lent.
I suppose there are numerous ways this could play itself out, but the point is that you and I cannot know what realities exist beyond our feeble powers of observation. Voyager has been traveling for 35 years and is just now leaving our solar system. And it’s not like Voyager has done a thorough job of mapping things along the way. Once you get a little ways out beyond earth, our ignorance is laughable.
Let’s face it. We don’t know much. We can’t see very far. And the farther away we look the farther back in time we see, which sounds cool until you realize that there is simply no physical way you and I can keep up with current events even in our own galaxy. And there is a LOT more out there beyond the Milky Way.
So okay, like I said, I see a few ways this could go. Tonight I’ll mention just one of them. Continue reading
Tuesday, March 13th. The 21st day of Lent.
A few weeks ago I slipped into a worship service on a weeknight at a church that is not one I frequent. I thought it was going to be a Taize service with the expected chant songs and a more contemplative feel. As it turned out, the service was a contemporary service with “praise and worship” music, which is the kind of thing you hear on Christian radio stations.
It wasn’t what I was looking for. But they were brothers and sisters in Christ and I had no reason to think anything but the best about them. These days I find myself at peace with many different kinds of people.
I find it helpful not to sing songs that are not meaningful to me. Instead, I listen to the sounds of the people who love the songs singing them with passion. Since I can now meditate to just about any sound, including the murmurs of large numbers of people talking or traffic, it was no problem to sink into my own thoughts while the people around me sang a few choruses of “Our God is an Awesome God.” Continue reading
Monday, March 12th. The 20th day of Lent.
Station Thirteen: Jesus dies on the cross. Luke 23:44-46
It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Having said this, he breathed his last.
Jesus, my ending, the jolt of these stark words never ceases to startle me. “He breathed his last.” You died. Our brother Paul says you were obedient, even unto death. But I don’t want to look death in the face. And I don’t like that you called me to take up a cross of my own. You called me to die to myself, but I want to hold onto my life. This is your hardest commandment. So this is my prayer: that you create something new in me, a presence of the Spirit of God that could help me face even a cross for you. Even death for you.
Sunday, March 11th. The third Sunday of Lent.
Station Nine: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem. Luke 23:27-31
A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said, ‘Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, “Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.” Then they will begin to say to the mountains, “Fall on us”; and to the hills, “Cover us.” For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?’
Jesus, my friend, on this day of your great trial, somehow you still had room in your heart for others. Your cross helps me see how sin has warped my life. It takes a cosmic redemption act to set things right. Did you say “Do not weep for me” because you know that I must live in a world that requires such an act of redemption? Create in me a servant’s heart, that I too might see past my own pain and find the strength to care for others.
Saturday, March 10th. The 18th day of Lent.
I have been asked to write three prayers for the 2012 Covenant stations of the cross, which will be displayed and open to the public at Covenant Baptist Church during Holy Week. I will use my writing time the next three nights for this honored task. I will be following a pattern set by the other prayers, each one beginning with Jesus, my…
?Station Three: Jesus is condemned. Luke 22:66-71
When day came, the assembly of the elders of the people, both chief priests and scribes, gathered together, and they brought him to their council. They said, ‘If you are the Messiah, tell us.’ He replied, ‘If I tell you, you will not believe; and if I question you, you will not answer. But from now on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.’ All of them asked, ‘Are you, then, the Son of God?’ He said to them, ‘You say that I am.’ Then they said, ‘What further testimony do we need? We have heard it ourselves from his own lips!’
“Jesus, my Word, I have four sacred collections of your teachings to guide me. Chapters and chapters filled with your words which convict me, teach me, and show me the way of life. I know how I should live because I know how you lived. But I do not live as you did. You have told me the truth, but still I have not believed. Forgive me for making light of your words.”
Friday, March 9th. The 17th day of Lent.
It’s been an interesting thing for this lifelong Baptist to be attending an Episcopal Church. I can’t say if we will join. I have a lot of ambivalence about church in general these days. I wonder what percentage of what goes on in churches is anything Jesus would care about. I’m not sure what the answer to that question is.
I do know that Christian worship is so deeply rooted in my heart that I don’t know how to live without it. And the beauty of high church music and liturgy continually breaks my heart. Seriously, anyone with an aesthetic sense could appreciate the worship event at Saint Luke’s. I am being seduced by this church. Her beauty draws me back again and again, even though I fear joining the church or making any move that might bring me in contact with the organization behind it. Do I want to see the cogs and wheels that turn and grind to make this kind of production on a Sunday morning? I don’t think so.
Is it okay to just sit and meditate and listen and let her romance me for a little while before I’m pushed to make a commitment? Continue reading
Thursday, March 8th. The 16th day of Lent.
I think I’ll wrap up the Back to the Body series tonight. I’ve learned a few lessons over the last 10 months. Here they are. At the end I’ll offer some practical suggestions to anyone who is thinking about starting P90X.
It’s interesting to me that my spiritual journey has come to involve a more contemplative, exercise-oriented practice as opposed to a more cerebral, theological approach. And now I’ve also begun to pay attention to my body in other ways. Maybe it’s something that happens when you turn 50.
1. There is no going back.
If you are unhappy with your physical condition, the way you are eating and living right now is what got you to this place. If you go back to your old ways after a 3 month fitness program, you’ll lose all you gained in the same amount of time, if not sooner. An intense exercise program like P90X is only valuable if you see it as a jump-start to a new way of living. Continue reading
Wednesday, March 7th. The 15th day of Lent.
I apologize for the length of this. But I started this thing, so I guess I’ll try and finish it.
It took me four months to get through P90X the first time. It’s supposed to be 3 months but I had a number of nagging injuries and a couple of weeks when I was out of town. A warning for people over 40: this is an intense program, so Tony Horton isn’t kidding when he says to be careful. My tendency was to push hard and just deal with the injuries. I didn’t want any excuse to slack off because I would have. Look, you’re going to be sore every day during this program. I just ignored most of the small pains. But if I pulled a muscle or tweaked a joint and felt I needed rest, I would stay on the diet, take a few days off to recover, and then pick up where I left off as soon as I could.
What did P90X do for me?
I have photos but showing them would be creepy. So let me give you some before and after numbers. Look, this is going to sound a bit braggadocious, but I’m offering this as encourgement to anyone who is wondering what can be done in 3 or 4 months. When I was wondering whether or not to try P90X, this is exactly the kind of stuff I wanted to know from someone I trusted. Does it work? Continue reading
Tuesday, March 7th. The 14th day of Lent.
You know Plyometrics is going to be bad before you even get started. During the warmup, Tony says they tried to hire some “hotshots” for this video, but they couldn’t handle it. So the people working out with him are from the first P90X class. You probably won’t notice until Tony points it out, but one of the guys has a prosthetic leg. Tony mocks you with this. “Eric is performing today on one leg. So I don’t wanna hear no excuses from any of you!”
“Yeah, well I was thinking of turning off the video, Tony, but I guess if ERIC is doing it with one leg…”
But the real frightening part is when the warmup is pushing you hard. One part of the warmup is 90 seconds of lunges. You know what a lunge is? Take a step forward, only put your foot about twice as far forward as you normally would. Then sink down until your knee is bent at a 90 degree angle. Then stand up and repeat with the other leg. Do this over and over for 90 seconds. The first day my thighs were BURNING. Then Tony said, “Now this is just the warmup. If you’re having trouble with the lunge sequence, this might be too much for you.”
Let me break the suspense. Plyometrics IS going to be too much for you the first time. And the second time. And the third time. It’s actually going to be too much for you for a long, long time. Just get used to that. Continue reading
Monday, March 5th. The 13th day of Lent.
In May of 2010 I began to exercise and eat in a more healthy way. After 5 months, I started to write about my journey in a series I called “Back to the Body.” I wrote part one in September and didn’t write part two until 6 weeks had passed. And then I lost all interest in writing about this. Not because I stopped exercising, but because I couldn’t spare the writing time. All my writing was going into more serious matters, essays and my regular Pilgrim Post for Laity Lodge.
But now I am ready to continue the story…
P90X began for me on the first Monday morning of May, 2011. I had my equipment, my DVD workouts, and my diet planned. Jeanene was going to be beginning the P90X Lean program at the same time, which differs somewhat from the P90X Classic.
The first workout is called “Chest and Back.”
I knew it was going to be awful. I didn’t think it was going to be ridiculous. The first excercise was pushups. How many? Until you can’t do any more. Having done pushups a few days earlier in the “qualification trial,” I could only do 6. I followed this with 6 on my knees. Next was pull-ups. How many? As many as you can. I couldn’t do even one pull-up at the time. I was 5’8″ and weighed almost 200 pounds. There would be no real pull-ups for many months. I got a chair and used one leg to help me. I did 10. Continue reading
Sunday, March 4th. The 2nd Sunday of Lent.
I posted something as “Pilgrim” at the Laity Lodge website. It will serve as my lenten writing piece for today.
“In Tim you will find a strange combination of archetypal trickster and master chef. I call him Kokopelli – you’ll have to ask him why. It’s as if Puck came down from the stage of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and started serving hors-d’oeuvres to the audience…”
Click here to read this essay at the Laity Lodge website. If you leave a comment, please do remember that I an anonymous there.
Saturday, March 3rd. The 11th day of Lent.
There are two common paths to writing for me. One is to open a hatch in my basement and reach into the soupy liquid of my unconscious mind. I move my hand back and forth until I find something with enough solidity for me to grab. I drag it up and look at it. Then I tie it to a pole and dip it back in, sweeping it back and forth to see what sticks to it.
Eventually I end up with a central idea and some ancillary thoughts clustered around it. The thoughts themselves are usually familiar to me, though occasionally they are complete surprises. I am surprised more when I write my Foy Davis stories because I make such a conscious effort not to control those narratives. But I usually at least vaguely recognize what I pull up from below. I might recall when a thought first occured to me or remember thinking about it and puzzling over it in the past.
The big mystery is why this idea solidified in my hand and not some other. Continue reading