Oktoberfest Season

This entry isn't going to be a rant. It's not going to be critical, sad, or smart-alecky. No, it's going to be appreciative. Appreciative that God allowed the people of the earth to create their own cultures, their own versions of sustenance, and festivals to celebrate just how awesome that is.

In this particular entry, I'm appreciative of the part of German culture and heritage that created the Oktoberfest. German governments haven't exactly set the best standard for the world. Whether it's the landlust of the Hohenzollerns or bloodlust of the Nazis, they're not exactly making a good name for themselves. As for the people, though, I suppose they're doing okay. When I think of German culture outside of the unpleasant parts, I think of the tiny cottages nestled in the Bavarian Alps. Kind of like the picture you see above. Cobblestone roads, fresh flowers hanging from eaves and awnings, the echoes of accordions from a bierhaus down the street. (There's a cottage-town nestled in the Cascaes of Washington state called Leavenworth that brings all that to the US. Great place. Not much to do, but it was fun. We went there on vacation once.)

There's just something to all that that makes it very comfortable. You feel right at home in that kind of environment. Maybe it's the German blood in me. Maybe it's because Mom fixed German a lot for dinner growing up. Whatever the reasoning, I just feel very relaxed and content after a fine German meal at home or out at a restaurant. No other type of food or restaurant generates that kind of after-dinner warmth quite like that. After Cracker Barrel, you're content, but ready to move onto some other activity. After Olive Garden, you're the same way. But after German, you just want to kick back and really let the ecstasy of the meal set in and savor the last few drops of bier in the stein. Ein herzhafte Mahlzeit (a hearty meal).

So with that level of respect and admiration for the experience of German cuisine, I excite myself over the prospect of Oktoberfest. A festival devoted to this unique culture and taste of the world can't be all that bad. Hopefully, I actually make it this year. Viel Glück!

God of Grace

With the wedding coming up and getting down to the wire (59 days), it's starting to become apparent what's still left to do. We still need to officially reserve the church. Penciled in, but we just have to turn the form in. Plus, not exactly sure what the groomsmen will wear. Or me for that matter! Want to do a tweed jacket and stuff, but that might not happen. If it does, Goodwill's going to be to thank for it. Of course this is without trying to find a way to scientifically make money materialize from well...nothing! We don't really know what's going to happen with a honeymoon. Chicago was the plan for a long time, but bad financial planning has put that in jeopardy. So now it's maybe a tossup between Gatlinburg, Chicago, or staying at home.

Let's juxtapose this scenario against what's happening in my spiritual life. A couple weeks ago, a friend posted an article from an arts pastor who was about to leave a church in Austin, TX and head to another church in North Carolina or something. This article describes how humans create art because it illustrates grace. Here's the gist:

• God got fancy with the earth and created more than just enough to get by.
  
• For example: instead of having just one kind of fruit, we have a variety of fruits to choose from that all have a range of flavors. Not to mention God created a system in our bodies so those flavors could be enjoyed.
• Q: Why are flavors necessary, when most fruits do the job of sustaining us? A: They're not necessary, because that's all part of grace. While we need grace to not only live, but live like God intended, part of that gift is that we're given more than we need.

Which leads us to last week. One morning in the shower, barely awake, I prayed that God would intervene whenever I felt like I was going to say something about someone that was going to be hateful and/or ignorant. I'm bad about that. (Especially when I'm driving.) It's getting old, it's not helping anything, so I want to quit and have more productive, loving thoughts about people. Then after that prayer, I said another one, asking God to let me see His grace in action. I understood about the passive grace going on with fruits and nuts and how good they taste, but I wanted to see grace take an active role in my life.

So here's what went down. A week prior to this, our friend, who was going to photograph the wedding, told us that they had a family commitment that they couldn't postpone and wouldn't be able to make the wedding. They were going to do the wedding for free, as a wedding gift. So that meant now we'd have to pay someone to do our pictures. The cheapest offer we got was $250. That we didn't have. Eventually, Heather and I decided that we would just try and get my dad to take pictures from the pew during the ceremony and then he'd get pictures at the reception. Wouldn't be nice, fun ones...but it'd be better than nothing and better than paying for something we couldn't afford. Fast-forward to the day when I prayed for grace: we get an email from our friend, saying they got the dates mixed up and would be at our wedding with bells on!

That, friends, is God's grace. We didn't need a bona fide wedding photographer; we had my dad. I asked for grace, though, and I got it. When I asked for it, I thought God might let me find a quarter on the sidewalk or someone would give me some food they hadn't eaten. He surprised me with the photographer thing. I'd left it wide open for Him to do something cool. Wouldn't have even suspected that's what He would've come up with.

After all this, I'm no longer afraid to ask for excess like I used to be. For the longest time, it felt like if you were a Christian, you learned to live an ascetic life of minimalism and denying yourself. You learn to live on bread and water and use rocks for pillows. Not at all. I'm not advocating a pray to gain gospel here. I'm just saying that grace is more than a generic, bland word that's tossed around so freely in Christianity. There's a specific defintion and function to it. It's having God's favor and access to whatever we need and don't need in the physical, spiritual, and relational realms. I'm not going to pray for a brand new Lexus, but I'm going to pray for a nice honeymoon in Chicago. We don't need it. We could settle for a week without work at the apartment. But God has the resources to spare for a nice honeymoon in Chicago and all I need to do is ask.

The Last of a Kind

Something that's always interested me was just knowing who I was related to and where I came from. Why do I act the way I do and do I share any weird quirks with my ancestors? More importantly, I keep wondering if I'm actually honoring their memory with my life. I know my parents say they're proud of me for graduating college and holding down a job, but all that stuff's been handed to me. It might as well have come naturally. Maybe I figure if I find out my heritage, I'll be inspired to do something great or be more than I am now.

This weekend, I found out that I'm probably the last Ball to carry on the bloodline. Technically, the Ball name could still go on because my dad's cousin has an adopted son, but I'm the only one with the genes. But really, why is it so important? Nobody ever worries about being the last of a line. It's so medieval, you could say. Somebody better warn Heather to bear me male heirs or else!

What's strange is that of all the families that I'm descended from, the Ball family is the one I know least about. Aside from the Balls, there's the Kings (dad's mother's dad's family), the Hattabaughs (dad's mother's mother's family), the Qualls (mom's mother's father's family), the Wilsons (mom's mother's mother's family), the Mobleys (mom's father's family). Okay, maybe Pa's family is a little sketchy. But that's so weird. I know so little about my grandfathers' families and where they came from. I know that Pa's (mom's dad) father was killed when he was 9. Then Pop's (dad's dad) dad was Hobart Ball Sr. (Pop being Hobart Ball Jr.). I know that Hobe Sr was a farmer and Pop worked as a Western Auto manager for most of his life. Pop used to drink and smoke a bit, took awesome care of Nana after she got sick, loved fishing and hunting, was an awesome cook, served in Korea as a gunner on a B-26, and was the only family member I knew who'd actually cuss when they got mad. Oh! And he looked and sounded kind of like John Wayne. To me, Pop was the epitomy of being a man. I didn't see him as much as I did Pa, but Pop was a man's man. He never cried, he only got flustered. Pop was everything a man and grandpa should be. That's what the Ball name means to me.

On the other hand, Pa was also everything a man and a grandpa should be. Except he was a lot gentler. He cried and he wasn't afraid to show his emotions. He told me he loved me. One thing I remember about him was one time he felt bad about yelling at me for something. A few minutes later, he came up to me, with a tear in his eye, and apologized. Pa wasn't the smartest man around--I think he only had a 6th grade education--but he worked hard all his life and, despite a brief period of infidelity, really loved Grannie a lot. He also taught me how to fish and garden (like I remember it now!) and just how to be a good, caring person. Together he and Pop provided me with a sense of what it really means to be a man. They've both been dead for over ten years and I was still a kid when they died. I've had to try really hard to pick my brain, trying to figure out what they taught me about life. Are they passing on anything I need to carry on?

It's still strange to think that I'm the last Ball for right now, although it doesn't feel fair either. My cousin, even though he was born Korean, is still a Ball, even though he's adopted. In my mind, I want to take on the mantle of being that unique, last Ball and being able to pass that onto any sons I might have. On the other, I really shouldn't knock adopted kids, because I'm adopted into God's family through Christ and that's really where I get my life. None of what Pa or Pop taught me or passed down to me through genetics or wisdom matter as much as what I'm given by my Heavenly Father. And at the same time, I could consider Pa and Pop to be part of what God's given me to become who He wants me to be. How very strange...

Sit Down, Shut Up...and Watch More Arrested Development

I'm throwing something out there: I like cartoons. This day in age, probably not such a stretch for someone my age to say that. What I like, though, aren't just the 80's Saturday morning cartoons that I watched as a kid or the adult cartoons. No, I'm talking about Looney Tunes, Tex Avery, Popeye, Hanna Barbera. The classics. What made them good, in my opinion, was precisely summed up by Tex Avery's motto: "In cartoons, anything can happen." Nowadays, I'm not so sure that's the idea. The vibe I get is that while the settings might be really inventive and different, anything that happens is kind of predictable.

In May of 2009, Mitch Hurwitz, the mastermind behind Arrested Development, tried to strike more Sunday night primetime gold on Fox, this time in its own domain: animation. So here we go...get the voices of a few funny cast members from AD, SNL, just add Kristin Chenoweth, then animate!

Mitch...you've made a huge mistake.

The fun thing about Arrested Development was that it made everyday life--family, work, love, and all their foibles--look like a cartoon. Take that kind of humor, actually put it in a cartoon, and you get a very average, pedestrian cartoon. It's like white on white. The humor blends in with the surroundings and becomes part of the background. Watch the show. You'll believe me! This is the primary failing of the show. Another downfall is that the style of animation is a bad fit for the writing, too. The choppy, inarticulate action might be great for a kids show, but as far as I'm concerned, Hurwitz's humor is very detailed and requires a medium that can convey as much of that as possible. This is not one of those mediums. Apocalyptic fail.

And Jesus said...

"I shalt bloweth up sin and most totally obliterate it from all the Earth. For thou hast rockethed my face off for being the creation of my Father. Yea, thou shalt party on in Eternity and it shan't be shabby. For thine is the power and the glory and all that is most radical and excellent. Amen."

Or something like that.

Anyhoo, I was sitting at the drive thru at Rally's (or Checkers, for the uninitiated) conversing with the gal at the window. I see her about every other week on my frequent lunch treks to gather food. She hasn't worked the window long, but she already recognizes me as a regular and we chit-chat some. After a bit of this, she went back to help get the order together and I started thinking about how awesome it was to have that kind of rapport with her. How often do you get that at a fast food joint? I really treasured that. Then I got to thinking about her, wondering how she wound up working at Rally's as opposed to being a brilliant physicist or poet. Maybe she flubbed it somewhere? Maybe it was flubbed when she found it? Who knows. All I knew was that I really enjoyed knowing her as a friend and I really loved her as a sister for it. Regardless of what she'd done or what she hadn't done...it was just cool to see her friendly face at the drive thru.

That's when the plot thickened. In that moment, I not only realized how awesome I felt about her, but I thought about how much more Jesus loved her. Whether or not she chose to be at Rally's over Los Alamos, even if she had some unfortunate missteps...Jesus still died for her and wanted her to have eternal life regardless.

From there, the brew kept getting tastier. I started thinking about the neighbors that live behind Heather at the apartment who always chastise us through "anonymous", nasty notes about cleaning up our dogs' leavings. Of course Christ died to forgive them for doing that to us. He gave His own life for that. What are Heather and I sacrificing for it? Just a little bit of grief. But this is the typical instantaneous forgiveness that my mind kind of gravitates towards when it comes to turning the other cheek, forgiving, and loving your enemies.

What really hit home was when I continued down this road of forgiveness and thought about my own sins, missteps, and otherwise unwise decisions/actions. Last night, I told Heather I felt like a failure. I feel spiritually dead, financially dead, creatively dead, and professionally dead. I'd also been watching Eraserhead for the 45 minutes prior to that. Not exactly hard to draw conclusions from that. Anyway, at the drive thru today thinking about forgiveness for people's ugliness or just lack of getting it together...I realized that Christ died for my failure. In Him, I still have a chance to make good on my gifts, regardless of how much time or money or opportunity I've wasted. There's still hope for new life and new success there. Slowly, this is sinking in and exciting me. Hopefully, it won't be a feeling that fades away soon.

In closing, it's time to go rock God's face off by being His child and accepting His bottomless glass of sweet tea that Christians call salvation through Christ Jesus. My life could turn out to be awesome or it could turn out to be a steaming pile of you-know-what. But I'm loved, I'm saved, and that's all that matters.

Lazy at the Speed of Light!

Life is rough. I've got a fiancée who loves me in a normal, but weird and totally healthy and constant way. Money's okay. Loving the new church I'm attending. Making new friends...I guess. Am I making new fans too? I don't know. Do I want fans? Should I have them? Is God cool with that? Probably not. I think it depends. I see Him allowing it if I point the way to Him, ultimately. These days...I'm not so hot at that. Or anything else for that matter. The fiancée wouldn't say that about me, since she thought I did a great job taking care of her last week after surgery. I suppose I should be proud of that, instead of thinking I dropped the ball, but it's kind of tough.

What's really going on is that I'm discontent with my being here. Not that I think I need to leave or anything. My purpose and executing that is what bothers me. I don't know what my deal is. All through college, God gave me PLENTY of seeds to sow through creativity. Everyday, I wake up and ponder what kind of creative impulse I'll act on before the day's over. Usually, it's none of them. When it's bedtime, I'll end a day where I didn't write a script, didn't write any music/movie reviews, didn't write a song, didn't design/build my own website, didn't make anything to sell or use to impress the world. This isn't failure so much as laziness.

All my life, I've felt like a performer waiting backstage before the big show. When I get on stage, nobody will notice me, but I'll just start out quietly and eventually get the show going and I'll get a fair share of attention. The performance will be amazing. What I hope is that it points them to God. He's the one who gave me the ability to perform, so naturally it should reflect back on Him and take the minds and hearts of a lot of people with it. There will be unfathomable power pulsing through that performance and it'll change many things in a big way. It will be unlike anything ever seen before and unlike anything I've experienced up to this point. My potential will be utilized and displayed for all to see.

I realize that while this is lofty, it's also possible. I'm capable of that, I think, if I applied myself, but I don't. While I want to live up to my potential and leave my mark on our culture as a reminder of God's presence in our existence and be an inspiration to others...I simply am overwhelmed and frightened at having that much weight on my shoulders. Even if I set out to make the worst crap out there, I'm positive I'll still try to make it good and it'll turn out great. This happens a lot. Whenever I draw something, I always get people who say the most incredible things about my work. Even last Saturday with face-painting, people were saying I was way good at it. While I should've been happy about that, I didn't want to face it. I knew it was good, but I didn't want to believe it and think I really meant something. Maybe that was Satan talking?

Regardless, I'm scared. Scared of how good I can be and scared to actually unlock Pandora's box and garner all the attention from it. A few weeks ago, I had the idea that I might like it if I could just make movies that nobody saw except God. Even when the people who worked on it with me wanted to see it, they couldn't. Only for God. At the same time, I love the notoriety from the crazy, zany stuff I do. I love having my reputation preceding me many places. I love being a nice guy that most people feel comfortable around. My problem is probably just being stuck on myself. If I took myself out of the equation and just focused on the actual inspiration and creating stuff, I might get something done.

Oh Lord, be my muse...

New Church!

For the last two Sundays, I've found myself in church. Whoa. Not quite sure what's up with me wanting to get reacquainted with the Almighty, but it just felt like it was time to check out a new church. For a while, I'd heard about this church in Louisville called Sojourn, because supposedly it was like all the other churches my friends have gone to that I'd have to move away for. So we checked it out and LOVED it. The place is crazy. Definitely the kind of place I've been looking for over the past two years. I've been to a lot of churches and was super-critical once I walked in the doors. Some of that was unfounded; some of it was. With Sojourn, my guard was down because I was so desperate and hopeful that I would find a place to call my spiritual home, where I could find a body of believers that worshiped God the way I've felt called to do. So far, it hasn't burned me. In fact, this seems like the real deal. They have new member classes that they require you to take before you become a member, but other than that...they don't seem too fanatical. Not like Quest.

So I'm not sure if I can wait until October to move up there. My patience is wearing thin about this whole thing. I want to be up there to start serving, I want to be up there with Heather (especially now that the weather's not-so-handy and she needs more help getting un-stuck from the snow/ice), and I just want to get on with my life. While no opportunities are knocking to get that done at the moment, I'm just trying my best to assume this is just a time of working out the kinks so I can move to Louisville on my own terms and not like a chicken with its head cut off.