Trinity’s World

You know what I find really funny: the shock that people express when they see celebrity’s make fools of themselves. I don’t understand it, but magazines make millions of dollars every year just because people can’t get enough of the gossip the follows big stars. In fact, most people would agree that bad press for a celebrity can be just as good as good press, and in sometimes even better. What is it that drives this?

If you look any blog site today, or just search on goggle, you will see the huge big deal people are making about Brittany Spears and her lack of ability to put on underwear. It appears that she has taken up a wild and crazy life style, since she has left her old flame K-Fed (Fed-Ex as some are calling him). And people seem to be upset by this. Brittany is the mother of two, and should not be seen at the gas station in a short skirt that exposes her privet parts to the world.

Who cares! Brittany is a celebrity. By sheer definition of the word, she is crazy. Anyone who thinks that celebrities must live by some code of conduct that is even on par with normal humanity is missing the point entirely. We like to watch celebrities for the same reason people watch Soap Operas, the first few weeks of American Idol, and shows like Survivor: No matter how good of a person you are, as a humans we get satisfaction out of watching a freak show.

This is not a new idea. Circus performers have been doing this for centuries. The original word “Geek” was the name of a person who would bite the head off of a chicken as part of a show. While porn is the number one use for the internet, the most abundant sites are dedicated to some of the crazies stuff you may have never even imagined. We talk about people having “Rock Star Moments,” as if earning a badge of honor. And, just incase you didn’t realize it, the celebrities know that we like to watch them.

Kenny Chesney, a one of the most fun loving country artists I’ve ever heard, made a hit song “When you’re a Celebrity.” And it really it’s home in light of this whole “Panty-Gate” situation. We can’t expect celebrities to have any concept of reality, only arrest them for breaking the law. If Brittany has broken any laws, then put her in jail and take her kids away like we do with other criminals. But until she breaks the law, this is America. If a white-trash, recently divorced mother, wants to walk around with no underwear on, then let her do so and violate a number of penal codes. It’s her constitutional right to break the law if she chooses to.

I’m not the kind of person who usually is considered to be a charismatic, or openly spiritual. In fact, as I work in public schools, I do a good job of appearing neutral in matters of faith. That being said, I belong to one of the coolest prayer groups I’ve ever heard of. It’s a group of artists who get together to only pray about the projects they are working on; that God will direct their energies in a way that will please him and keep them true to their art with out making compromises for what the world (Christians included) around them says is unacceptable. Every year, as a gift to each other, we do a themed piece of work having something to do with Christmas. We put it together in a binder and read/present it at our Christmas party.

Over the years I’ve submitted a few things to this project, but for some reason it was really hard to do this year. Something about going into the Christmas season is really hard, especially when it’s not even Thanksgiving yet (deal line for submission is Nov, 28th). So I started this idea, that I didn’t really have much conviction about but pushed through anyway. While putting the finishing touches on it, I had an idea of what I should do and went with that instead. All that to say, here is the submission that the Niños will never see.

Caroling Fun

It’s kind of funny what you do and do not remember about your childhood. For instance: I remember that I got some major splinters playing with some kids when I was eight years old and my parents had to hold me down on the couch in order to get them out of my hands, but for the life of me I could not tell you what the names of those friends were. I can also remember having some really great times in Little League Baseball, but the names of my coaches are lost to winds of time. I can remember times where I was absolutely miserable on a trip to some place with my family, but not the reason for being on that trip. As I get older I’m starting to find that I have some really strong memories, with really big wholes in them. One such memory is of a Christmas caroling hayride I took with my high school youth group.

My mother dragged me to choir practice when I was twelve years old. Ever since that year, as well as every year there after, I was given the “opportunity” to go caroling with the choir during the Christmas holidays. Imagine it: a teenage boy, out in the freezing cold of winter, standing in snow, singing songs by flashlight with people twice his age. After all growing up in a small ski town makes these kind of activities a requirement. Heaven forbid Norman Rockwell find out that these mountain dwellers let a snow covered cabin in a forest landscape, go without a good bit of festive holiday cheer. The man might rise from the grave and give us a stern talking to. So in an effort to thwart my mother’s desire to subject me to the freezing cold of winter in the San Gabriel Mountains, I came up with the perfect plan: I would join the youth group, who always had a party the night the choir went caroling as a sort of tradition.

Which is how I ended up going to a birthday party for a girl I did not know, with a bunch of my friends who also did not know her. Her family had just moved into town and started going to our church and her family thought it would be a great idea to invite a large number of perfect strangers over to her house to celebrate her natal day. I think it was one of the best parties I ever went to as a teenager; I think I was thirteen at the time. Plenty of food, good music, and her family went out of the way to do fun games and activities that seem to be a requirement anytime you get teenagers together.

After we had all been well fed, and had a chance to get to know the girl a little bit better (I still don’t remember her name), her father passes out some very thick coats and tells us all to come out in front of the house. And like the well feed, well watered, sheep that we were, we figured he just wanted a picture in front of the house. What we found was a horse drawn hay wagon, with blankets and thermoses of hot chocolate waiting for us. He was going to take us caroling, on a hay wagon, through the streets of town. Where had my plan gone wrong?

One thing you should know about this youth group, is that we were cursed. I’m not kidding you. We went on a trip to the Grand Canyon and lost a kid, as well as a chaperone, in the canyon. We went on a canoe trip from Laughlin Nevada to Lake Havasue, and only made it half way because our food canoe capsized and we had to chase after our food as it floated down river. We went on hikes into the wilderness with an eagle scout as our guide, got lost, and had to carry one of our largest football player chaperones out after he severally sprained his ankle. This was not the group you wanted to be taking with you on a moonlight night, in the middle of winter, in to a town you just moved into.

Back to the story, we were sitting on the bails of hay on this horse drawn wagon that fit about fifteen people on it. You see hay has a unique quality that it can absorb water like a sponge, and still freeze into a solid block of ice. I remember that the night was clear and every star seemed to be shining brighter than usual, and I tried to point this out to the girl who was sitting next me. I had a crush on her at the time, and managed to spill hot chocolate on her lap as the wagon hit almost every possible bump on the way into town; which is a feat considering the roads were paved. The hay bails upon which we sat did not help matters on bit, as they seemed to have frozen long before we embarked on the little jaunt through town. It all added up to a delightful situation where I was sitting next to a very irate girl, feeling every shred of body heat I could generate be sucked out of my body and into the lump of straw and ice beneath me, and having my hot chocolate privileges revoked along with a warm spot on my cheek where the girl I had a crush on had slapped me. It was turning out to be one grand night to be singing Joy to the World.

The cart made it’s way though the down town section of Wrightwood, where shoppers and Skiers all went about their business, but took time to point us out and take pictures of the teenagers becoming popsicles and singing carols. And it was about this time that the driver of the cart realized that the roads were a lot icier then he had anticipated. So icy, in fact, that the cart started to slide on the slanted roads as we were pulled along the mountainside, and had problems stopping at intersections. Not wanting to kill the members of the youth group of the new church he and his family had joined, he cut the night short and took up home before the roads got any more icy.

Having spent only about an hour caroling, we huddled around the large fireplace back at the house and waited for our parents to pick us up. We were all so cold that we were standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the flames, hoping that we could spread the warmth faster. Drinking hot apple cider, and listening to on another’s teeth chatter, someone started to hum the tune to O Holy Night. The tune passed to the whole group, one person at a time, until we were all singing the words as well. It was then that it hit us what the Christmas carols we had been singing, while we froze ourselves to the bone, really were about. Somewhere in the midst of having fun, and trying to escape my own family, I had completely shut out what the words we has sung that night meant. But in the moment, with all of us gathered around the fire, a warm and genteel reminder of what the season was all about descended on all of us.

As parents arrived to pick us up, the mood caught on. Soon an hour and a half had gone by and the house was packed with people who were singing. The words of Away in a Manger, the First Noel, and O Little Town of Bethlehem, rung out in a way that seemed to make the walls of the house vibrate with energy. Soon we were caught up in the spirit of Christmas, and the remembrance of what we were all supposed to be celebrating. And we did not want it to end.

A popular song on the radio these days had a line that says, “every new beginning, comes from some other beginning’s end.” At some point one of the adults said a prayer and brought the night to a close. We were in a family’s house after all, and they needed to get to bed. We all left that night with a better understanding of how God can use a time that was totally not intended to be about him, and make it about him in the most meaningful way. I count myself lucky to have been part of that “cursed” group of teenagers, who God so frequently blessed and worked through is small yet powerful ways.

In the next few years the youth group would try to recreate that night…which of course meant that I no longer had an escape from the obligatory caroling that came every year. Yet I did not mind so much anymore. The cold might be worth enduring, if we allowed God to show up like he had that one night. While we never really had the same magical moment we did on that particular night, it became something more than a night of caroling for my core group of friends that shared that special night with me. It became a occasion where we were reminded of the time when God showed up to remind us why we sang those songs at Christmas, and why we sang song at all. I regret not having the opportunity to share that same kind of moment with those around me today. But I will always have the night in my memory as a reminder of what God can do when you least expect it.

Yes, I know I’m an adult. Yes I know that things like this mark me as a bit childish, but if I was worried about what people may think I guess I wouldn’t have posted this.

be sorted @ nimbo.net

Figures I would get sorted into the house that has a badger as a mascot. Kind of fits my mood as of late.

Life as a crisis counselor is interesting. I work in public schools in the county or Riverside, and currently have schools from two different districts on my caseload. I see kids as young as kindergarten and as old as high school seniors. I talk with kids, parents, school administrators, teachers, and even playground monitors as part of my every day routine. My job is to explain to be there for students who are in crisis, which means anything that is hindering them from having a healthy child hood that can be detected at school.

This February will mark my second year with my company, and two years of helping bring hope and stability to the lives of kids. Two years of seeing the effects of the world on various families and their kids, and trying to help them make sense of it. Two years of reporting child abuse or neglect, and hoping that something is done that will not have even more lasting negative effects on the kids that come to me in my office. When you work with kids, no matter what the capacity, it changes you. And not just because of the bad stuff.

I’ll never forget my first day on the job. I was not cleared to work in schools, because my fingerprints had not yet cleared the FBI database. I had worked with kids before in the random ministry opportunities I had at my Christian College, and when I was in high school. The first thing they train you for is child abuse reporting. As a person working in a school in California, I was now mandated by law to report “any suspicion of child abuse” that I had while at work. The next thing I was trained for was how to handle a kid who was suicidal. After three days of training my background check came back clean, and I was released on a school in a rural area of Riverside county. I remember feeling scared, ill prepared, under resourced, and like I was on my own. I would work at the school while my boss was thirty six miles away at the home office.

My first day on site at me new school was unforgettable. It would be nice to say that I remember my first day because the school was so welcoming, or because I felt like I was in a place that I could be part of a great team. While this was true, that is not why I will remember the first day at work. After I had settled into the small office they school had set aside for me, and figured out how the school ran things, I was ready to start introducing myself to students. While in the middle of my first presentation of who I am and what I do to my first class, the Vice Principle came in and asked me to speak with him outside. There was a “situation” in the boys’ locker room he needed me help with.

The boy was an eighth grader, who was held up in one of the shower stalls. He had a knife, and was crying because he did not have the courage to use it on himself. He had cut himself already on one of his writs, and the paramedics were on the way as well as the police. The Principal was hoping I could get him to put the knife down, and get him to come to the Nurse’s office, before the police arrived and it got to be worse for the kid.

I talked the boy down, I’m not sure how I actually did it. He put down the knife, and we got him to go to the Nurse’s office. Paramedics came, and so did the boy’s father. Before they all arrived I had time with the boy while the Nurse saw to his cut on his wrist, which was not bad. You see, the kid’s mother had died the week before and that is why he wanted to die. He just wanted to be with her. He went to the hospital, and got a counselor that he saw on a regular basis after that.

I remember calling my boss at different times during the whole situation, as was our protocol. My boss was trying to get out to the site to help me out with anything, but she was stuck in traffic and would take a while. The adrenaline was pouring though me system like I had never before felt, and I was scared. My boss told me not to go back to work the next day, and I went home and held my fiancé really tight as if doing so would make the world a better place.

Almost two years latter, I was faced with another kid who was suicidal. This was not nearly as dramatic, she simply had a plan that was very well thought out and very plausible. But she had the same kind of cold, dead look in her eyes as that boy had, and it cut me right to the heart. She was a third grader, who got good grades and had what appeared to be a good life. But she was tired of living up to what everyone wanted her to be. She was sick of her mom and step-dad giving all their attention to the newborn sister, and knew that if she tried to kill herself she would either end it all or at least get their attention.

What is it about our world that puts so much pressure on kids that they want to end their lives? The boy from my first day on the job made sense, his mother had died in his lap of a brain aneurysm and her last words to him were, “I love you.” But this other girl had decided that her life was so worthless that she was going to end it because her parents, at least in her eyes, did not love her as much as they had until her sister came along. Other counselors that I work with have stories that are just as sad, and a lot of them worse.

I used to think my job was to help kids solve their problems, so they could be empowered to change their own lives. Now I’m no so inclined to think that is my job. After seeing my fair share of kids who have been abused, kids who have wanted to die, and the families they come from, I’ve come to a new conclusion of what my job is. I’m here to offer support and encouragement to kids who never get it. I’m not a psychologist, I’m a counselor. My place is to come along side these kids and be an person who tells them that they are smart enough, strong enough, and that no matter what anyone tries to tell them, they are going to get through life as a success. Some of my kids have never been told that they are smart, some have never been told that they are good at anything at all. Some of my kids think that they are ok, but that they are nothing special so why should anyone care about them. I’m the person who helps them find the parts of them worth celebrating so that they can find the strength to become the people they are becoming.

Do I love my job? There are times when I come home and feel like I have the best job in the world. I also have days where I come home and need a stiff drink or three in order to shake off the heaviness I feel after bearing these kids’ burdens with them. This job is not for the faint of heart, but if you have the strength for it, it could just change you into a whole new person you never knew you were capable of being. I am now a person who can get up in front of a group of people and not feel afraid of making a fool of myself. I am now a person who not only can listen to a person, but hold my tongue until they have said what they want to say. I would never had learned to be any other these things if I had not worked with these kids. While I am ready for this chapter in my life to close and open on a new one, I do not regret for one minuet ever day that I spent working with these kids.

I fancy myself an aspiring writer. It’s kind of cliché, I live in the LA area and I want to be a fiction author, but it’s true. The problem is that in order to be a writer you have to actually sit down and get things done.

The reason I’m writing this post is because I’m supposed to be working on a project for a group I belong to. We are compiling a Christmas book that will be our present to each other this year, instead of everyone spending money to exchange gifts (remember, we are all aspiring writers which is another way of saying poor). So I have my piece sort of put together but I just don’t want to work on it right now. It’s due latter this week.

It could just be that I have to write something that incorporates a theme of Christmas carols, and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet. I live in California, where we are currently finishing up a heat wave where the temperatures were 101 degrees this week, and everyone was wearing shorts and polo shirts at work. It’s kind of hard to get into the Christmas caroling spirit when your sitting in front of a fan with the AC turned up, and sitting in your boxers and a wife beater just to stay cool.

Is there a point to this post? No. Just one more way to put off working on telling a memory of from my childhood to share with some fellow writers. OK, now that I’ve vented maybe I can get some work done.

It only took me a week to do it, but I’ve transitioned all of my old blog posts into my new WordPress site. All I have to say is that Dial-Up internet is almost as bad as that sound the chalk board made in school (yes, I know they don’t have them any more, but it’s a unique experience).

I think I’m going to like being on this new service. WordPress just seems to be logically laid out, and very intuitive for me. At first I was very lost trying to figure out what all of these links and categories were, but when I stepped back and thought about how a blog site “should” be laid out and organized, it all made sense. Go figure, I had to unlearn all the stuff I had learned.

Also, it will be nice to be part of a large community. My last blog was an island all to it’s self, on a small server, and only my friends knew it was there. Now I can be seen by all sorts of people. Yes, I’m feeding my inner ego, get over it. You think I write a blog because I care what people think about what I say. I just want them to read it :).

Stay Tuned to see who this goes.

Posted Monday, October 23, 2006, 01:08 PM

I got my first traffic ticket ever this weekend. I was helping set up the reception site for a friend of mine’s wedding, in Monrovia. The site is only about 2 blocks from the church. I left with plenty of time to spare, so I was not even in a rush to get to the church on time. I pull off onto Foothill Blvd, a major street. I made a right, on a read light. I got about half a block, and I saw lights in my mirror. The officer informed me, after checking my paperwork, that the intersection of Primrose and Foothill is a no right on red.
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Posted Saturday, October 21, 2006, 10:20 AM

I read a lot. Well, I read more than the average person…or so I’m told. A friend of mine has a goal to read 12 books in 2006. When I read that my first reaction was, “that’s it?” So I started counting the books I have read since January of this year, and here is what I remember reading:

American God’s, by Neil Gaiman
She’s Come Undone, by Wally Lamb
At Close of Day, Joe Bentz
Naked, By David Sadaris
A Book of Common Prayer, by Joan Didion
Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card
Speaker for the Dead, by Orson Scott Card
When God Takes Too Long, By Joe Bentz
Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson
The Davinci Code, by Dan Brown
This Present Darkness, by Frank Pareti
Piercing the Darkness, by Frank Pareti
Wicked, by Gregory McGuire
The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho
Inferno, by Dante
Wheel of Time books 1-6, by Robert Jodan

And it’s only October, I still have two months left to the year. This is not a brag, this is just an observation. I did not get to read all the books I’ve wanted to so far this year, but I did make a good effort to vary the kind of books I read. I have a couple of classics in there, some SiFi, a good portion of fantasy, but I also have some other stuff mixed in there as well. So, I think my goal for next year should be to read 28 books and only allow for half of those to be fantasy.

BTW, I recommend all of these books, with the exception of Davinci Code as it was really kind of a stretch in a lot of the plot areas. Do not read the Robert Jordan Wheel of Time Serries unless you are willing to read all 12 books (book twelve is slated to be release in fall of 2007).