Striving For Perfection

I've found time to be astonishing; it either flies or crawls. And these past years have done both. It was seven years ago past week that we started Echo Church.

I vividly remember the early experiences we had when plotting to start the church like it was yesterday: the optimism of those first people who joined Kelly and me on the journey, the doors that the Lord opened in bringing us to Walnut Hills, the steep learning curve which followed that first service.

The weeks where we had seven people in attendance didn't stop us; the adrenaline pushed us past the fear of failure.

I've now spent half of my ministerial career at Echo. Dozens of people have come and gone through our fellowship over that time, but the Lord has continued to use Echo to make a difference. And that's what keeps me just as excited about what the future holds for our congregation as when we first started: there's more out there that God has planned for us.

It's never been easy. And it wasn't what I expected it to be. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. The blessings have been immeasurable.

During my doctoral residency, we had the chance to Skype interview Tim Keller, a minister in Manhattan instrumental in establishing a renewed approach to urban ministry. In his teachings on the subject, he often comments on people who are called to minister to cities, stating that many people do so because they feel the need to save the city.

[That was one of our main motivations for starting Echo]

But Keller continues that those who come to the city are often surprised to discover that the city saved them. And I understand what he was talking about. I am not the man that I was seven years ago. God has used the city to change the way I pastor, the way I love others, and the way I view the world.

And none of this would have happened without this church.

To my brothers and sisters at Echo, especially to those who weren't with as at the beginning, I hope you feel that this is your story too. And I'm thrilled at the thought if us continuing to live life together in the city for years to come.

This Place Still Exists

I used to feel bad when I didn't post anything here. As if I was letting someone down.

But lately, I've just felt sad. No posts here mean that I'm not carving out any time to write reflectively.

I'm actually doing quite a bit of writing right now—in emails, on social media, with copy at work, in my doctoral studies—and I feel like it's affecting me; I'm typing at blazingly fast speeds as of late. But I prefer to write here. It permits me opportunities to really be creative.

But life keeps getting in the way. The day job has been a little crazy. Fortunately, God is using Echo to minister to even me. I feel like I'm getting closer to a clearing. November looks tasty fun.

So if you still peak in here, or if you subscribe to the RSS feed, thanks for your devotion. I'll get some better content soon.

And in the meantime, I'm taking lots of pictures, posted at flickr.com/beitcarr. When I don't find time to write, I takes me pics.

CCU and Me: A Kingdom Perspective

I didn’t choose Cincinnati Christian University to be in my life. It chose me. As a young boy I wore a navy blue T-shirt of my mother’s. On the back it had written in a collegiate font, "Cincinnati Bible Seminary, Class of 1968."

I had no idea what that even meant. But it was a comfy T-shirt, so I wore it.

Whenever my parents talked about things over at the Seminary, I couldn't help but think they were talking about a place for corpses. (Later, I would come to understand that it was not actually a cemetery.) I heard about it frequently in their conversations, recognizing its importance to our lives.

You see, back in 1957, a few professors from Cincinnati Bible Seminary started the Price Hill Church of Christ in the school’s chapel building. When starting the church, Daniel Eynon called on neighborhood families to convince them to join the young congregation. Professor Eynon met Genevieve Carr, who immediately joined the church; her husband, however, refused to let his children attend. One day Eynon confronted Garrett Carr on this issue and apparently challenged him, saying something to the effect of, “just because you want to go to hell doesn’t mean your family has to.” The logic of the statement registered with my grandfather: he let his kids go to church.

Thus my father became a Christian as a result of Cincinnati Bible Seminary.

While a student at the Cincinnati Bible Seminary, my mother worked her way through college serving as Lewis Foster's secretary; she had the opportunity to type pages that were later included in the NIV translation. During this time, mom engaged in Christian service, volunteering at that same Price Hill church, where she met my father.

So my parents married because of Cincinnati Bible Seminary.

Because my home church was in the shadow of Cincinnati Bible Seminary, I grew up reaping the benefits of proximity. Professors of the school were essential to our church's growth and development. I had the opportunity to be around CBS legends such as George Mark Elliott (whose wife Kathryn taught me piano lessons), Dan Eynon, Jack Cottrell, and Bill Bravard. Seminary students often attended our church, and I terrorized a number of them who dared to volunteer as Sunday School teachers.

I’m one of the youngest people with ties to the school who remembers what it was like to worship in the old chapel building. I attended the very last service in that building before it was torn down.

As I grew into my teenage years, I had absolutely no interest in (the then renamed) Cincinnati Bible College. In fact, I almost feared it, boldly declaring that there was no way I would go to college there. I always envisioned attending a big state school to study law.

But at the end of my sophomore year of high school, I finally discovered something I was not only good at, but something that I loved: preaching the Word of God. Once I decided that I wanted to pursue this vocationally, my college decision became a no brainer: it had to be CBC.

It was the only school to which I applied. And I still have my college acceptance letter.

The past twenty years of my life—the majority of my existence—is linked to Cincinnati Christian University. I played soccer for (and later coached) the Golden Eagles. I was both the President of my class and of the student body. I met my wife at CCU, proposing one evening before the whole student body at Family. All of my siblings (even ones who didn’t attend) found their spouses on campus. I served as President of the Alumni Association. I teach classes as an adjunct professor. Twice now, I’ve had the privilege to serve as a full-time employee of the school.

Some of the best and worst times of my life have occurred on that little piece of real estate in Price Hill.

And I’m sure that some of you reading this now could proclaim the same thing. Whenever I meet with old college friends, we swap stories, some of which I had completely forgotten. (Recently I was reminded that I used to convince freshmen that there was a pool on top of the library.) And even though many of us have experienced frustrations with the school, if you're like me, they wither away when I think of the blessings I’ve encountered because it exists.

I love CCU.

I owe everything to this place.

And I can never repay it.

But I can continue to love it.

As many of you have heard, CCU is yet again facing some financial difficulties. While our fiscal position is still redeemable, this situation has prompted leadership to engage in conversations with Johnson University near Knoxville, Tennessee, about a potential merger. Johnson is a fine institution, serving a powerful need in the kingdom of God and I mean it no disrespect in addressing this subject. But even though these conversations are merely exploratory, I believe them to be unnecessary.

CCU can still stand on its own.

I am confident that the leaders of these institutions are ultimately motivated by a deep love for the Lord and for their respective schools; the conversation is being framed within the context of what’s best for the kingdom and for Christian unity. But let’s not think that a singular perspective is capable of holding the only solutions for what best benefits the kingdom of God. While the Scriptures repeatedly speak of the unity of believers, we see numerous examples our kingdom’s diversity. It’s these different voices and perspectives that make our Movement what it is today.

The voicing of CCU is distinct from that of Johnson and, regardless of how delicately we approach this, a voice will be sacrificed. Is this truly best for the kingdom of God? Maybe, but maybe not. While some gains could be achieved in the short term, ultimately our Movement could lose out.

The concern driving these talks is for the survival of CCU. If these talks progress towards execution, the newly-created institution might bear some similarities with CCU, but our history, tradition, and heritage would be forever transformed. If we love the school enough to explore a merger, why don’t we love it enough to try a new trajectory? The assets for a successful turnaround to free CCU already exist. Have we truly explored every possibility?

I love CCU—so much that you might feel my apprehension is merely passion blinding any objectivity. My life was transformed because multiple generations of women and men believed in that school—and they provided a place where people could learn to love the Lord and teach others to do the same.

Too many people have given too much to have it end like this.

That little boy in the navy blue Cincinnati Bible Seminary T-shirt would agree.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys . . .

Here's the synopsis of me catching the copper thieves. Yeah, I wrote all this out, but it'll make for a good story and I can email this account to the police detective tomorrow. So two birds, one stone. I'm tired of people letting their dogs poop in our tiny front yard; there's not much grass there, and we're less than 50 yards from a huge park. And if your dog does have to go, just bag it. A couple of weeks ago I was walking into the house and managed to step in dog feces. I was incredibly angry. Since then I've used our tall front windows (which provide a great street view) to watch dog walkers. Almost all of them carry a bag with them.

That's why I noticed the lady out front this evening. In broad daylight she let her rat dog go all over our yard. At first, I thought I was over-zealous, but it was exactly what she was doing. I was putting my shoes to go yell at her and I noticed she got into the back seat of a beat-up station wagon parked in front of our house. This is bizarre because 1) with a park just feet away, no one drives their dog to poop on a yard (not even my greatest enemies) and 2) since the fire, there are only two cars parked out on the street: mine and my neighbors. And I've lived here long enough that I recognize many of the people who walk by our house. I didn't recognize this lady and she looked shifty and then I realized what was going on:

She was watching out for copper thieves at our neighbor's house.

Since the fire, we've likely had six or seven break-ins. I have the cops on speed dial. I didn't know how I was going to play it, but I decided to walk over to the burned out units to check it out. When I walked down the front stairs, the lady with the dog stared at me, and I said, "hello." I took an immediate turn up the stairs, near where the fire started, and there's a large plywood barrier that acts like a door.

I could hear people mulling around on the other side of the wall. My suspicion was confirmed.

I was angry, but not entirely stupid. That woman was their lookout, so I had to play it smart.

Still, I decided it would be sporting of me to give them a warning. The sanitized version of what I yelled was,

"Alright [boys], here's your head start. I'm calling the police."

Unfortunately, I left my phone inside, so I had to run back to my place to get it. I ran down the stairs, up the street, passing the lady with the dog. As she looked at me, I yelled at her: "better hop in the car, here they come." Once inside, I grabbed my phone and told Kelly to go get me a weapon.

Just so you know, we don't have guns in our house, but I do keep a stash of self-defense items around. I wasn't really worried at them coming to get me, because the decking out front is a very strategic position, but you can't be too safe. I called 9-1-1 as I ran back out there.

As the operator picked up, I told them I caught a robbery in process. She asked me to describe them and the automobile and, just as I did, these two yokels hop in their car. I peered toward them, describing their appearance as I scanned them.

And that's when I noticed their t-shirts: they were wearing construction t-shirts of the company who did the fire demolition.

Likely, nearly all the robberies we've had were these guys who knew exactly who they were.

At this point, I was really angry and started loudly describing them to the 9-1-1 operator, so those guys knew I got a good look at them. They started the car, and sped away . . . but their car died in the road.

No joke: it limply rolled back down the street.

I'm still describing them to the operator while staring at them and half walking toward them when one of the guys hops out of the car. He was a bit larger than I was, so I took some steps back up the stairs. By this time, Kelly was by our door with a weapon, but I told her I thought we were good. Hilariously, the guy tried to fix his car then and there. He tried over and over again, but it didn't work. So they got out of the car and started walking down the street.

Even the lady picked up her rat dog and started to jog.

So I started to jog after them.

I described this to the operator and she began to freak out. I guess with the negativity surrounding all the vigilantism justice now, she insisted I stopped. I got a good look at them as they walked up the street and a guy around the corner locked eyes with me.

"They're copper thieves!" I yelled. And he responded, "they probably broke into my car last week too!" He started to follow them but I told them that the police were on their way.

Sure enough, police showed up right then and I told them where to go. CPD's finest apprehended them in just a couple of minutes. I mean, how far can you get with a lady holding a dog, anyway?

Talking to a bike officer who made his way to the scene, I started to inspect what they did. We have lock-boxes on all the burned out units because of all the construction that happened in the weeks after the fire. Of course, as employees of the demo company, they had the codes so they wouldn't have to forcibly enter. In the back of their car was a huge box of electrical wire, which they could scrap. And when I went into the burned out units (where I had to last week because someone broke in), there was a trash can full of wire with wire cutters and saws.

They told the police that they were just in there working. Of course, their company hasn't been working on this site for almost two months, so that doesn't pan out. And my neighbor said that he saw them in the car (with the dog) hanging out in the parking lot on Sunday night.

It doesn't look to good for the bad guys.

Because they had access to the lock-boxes, the police were apprehensive to arrest them tonight because of legal protocol. I told them that I didn't care as long as they weren't allowed anywhere near this place again. As I'm typing this, I can peek on the street and someone is jumping their car, which is still broken down on the side of the road. When they're gone, I'm going to go take all the keys out of the lock boxes to make sure nothing happens tonight. I guess even more fun is to come as we set about holding them responsible for their crime.

I've been mental about this whole issue. I feel almost called to protect my neighbors homes, so I'm uber-paranoid now. I'm just glad that my suspicion was spot on.

And, if I were you, I wouldn't let your dog poop in my front yard.

The Fire (Part Two)

This is part two of my account about the fire. Read part one here. I know it's long, and it's not well organized, but it's kinda therapeutic. When we woke up the next morning, we immediately headed to our house to meet our cleaning folk. Our insurance company had arranged for a set of cleaners to survey the scene to see what needed to be done to make it right. The morning light revealed the extent of the damage to our neighbor's units. It would easily take months to repair the damage. We continued to feel blessed that our plight was much better than that of our neighbors.

The smell of smoke still dominated the scene, but it wasn't as strong as it had been the day before. But as we stepped into our place, we could tell that it still smelled. The cleaning people confirmed this, making us feel a little less crazy. Their prognosis: two weeks. They'd have to clean out all of our possessions—absolutely everything within the unit—to a warehouse where they would clean it down. Then they'd work on the inside of the unit in order to ensure that the smell was eliminated. They basically treated it as if everything had been contaminated. We'd pick out the things that needed to be dry cleaned, which would be handled by a separate company. Since the door to Kaelyn's room was open during the fire, we opted to have all of her stuffed animals cleaned. Our clothes were fine, as they were protected by closet doors. But they'd still have to take all of our stuff out.

And we'd be homeless for a little while.

Fortunately, we had pretty full social calendar to keep us busy: I was performing a wedding that evening, so we opted to stay at the hotel that night; we had to go to Lexington to pick up Kaelyn the next day (and to sing the national anthem at a roller derby); and we had a Florida vacation scheduled in that third week we'd be out of our place, so it didn't seem too bad. And most fortunately, my parents have plenty of spare bedrooms in their house on the westside of town, so we were welcomed in with open arms.

We returned to Cincinnati on Sunday morning and packed up some things to take over to my parents. It was then that Kaelyn got her first glimpse of the fire scene. She handled it really well. The thought of spending some time at Grandma's house made things a little better. That Sunday night was the first we spent at my parents place and I was due to head back over to our condo in the morning to talk to one of the insurance agents of the condominium complex.

But one incident from the day before: as we were heading out on Sunday, I saw some shady characters parked in front of our house. This wasn't me being over-cautious; there were no other cars on the street in front of our house, and these guys were gazing up at the burned out condos. As I pulled out on to the road, I slowed down and recorded the license plate of the car. Sure enough, the next day, people had broken into the burned out condominium units. I have no idea whether or not it was the dudes who looked like they were casing the joint (of course, the police have yet to determine it). They theives took whatever electronics they could find still in those units (even though all of them were likely broken). Still, it was adding insult to injury to our neighbors. I was convinced that we needed to upgrade our alarm system. By Friday, I had a new alarm system which now has motion detectors, making our place completely covered.

Later that evening, there was a windstorm which knocked out power throughout greater Cincinnati, including at our condos. The power outage lasted throughout the next day, so I went on-site to check on things. I glanced at our window and saw that someone tried (unsuccessfully) to pry it open with a hammer. I called the police and the same officer responded to the scene. As he was writing things up, I finally thought to check on the other units. I checked the farthest one first and could hear water pouring in the unit. I had the codes to all the lock boxes to every unit so I was able to get in the unit. Water was flowing from the wall. I made my way downstairs to shut the water off and then looked at the leak. This unit was right next door to one of the fully burned-out units and I could see what happened: copper thieves had broken in to the adjoining unit and tried to steal a live pipe. At least the police officer was still on the scene to fill out the crime report.

I'll admit: I was pissed.

Throughout the ordeal, I tried to keep a positive perspective on things. But the stress of the fire, power outages, and the thought of people breaking into our place had finally pushed me to the breaking point. We returned to our westside abode and I couldn't break my bad mood. Even a trip to our neighbor's pool on a hot evening didn't make me feel better. That evening, I got a text that Duke Energy was at our condos to get the power back on. With everyone else gone, I knew I had to go back there. Even though I had been obligated by one thing or another to be at our place every day since the fire, I hopped in my car and headed back for the second time in one day.

I arrived as the sun was setting. There was an orange glow that framed the skyline view I saw daily as I went to and fro. I was instantly reminded why I loved our place and thoroughly enjoyed our life in the city. And even though I could still smell the smoke and felt violated at the thought of people trying to steal our stuff, I finally felt peace. And with no one else around, I felt I needed to do something. So as the linemen worked to get the power back on, I started picking up the trash from the fire that had littered the front of our house for over a week. There was a dumpster in the parking lot now, so I filled it with siding, tree limbs, and trash that made it look unkempt. And even though the fire-scarred structure was unavoidable, I felt like I made a dent in things.

So here we are now, four weeks since the fire, and we're still at my parents' place. They said they should have everything cleaned up by early next week, but I'd bet that those two weeks actually end up being six. But even though the commute is annoying (I'm spoiled), and it's tough to keep track of stuff while living out of suitcases, it's been good. We've been reminded of how much we love living in the city. We've had the chance to spend quality time with my parents. And we had a week away in Florida to keep our mind off of things. It could've been much, much worse.

I'm sure there will be other lessons to be gleaned from this. But I'm done learnin' for now.

The Fire (Part One)

This is a series of posts that I really don't want to write. Unfortunately, I just know I need to get them out there.

I've told the story of the fire countless times over the past month, so I'm really not excited about writing it out. But I know I'll forget it long term if I don't write some of these things down.

Like it has been for most of the summer now, it was an extremely hot day. But as I walked into the office that morning, I remember that it was rather windy. I also remember that I had an extremely productive morning. I had just wrapped up a project in the early afternoon when my friend Larry called. Larry works right across the street from our house and, when I saw it was him, I just knew it was something at the condo. As I picked up, I could hear the sirens in the background.

"Steve, you need to get home. Your condos are on fire."

As I grabbed my keys, I asked him if it was our place on fire. I said it was "the one on the end," so I was fairly confident that we'd be OK. But I'm on the HOA board of our condos and I knew most of the people who lived in that building, so I rushed out the door to get home. I called Kelly, who had just dropped off Kaelyn at her grandparents' house. She was in northern Kentucky having lunch and was on the way home. I knew it was serious as I turned onto Gilbert Avenue and the police had the road blocked off.

"I live there," I told the officer.

He let me through and I saw that this wasn't just a small fire. Smoke was billowing from the rooftops. I parked halfway down the street and ran up the hill. There were dozens of onlookers watching firemen fight a three alarm fire. I still don't fully understand the extent of the alarm system, but I could tell that our home was now in harm's way. The unit next door to ours was in flames. There were fire hoses lining the walkway in front of our door. And firefighters were blasting our house with water and foam to keep it from flames.

I'll admit that I was in mild shock. In the chaos of the scene I just uttered, "that's my house." I felt like I should "do" something, but there was nothing to be done. I pulled out my camera from my bag to snap a few photos; not sure why I did (none of them turned out well). I called my neighbors whose homes were now in flames so I could give them the grim news. My hand was shaking as I was attempting to maneuver around my phone. After I made some calls, I saw a fireman coming from our place holding a wet cat. It was my neighbors cat. He was looking for someone to grab it from him and I volunteered.

You see, Kaelyn loves that cat. She cherished anytime she could play with it. The cat would stare out the window at us when we came home. And I know that my neighbor cherished that cat, so I took it from the firefighter.

"If you're going to take it, you have to give that cat oxygen," he said. It seemed ridiculous to me at the time—my house is on fire and I'm giving oxygen to a cat—but I obliged. There was a local media outlet on the scene (there were many there that day) that videotaped me giving the cat oxygen. Fortunately, the footage never made public broadcast.

I handed off the cat right as Kelly arrived. All we knew to do was hug and try to comfort our neighbors as they made it to the scene. Fortunately, they had the fire under control, but there was considerable damage. It looked like the eight residences just south of ours were seriously damaged while ours was saved. I truly can't credit Cincinnati Fire Department enough. It was an incredibly hot afternoon and these men in full gear fought hard to save our house. It was amazing. I'm forever grateful.

While it seems like minutes now, it was about three hours until we could get into our house. We wanted to help our neighbors move what was left of their possessions into our place so a few of them could spend the night with us. As we reached our front door, it was wide open: the firefighters had busted open the door with an axe to make sure that no one was there. It was a little sad that our nice door was now useless, but at least they cared enough to make sure everyone was safe (I found out later from Larry that one of his coworkers saw the fire starting and knocked on doors to make sure people were safe). We started moving some of our neighbors' water-logged items into our place and, as Kelly and I stood there, we remarked how we smelled smoke in our place. We were so thankful that we were spared from the flames that we didn't really survey the scene in our place: the doorway was open as smoke filled the area between our condos. Even though there wasn't black soot, the stench of smoke was in our place too.

I called the insurance agent who suggested that we spend the night in a hotel. Just the year before they put in a new hotel down the street so we booked it for a couple of nights. I actually had a wedding rehearsal scheduled that night up north of the city, so I left Kelly at the scene to pack up a few things so we could get out of the house. That night, as we tried to get a grip on the last twelve hours, we scanned local media to see what they were reporting. The only glimpses of me was holding the cat. And I laughed when I heard the amount of the damage the fire cause, as it was a figure that I added up as a guess and gave the fire chief.

A few more things about that day:

• The amount of onlookers was crazy. There are offices surrounding our place which made it a huge event. Throughout that evening and, in the days to come, people would drive by and walk by just to catch a glimpse. The Sunday after the fire I saw some people in the parking lot who used to live in one of the units that had burned down.

• The contractors came out of the darkness looking for work. Within an hour of the fire, there were people on the scene looking for work. By the end of the night, I ended up mediating a dispute between two contractors who were on the scene looking to do work. It just makes me thankful I have a job.

• Eight of our neighbors had homes that had been affected by the fire. Two of them were total losses, three were extreme losses, and three more were damaged extensively. My guess at the time was that it would be October before the people would be moved back in. I might have been too aggressive in my guess.

• Even though we live in the city, and didn't have extensive relationships with our neighbors, everyone banded together to make sure everyone was OK. Fortunately, everyone was insured and had employment so, while the loss was still significant, there will be opportunities for people to recover.

The next morning, the events of the day hit home even more than we had anticipated.

Flying Pig Reflections 2012

I'm finally getting around to jotting down a few notes about my fifth marathon. This past Flying Pig Marathon was my fourth time running the race. It's starting to become a sign of spring for me. For what it's worth, I still think it's one of the best events in this city. Even as more and more runners start to participate, making the course incredibly crowded, the locals embrace the runners and make it an unforgettable event.

And for me, this was an unforgetable year.

The previous three years, it's rained on race day. I find it difficult to run well when my feet get wet. The past two years, I've had to change my socks halfway through the race; when you get water-logged, it's difficult to post a strong time. "If only I can get a dry day . . . " I would tell myself, " . . . you can post a great time."

Well, I got my wish. And a little something extra to boot.

The race day temperature was predicted to be in the upper 70's. While it sounds comfortable, it's rather warm when running long distances; I've heard that you can take the temperature and add fifteen degrees to the total if you want to know what it feels like for a distance runner. Knowing the heat was coming, I made a strategic decision: I'd give it all I had early on in the race and find a way to get home. I had been training really well, hoping to post my personal best, so I felt confident I'd do well regardless.

The morning cool was a benefit during the first part of the race. I was keeping, what I thought to be, a strong pace. But as I reached the halfway mark, I saw that my time was not impressive as all. I found the 3:45 pace group, thinking I'd settle in with them. That only lasted a couple of miles. When I reached Mariemont, I walked through a water stop and discovered I was starting to dehydrate. I resigned myself to the fact that I'd just have finish this race and not worry about my time.

For the last ten miles of the race, I'd walk through the water stops and then break out in a run. I really felt well physically but as you march down Riverside Drive (or Eastern Avenue or whatever they're calling it), it's impossible to find shade. I was grabbing four cups of water every mile. My walking breaks kept stretching longer and longer but, when I ran, I kept a great pace. I struggled harder than I ever had, but kept mentally focused on the finish line. And one thing pushed me harder than anything:

I wanted to run in with Kaelyn to the finish line.

You see, just the day before, Kaelyn participated in a kid's race for the Flying Pig. We started training weeks before and she was running really well—completing 1.2 miles without walking at all. Just 18 hours earlier, Kaelyn received a medal for finishing her race and she was excited about mine. Since she and Kelly meet me every year by the Purple People Bridge, I knew where'd they'd be. Even though I had no idea how I'd be able to lift Kaelyn over the barriers, I knew I wanted her to run the final stretch with me.

As I approached the last half-mile, I started scanning the crowd for my girls. Sure enough, there they were, and Kaelyn was waiting for me outside of the barriers. "Can she run in with you?" Kelly asked. We were thinking the same thing: Kelly received text updates of my time, knew I was behind, and figured I'd love to run with Kaelyn. We took off on the last half-mile together, passing the cheering crowds, running hand-in-hand. Since it was much slower than we had run the day before, Kaelyn asked, "can we run any faster?"

I heard people in the crowd laugh.

We crossed the finish line together. My time was 4:07. I was extremely satisfied with my finish because of the heat. It was a brutal day. But more than the heat, I'll always remember crossing the finish line with Kaelyn.

Sure enough, I was finally suckered into buying some of those race photos. It was so worth it.

A Picture of My Philosophy

Recently a friend who teaches philosophy asked if I'd participate in a social experiment. He was trying to collect pictures from people across a wide spectrum that summarized their philosophy of life. Fascinating question. I thought about it for a couple of days.

I settled in on one of my favorite pictures ever. Here it is:

Understand that I wrote this just past midnight (the day after Father's Day), so I'm not sure I buy into all of my description, but here's what I wrote to explain the picture:

Attached is a picture of my daughter Kaelyn on her first day of school. She's waiting in line to meet her teacher for the first time. You might observe the smile and assume that she was cool, but I know her better. She's scared to death. But when I ask her, "can you smile for me?" she gives it her best shot. And as her Father, I feel immensely proud. She trusts me. Even though it'll be rough, it's not that bad.

Even though the metaphor breaks apart when teased out fully, I see this in my philosophy of life. As a theist, I hold that a creator God who knows me intimately hovers over this life. He knows my fear. He knows that this journey might not end up like I want it to. But he asks for that smile. He just asks that I give it my best shot, knowing that he's looking down on me. He asks that I trust. So I look up at him, give a hesitant smile, and try to make him proud.

Longing for Affirmation

All the buzz around the Queen City this week has been a New York Times article praising the city's commitment to revitalization. My Facebook and Twitter feed blow'd up with links from my urban dwelling brethren, excited about the national recognition. As much as I'm the city's biggest cheerleader, I'm left wanting. A few observations:

1. There was no mention of our current struggles. You always give both sides of the situation to keep grounded in reality. Although I'm loving what's happening in the lower bowl, our city's finances are jacked up and there are about 45 other neighborhoods where the outlook isn't quite as rosy. Although things are looking good, there are systemic issues that must be dealt with. Using the Banks as a barometer of the city's progress is no different than using plastic surgery to assess one's health.

2. We really aren't that bad anyway. My thesis work will be centered on Cincinnati. When I was at school in Boston, I was asked by classmates to describe the city. One thing I shared is that people from our city generally have a poor outlook of it. We're haters. That's why some of us latch on so tightly when a paper like the Times publishes something positive about Cincinnati. Our town isn't utopia, but it's surely much better than many realize. I'm still uncertain as to why locals are so skeptical of this being a great place to live. I think we have father issues.

3. Why can't we aim for more? The most laughable reaction is that our local paper, the Cincinnati Enquirer, actually published a link to the NYT article as news. I'm sure the reason that they did was to try to catch some search engine pull as it was moving through the local news cycle. It's sad, really. Instead of relying on a reputable East Coast paper to offer quality reporting,we don't we strive to create our own form of excellence? With technology, the ability for us to have more/better is accessible.

4. If you're from the Cincy 'burbs and angry about this, just stop throwing stones. You can complain about the city all day long but the reality is that, without it, you'd have nothing. Don't bite the hand that feeds you.

Is It Worth It?

I invest. I speak not of a financial investment (like saving up for retirement), but rather where I direct my time and talents.

I view these investments in two tiers: those critical investments which define my life (family, church, vocation) and those investments which act as a release from the first.

It's those second tier investments I want to examine here. Even though they're not critical, they can be important because they act as a release from those key investments; you can't continue to press yourself forward without taking a breather. Finding healthy release imposes balance upon your life. It's why I'm interested in running marathons right now: it keeps me healthy and gives me a goal outside of my other life endeavors. It's a win-win.

I also invest in watching sports. This is nice too because it requires little exertion on my part yet provides compelling drama. It's a great release.

For example: while online this past weekend I saw that Johan Santana of the Mets was throwing a no-hitter through seven innings. I'm nowhere near being a Mets fan (although they were playing the St. Louis Cardinals whom I wish ill upon), but the drama of a no-hitter is so captivating it insists on being watched. I flipped television stations and was able to see Santana's quest for a clean sheet. Again, even though I don't heart the Mets, I was pulling for the guy to accomplish this admirable feat.

Well, Santana was successful and, after the last strikeout to seal the no-hitter, he was mobbed by his teammates. While watching the euphoria on the field, as the Mets piled-on the victorious pitcher, I saw something incredibly bizarre: a Gary Carter jersey. For those unfamiliar with baseball history, Gary Carter was a catcher for the Mets who retired years ago and died a few months ago, making it doubly impossible that he was on the field celebrating with the team. It was soon recognizable that this person was just a fan sporting a Gary Carter jersey. He was so excited for the no-hitter that he ran on the field to celebrate with the team. The guy even had a few seconds of joy before security took him down.

I forgot about this guy until I saw a news story online earlier today. Apparently the lifelong Mets fan (a pilot, mind you) decided that he just needed to celebrate with the team on the field. His payoff: two nights in jail. Not only did the stunt cause him to miss his child's first birthday, he's now banned for life from attending games in the stadium.

I'm still left with numerous questions about this dude's decision, most of which I have no desire to explore. But an overwhelming thought still remains with me:

When is the investment no longer worth it?

I would suggest that an investment can only be measured in relation to priorities. So my investment in watching sports is fine so long as it acts as a release and doesn't detract from my life's priorities.

This guy who ran out on the field has a solid job, and a wife and a kid. There's some semblance of life priority going on there: he works to provide for his family. That's his top tier investment. And he has something like Mets baseball to act as a release, and that's fine. But once he ran on the field, his second tier investment became more important than his top tier and everything went askew.

You might view this as a misread on my part. So he missed his kid's first birthday party. No big deal, right? I mean, if you've ever attended one of these things, you know that there's not much to one of those shindigs: kid drools, paws at some presents, and sloppily eats cake. Take away the photographic evidence and there's no way my daughter will recollect what happened at her first birthday.

But in this guy's case, it's not missing those few hours at a party that are significant—it's the story of that event that will continue to resonate. For years to come, his family and friends will recall the missed birthday party because he felt obligated to break the law to celebrate with some guys whom he never met. Sure, it might only have been a couple of days out of his thousands here on earth, but the narrative arch will speak volumes about his life. Unfortunately, this kid will be the recipient of a subtle message: in that moment, Daddy loved the Mets more than he loved you.

And what that exposes is that those investment priorities weren't nearly as solid as they seemed.

As I apply this tale introspectively, I'm led to wonder how I'm doing with my investments. I'm reminded that I need to make sure that I'm keeping focus.

Otherwise, I'm just another idiot running onto a playing field that's not my own.

A Weekend Buffet

If the 1980's taught us anything, it was the following nugget of wisdom: "Wax on, wax off."

There are few things in the world as satisfying as waxing a car. As a new driver, I discovered that a nice coat of wax can make an old car look new. My only hang up was the time-intensity; waxing a car by hand (including a good washing ahead of time), took a few hours. Still, it was worth it. I tried to give me car a good waxing a couple of times a year.

About seven years ago, my parents must have realized my passion and gave me a car buffer for Christmas.

Best gift ever.

But a few months later, our move to the city required downsizing. I reluctantly left the buffer at my parents house. The buffer spoils you, making a hand wax seem like rocking a Nokia 3310 (am I right?). So now, I almost refuse to wax without the buffer.

Which is why I like three-day weekends.

The downside to multi-dwelling city living is that, with no drive way or garden hose, car maintenance is more complicated. When it comes to caring for our rides, I prefer to do it at my parents' house in the 'burbs. But that requires losing a day to the task. But the glory of the three-day weekend is that I can squeeze it all in and still feel rested. A holiday like Memorial Day is ripe for waxing. Even though yesterday's heat was oppressive, I found a patch of shade and buffed away. After finishing, my old 1999 Exploder looked six years newer. I'm not sure there are many feelings in this world like hopping in a newly waxed automobile.

It rained today.

About Boston

I've spent three weeks in this town, enough that I think I can offer the following observations. There is some decent public transportation here, but isn't New York City, so you'll likely need a car.

If you're driving, you need to grow thick skin. Drivers here are merciless. Just assume that someone wants to cut you off. And you have to cut people off yourself, otherwise you'll never get anywhere.

And speaking of the roads, pay no attention to the painted lines between lanes. Those are optional.

The cost of living, in comparison to Cincinnati, is ridiculous. Almost everything is more expensive here.

That said, proximity to beautiful views of the Atlantic Ocean have to come at some cost.

That said, I'm here in May. If I had to endure to weather between November and March, I'd change move south.

The architecture is pretty rad. The school is out on the North Shore of Boston, all of which looks like it's out of a movie. Absolutely gorgeous.

The accents are precious. I lingered a couple of days ago to hear a typical Boston conversation just because it sounded awesome.

If I were a seafood guy (which I'm not), I'd love this place. I paid homage, though, and sampled the fare.

The roast beef is the big local food. I get it, and it's tasty, but it doesn't pull me in.

I find the downtown area irresistible. The mixture of water and hills reminds me of Cincinnati.

Cannot get a fountain Coke here unless you go to a fast food joint and pay out the yin yang. I've abstained, missing my UDF.

Once you're out of the car, the people are incredibly friendly. Nice folk.

It's such a cool place, but an annoying place at the same time. But I guess all big cities are like that. If I'm gonna be away from home, might as well be in a place like this.

Seriously. I mean it.

This is my blog. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. Yes, this place has been a barren wasteland of world wide web real estate recently; this is only my 8th blog post of the year. But I think I needed to step away for awhile.

I'm writing this from Boston, working out my second doctoral residency. In the time between my first doctoral residency and now, I feel like I condensed a few years of life into this past one. A list of things from my life from my last year:

• Our daughter started all-day kindergarten
• Took a new job within the University, working in the marketing/digital field.
• Completed the first chapter of my doctoral thesis
• Had to move the location of Echo Church
• Had to get settled into a new church location
• Lost a good friend to cancer
• Taught five college courses
• Spoke at a Christian Teen Convention
• Ran two marathons
• Helped oversee bringing in Tim Tebow to CCU
• Preached dozens of sermons

But the biggest reason I've kept from blogging is that I'm doing an immense amount of writing currently. In writing my thesis, and overseeing social media, websites, and blogs, I'm constantly crafting words. When I get home at night, I just want to decompress and watch Top Gear. And if I do post on the web, I want to tweet. 140 characters doesn't seem as imposing as a blog post.

Yet as much as a whine about a busy life, everyone's life is busy. And I've been using it as an excuse. Apologies for my laziness. It needs to change.

So I'm going to start posting more regularly again.

Seriously. It'll happen.

I've enjoyed this blog immensely. I don't want to feel embarrassed at the lack of content. So now I write again.

If Only I Blogged . . .

In a few weeks, I will likely unpack the various reasons for my lack of posting this year. But I just wrapped up a fantastic Easter weekend that I care to recap briefly:

• Ran 16 miles on Friday, still on pace for my fifth marathon in May
• Stopped by Fairview to see Kaelyn during her lunch time. I love that she loves I'm there.
• Snuck out afterward with Kelly to enjoy "big people's" lunch with Kelly.
• Headed to Columbus to speak three messages at the Ohio Teens For Christ Convention.
• While there, I was able to hang around the Austin-based band Price Hill, OSU campus minister Seth Aldridge, my Cincy compadre Jade Kendall, and many other people that made my weekend joyful.
• Returned home Saturday to help Kaelyn pull her second tooth.
• Celebrated a joint-Resurrection Sunday Service with the Cincinnati Church of the Brethren.
• Was able to spend this afternoon with my parents, siblings, and siblings' spouses and kids (and I apparently did better hiding the eggs this year).
• Saw my sports teams perform well, with the Reds coming from behind to win and ManUnited pulling clear of ManCity, ever closer to their 20th title.
• Spent the late evening finally completing our 2011 taxes—another refund year.

I feel somewhat exhausted but rather satisfied. On the radar in the next six weeks, there's CCU's Tim Tebow event, the Flying Pig Marathon, and my second doctoral residency in Boston.

It's the interesting life, eh?

Is Kony2012 A Social Justice Issue?

I'm not that guy. I just tend to ask questions. Everyone and their neighbor is all over the Kony 2012 initiative sponsored by the Invisible Children organization. A Vimeo video explaining the movement now has more than 10 million views. In 2007, Echo Church hosted an Invisible Children presentation. The organization made a film highlighting the abhorrent actions of the Lord's Resistance Army in Uganda. The LRA would kidnap children in order to train them to be soldiers. It spawned a social active movement, primarily with the funding of safe schools, that contributed to positive change in the country.

The Kony 2012 movement is an effort to attack the issue at the head. Joseph Kony is a warlord of the LRA. The movement is designed to further expose these atrocities with the hope of bringing him to justice. Currently, the U.S. deployed a small group of soldiers to provide training and support for Ugandan military personnel to combat the LRA. With this support possibly expiring, the Invisible Children group wants to keep Kony in the forefront of people's minds to encourage his arrest.

Upon watching the video, I was puzzled at how quickly people have embraced this movement. Two observations that I'd ask you to consider.

First, a basic understanding of the political climate of many nations on the African continent reveals that an operation to stop Kony will not end in arrest; it will consist of a militaristic pursuit that will ultimately end in his killing. Even though the movement organizers claim they seek justice got Kony, the only justice true justice to emerge will be his bloodshed. He will not be taken alive.

From a political perspective, this is not problematic. But when invoking this as a justice issue, it numerous questions. The foremost: is it truly social justice to seek the death of an oppressor? In fact, it illustrates the delicate line between justice and political action. Even though the movement's organizers are aiming for political correctness when pleading for his arrest, it is a misguided goal. There is no other end game but his death. It is not necessarily wrong (from a biblical, retributive perspective) for his life to be take for his evil actions, but should this be the role that a non-profit takes?

Second, and this is a pragmatic argument, organizations like the LRA are rarely led by just one individual. When Kony is dead, his lieutenants will rise to take his place, perhaps even hardened to act even more ruthlessly. Violence begets violence. I'm not staking a pacifist position here but am stating a fact that has continued to ravage the African continent for decades: imperialism helped create this violent culture. By no means should we affirm the LRA's actions, but there is similar tragedy occurring around the globe even at this moment. Why, then, should we stop with Uganda? What about issues in Iran, Pakistan, and North Korea? Should we mobilize to bring attention to those atrocities as well?

In short, even though people are suffering, the solvent is political, not social justice. Innocents in the crossfire are suffering, but this is a horrible fact not limited to any certain geographic region. It is fine to raise awareness, but to outline a course of action is to assume a political, nationalistic agenda that transcends mere justice.

I apologize that I haven't fully teased this out, but I felt like I needed to get this out. You might even be offended that I dare to question this movement. But in our era of social media, we tend to make immediate judgements on issues without truly contemplating the facts. I believe that the Invisible Children organization is well-intentioned here but naive in what they're truly imploring people to do.

If you do support the movement, that's fine. But I'd ask that you consider the end game. And then decide whom to attack next.

Kathryn Ruth Baughman

The past two weeks have been difficult, for our family and for Echo Church. I've been thinking hard on how to best summarize this experience but decided to just start writing and see what emerges. Our friend Kathy Baughman passed away January 20th. She had been fighting cancer on her brain and her spine for almost ten months when she succumbed to the disease. Kathy was in her mid-fifties, a wonderful wife and mother of two grown children. And most cherished by the people of Echo, she was basically our church's surrogate mother.

I want to tell you about how exhausting this was, both mentally and spiritually. But to do so would be an embarrassment to how Kathy faced her end. You see, if anyone had a reason to complain, it was Kathy. Why such a beautiful woman could be stricken with a horrible disease is extremely difficult to comprehend. But never once did she gripe. Instead, she exuded joy, even in the midst of such hardship; her smile was infectious. She fought off death multiple times, and the faced it with absolute grace.

On multiple occasions, her husband Joe told me that, upon hearing her terminal diagnosis, Kathy prayed that God might use this disease for his glory. And, more specifically, that Echo Church might be blessed because of this cancer.

Our young church rallied around this family. We prayed fervently. And our people, especially the women of Echo—those in whom Kathy had already invested much—responded in a way I never could have imagined. They fixed meals, cleaned their house, drove Kathy on errands. They showed God's love to a woman who embodied it. I have never been more proud to be a pastor. I saw the church for what it's meant to be. And despite the numerous flaws of us within, God grace was visible in our midst through Kathy.

Last week, after she had passed, we used our Sunday worship at Echo for a time of praise to the Lord; we thanked him for blessing us with Kathy. We read Scripture, we sang, we wept, but we did it all in a posture of gratefulness. And as I looked around our congregation that night, I could see a changed people. God used this horrible experience to transform many of us. We're better servants now, better elders, better Christians. I'm not sure whether or not this would have happened without Kathy's struggle, but it's amazing nonetheless.

Her prayers were answered: her cancer was transformed into a blessing for us.

For me, this experience reinforces the Christian theme of redemption. Our fallen world is an imperfect place. While sin has direct consequences (prices we pay for our own sinfulness), it also has indirect consequences that affect us all, no matter how righteous we are. This is why the world's filled with unjust tragedies like disease, natural disasters, and even cancer. But God is able to redeem the byproducts of sin for the betterment of his people. For example, God can take an unplanned pregnancy and produce a beautiful being. And the more apt example for us would be that he can take a woman's cancer and make people rise to become better men and women for Him.

We'll never know why this happened, but I can accept it because Kathy herself refused to even entertain this question. She was a faithful woman, even to the very end. And her short life was dedicated to serving others. Perhaps the greatest testimony of her devotion to others was the presence of former students at her memorial service. I was struck by seeing so many young people torn to shreds at her passing. I'm not sure if I ever felt that way about any of my teachers growing up, but Kathy's investment moved them to tears. I'm so grateful to Joe, Meghan and Kyle for sharing their mother with us. I mourn deeply for them, but I know Kathy continues to live on through their lives.

Just one more thing, from a personal perspective: I was privileged to be Kathy's pastor. Because of the long struggle, where Kathy lost hearing, sight, and the ability to express herself well, it's easy to only think of her helplessness. But I'm blessed to remember her as being hopeful. She was the consummate encourager; she was a passionate believer; she was a phenomenal woman. My greatest relief in these past few weeks occurred just after her funeral service. It was by far the easiest funeral I've ever delivered as she gave me tons of great material (by the way, this was the first time I ever cited Facebook at a funeral [and I did it multiple times]). Despite this, however, I was stressed-out beforehand. I felt a huge burden to represent her well. Fortunately, quite a few attendees encouraged me afterward, saying that I summarized her life well. I'm so grateful for that. It would have devastated me to not truly honor this woman.

I'm linking here to a copy of the funeral message I delivered. It's basically a sermon, which is the way that Kathy would have preferred it. I share it for those unable to attend, so that you might get a glimpse into how amazing this woman was, and how amazing the Lord was to her.

And my hope is that we can all live more like Kathy. If we do, the world will most definitely be a better place.

If I Were A Rich Man . . .

I wish I was wealthy, but not for the reasons you think.

I was always attracted to the nobility of vocational ministry—having the privilege of making a living from the gospel. While it's a financially humbling endeavor (certainly not a gig one pursues for the payout) our family has been blessed never to have been in financial peril during any time of our 13+ years of ministry. Recently, however, I realized I understated a critical truth throughout my ministry: money makes things go. Kingdom work depends on funding and it seems there's just never enough cash on hand.

I wish I was wealthy, but not to better my family's existence.

There are so many amazing ministry causes I'm aware of but I can't assist all of them. Our family commits more than a tithe to support gospel efforts around the globe. And our little church is committed to the cause as well—with the first 20% of our budget going to mission works.

I wish I was wealthy so I could give more.

It absolutely rips my heart up when a missionary contacts me asking for resources, all so they can minister in God-forsaken places, and I have to refuse. Just thinking about it makes me ill. And, for some reason, it seems like I'm getting more and more calls for support. 

Do you share my desire for wealth?

Maybe you're not giving to causes beyond your own church community. Or maybe you're incredibly wealthy and just stumbled on to this post by a Google search. Can I encourage you to make a commitment to missionaries? Let me give you a few reasons.

1. They're not getting rich off this deal.
Dan Dyke, a professor at CCU, co-leads a small group with me. Last semester he told the story of a missionary who lived his entire life in poverty but continued to serve faithfully. So just because you see the pictures of the missionaries in some exotic place you'd love to vacation doesn't mean they're living a lifestyle above their means. I've rarely witnessed a missionary who had more than what they needed to survive. If you have an expensive hobby but are stingy when it comes to supporting missionaries, I think should recalibrate your priorities.

2. They're doing work that requires their full attention.
I'm a very big proponent of bivocational ministry (having a job while serving as a minister); I've been in doing it in some form since we've started Echo. But I know of some congregations that are now demanding that their missionaries have some sort of money-making endeavor on the side to help fund their own mission. While that's a strategic approach, it can be completely unrealistic in many missionary cultures. It's difficult to enter a business market as a foreigner and compete. These missionaries need to have the freedom to devote themselves fully to the ministry, and they can often do it at a much more affordable cost than ministers in the States.

3. They're where we're not.
Admit it: there are places in the world that you're glad you never have to go. Well, that's where missionaries are right now. They're committed to going there because it's a calling. If God hasn't called you to be there, the least you can do is support those who are paying the price.

I wish I was wealthy, but maybe I just need to be more generous.

Yep, this is all a massive guilt trip, but a little guilt can be good.

If you're a follower of Jesus, you're part of a global body that meets all over the world. And there's always things we can do to support our brothers and sisters around the globe. I'd encourage you to give of your wealth to support these efforts.

Whether it's people like Adam and Kristy Griffith in Thailand, Tracey and Christine Keitt in Chile, Tom and Suja Brane in Burkina Faso, Brent and Anna Fudge in Haiti, Wendy Wagoner in Tanzania,  Dawid and Justyna Wawrzyniak in Poland, Daniel and Buzi Mawyio in Myanmar, or Sam and Brittany Gill in Pakistan. They (and many more) could use your help.

Use your wealth to change the world.

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

Why Did I Write That?

I recently wrote an article for the Christian Standard, a church magazine affiliated with my Restoration Movement religious tradition, entitled Counting Sheep. The point of the article is that churches should beware of only using worship attendance as a measure of success. Since it's written in a more authoritative tone, I thought I'd go a little further here explaining why I wrote the article in first place. I've always been inquisitive and find myself continually questioning why things are done in a certain way. I'm not sure it's merely due to my rebellious nature; I'm not just trying to question authority. It's just that too many times we assume that certain principles are universal, rather than just contextual. And if our rubric is skewed, we'll never arrive at a truly healthy place.

This is my critique of the church growth movement: it was born out of an American post World War 2 society where unchurched people were looking to establish a faith foundation. It was appropriate to rely on a body count at the time, when people were coming to church for the first time. Now, almost three generations later, the nation's percentage of Christians is in steep decline. Churches are finding it more and more difficult to reach the growing unchurched population, so we find ourselves in direct competition with other churches to attract consumeristically-minded believers.

It makes sense. This culture lends itself to larger and larger congregations and everyone wants to be a part of something successful. And the numbers are amazing. Just twenty years ago, a church of 7,000 was absolutely prolific. Now, there are more than 70 churches in the United States with over 10,000 people in attendance a week. As a result, systems enabling such large structures are becoming the norm among church practitioners. But if you question why we want churches to grow this large, the undeniable answer has been to claim that it's biblical.

And that was the major issue I wanted to deconstruct: I truly believe that church size is not a biblical issue. It is well within the parameters of biblical permission to have a very small church or a very large church. But using the Bible to suggest that we MUST have large churches is poor hermeneutic and, perhaps, an abuse of Scripture. There are many things that we do in the church that have no prooftext. We shouldn't assume to pull out some Bible verses to try to deflect criticism. What I hope happens is that, as our churches grow, we continue to ask ourselves if our growth is truly healthy.

In the article, I mention that part of my arrival to this position is what I've experienced this with Echo. I've been blessed to see some amazing things in our congregation, things absent in all of my previous ministries. I'm not trying to insult those churches, as all of them were numerically superior than Echo is. But if I held to only a quantitative formula of success, we would have shut this thing down a long time ago.

And my fear as that other church leaders will not be as discerning as they do ministry. But pastors' egos are a fragile thing; if they don't see an assumed yield, they could easily interpret it as a failed calling. So it's critical that we identify this well. Not every congregation will experience phenomenal growth, but that doesn't make it any less significant.

So this article wasn't bathed in bitterness, but motivated by hope and encouragement. I hope all believers can take pride in their congregation, no matter how big or small. There's plenty of room in the kingdom for all of us.

The Cincinnati "Almost"

I recognize that taste . . . it's very familiar . . . Ah yes, it's the aftertaste of dashed hope after another local sports team almost did something remarkable.

Like an oblivious teenager longing for reciprocal love, I give my all to my Cincinnati teams only to find myself crying into my pillow late at night. You think I'd be wiser after thirty-six years, but the leanings of my prepubescent heart always trumps acquired knowledge. I keep coming back for more and, thus, I'm constantly left with this taste of almost in my mouth—a full-bodied flavor of disappointment with just a hint of regret.

But I'm forever loyal to these teams; I just can't quit them.

It's in my DNA: I was born between Reds World Championships in the 1970s. And in my formative years, Cincinnati teams had a great run: between 1988 and 1991, the Reds won a World Series, the Bengals went to the Super Bowl, and UC basketball went to a Final Four. I remember jumping for joy when Todd Benzinger caught that foul ball in Oakland in 1990, but if that happened today, I might take off work for a week. This isn't New York: sports championships don't come by here very often. They're to be cherished and loved like your children (or at least like a nephew you see every couple of months).

Since those glory years, Cincinnati fans have been subjected to regular servings of almost: Bearcat basketball in the mid-1990's, the Reds in 1999 and 2010, Bearcat football in 2009, and the Bengals in 2005, 2009, and this year. You'd think just one of those teams could've won it all.

Almost.

But despite all the pain, I persevere. I love this city and, by default, civic pride demands that I love our teams. Someday, in my lifetime, one of these teams will win it all. It will be epic. And all these years of almost will be instantly forgotten.

And it could always be worse: we could live in Cleveland.

Confessions of a Chameleon

"Maybe I should scare the President," I wondered aloud to the people in the conference room. "I dare you," prodded Judy.

Oh, it was on.

There was a perfectly obscured spot right out of view of the glass doors. I waited until Dr Faust, Cincinnati Christian University's President, finished his trek up the hill towards the Welcome Center, right as he entered the doors. Suddenly and loudly I exclaimed, "GLAD TO SEE YOU THIS AFTERNOON, SIR" at which time he jumped back a foot. There was a smile on his face, but he vowed retribution.

It might not help my job security, but it's good times nonetheless.

You see, even past my childhood years, I've appreciated the element of surprise. Maybe it's one of the few tactics that a height-challenged person such as myself can employ, but there are very few things as enjoyable as innocently surprising someone. I mean you no harm, but if I have the opportunity to find a good hiding spot, I'll likely take advantage of it.

I fully embraced it in the early days of our marriage. Kelly and I lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment and entertainment options were less plentiful then. If I got bored, I'd search for a creative hiding place—in a closet, under a desk, or even in the shower (she punched me hard in the chest for that one). As we moved up to bigger abodes, I held back on the hiding since it wasn't as challenging; also, I didn't think it fair to hide from her in a large house, thereby creating a complete atmosphere of fear. So over the past few years, I purposely allowed my hiding skills to lapse.

But things have changed. Now that Kaelyn is getting older, and loves being scared, I've picked it up again. I figure that our townhouse is smaller and there are now multiple people to frighten, my hiding is a little less scary. Kaelyn absolutely loves it; it must be in her DNA. It's almost a daily challenge between the two of us of who can hide the best. It's a process: I'm teaching her that hiding can't be predictable: this isn't Hide-And-Go-Seek. It's no fun hiding when people are expecting it. The key is the element of surprise. And it's also important to work some gamesmanship. In the morning, before she comes in my room, I throw the pillows under the covers to make her think I'm still in the bed before popping out at her. And she's started doing the same thing in her bed.

I'm training her to become a hiding Jedi.

So if Kaelyn or I randomly jump out at you, I apologize in advance. It's in our nature.