Riverside

Riverside. This term lingers in my ringing ears from the good old days of Santa Fe Indian high school football. It meant we had reached the end of the field after a scrimmage series and coach wanted us to keep playing. Riverside. Turn it around and keep punching on.

If you follow the erratic and patchy writings of this web log, then you may or may not have read the entry former this. It mentioned something about how a job can become difficult. Who knew? Probably you did, but decided not tell me. To that I aim a satirical thanks in your general direction. At least you must refrain from dipping your tongue into the candied "I told you so" bowl.

Now that the intensity of this time has subsided for a few weeks, I'd like to reflect if only for a moment on some of the weeks' coherencies (and incoherencies).

The most presiding idea raps of the sophomore. The word, as it has been taught to me, is a paradox of a wise fool (Greek - sophos=wise; moros=fool). Being drowned with an influx of personal and externally observable circumstances, I applaud the man, woman, or child who pieced together this word. For the laws of this truth tingle the tip of my trembling fingers (my fingers have no known reason for trembling, but still true nonetheless). I'd like to start with sophomore year of high school but I attribute anything moronic I did simply to being in high school. Since the appetite of HSers eats a large chunk of my schedule pie, I feel justified in saying what I did.

Instead, I will move to sophomore year of our university work. In good sophomoric form, I anticipated knowing much more about school, life, and, well, anything even from the first day of my return to campus. Class would now be a breeze; I knew how to work my daily schedule; not to mention we were moving on up to the east side, to de-luxe dorm room on the third floor (the sky). We were no longer the fish to be eaten by the sharking seniors. How naive we were, [insert head shaking sigh]. When classes got harder, friends began to spin, and pledging a social club began to own our lives, humility gently removed the tiara of implicated jewels and crowned me with its martyr-marking thorns. Perhaps that is a bit much, but I do remember feeling strongly the stupidity and irreverence of my arrogance that year.


Shortly after that long year, I wised up and fell into a position of authority as the ACU Leadership Camps Head Counselor. The first time it was offered to me, I fervently, but politely, rejected the invitation to lead a battalion of men on a narrow path to toward a shared mental model (that was for you Jan) of leading others to Christ, one camper at a time. Eventually, there was enough flattery for me to acquiesce into the position. That summer finished with some freshman maneuvers but left me feeling as though I might actually deserve to lead again (I didn't). But they offered again. With much less, if any, flattery I jumped aboard. Sophomore year as a leader is not one I ever wish upon anyone. If you could skip to a junior year or pass off the requisite learning to another position, I'd advise this. That summer brought about significant more frustration than I care to recall. But it was good, nonetheless.

And now, I watch somewhat idly as our leader here, fends off the inevitables often associated with sophomore years. We know what we expect, but it is never the same people, place, personalities, what have you. This makes light of our wise plans that were slightly more foolish than we'd expected. Alas, we all come to this realization as time allows, however time is rarely so kind enough as to warn of such a predicament.

We learn and soon find ourselves nearing juniors.


Next, and final for this evening, I bring to you the deeper frustrations of my heart. I crave maturity. Kinda. I find money running more of my life than I'd like. Yet, I object to this aimless casting. I rebel. It will not rule me. But I find this law at work as well: I want to know money well enough to control it, as not to be its cowering weakling. The light bulb of the day shines brightly on the thought that I've been almost fully reliant on everyone around me for most any luxury and even many necessities of life. I suppose my truer desire resides in a hope that I could take care of myself. But even then, I hear Christ whisper in my ear, "11Whatever town or village you enter, search for some worthy person there and stay at his house until you leave. 12As you enter the home, give it your greeting. 13If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you." What I hear is as a disciple, we must rely on the good will and generosity of God and his faithful. I have a massive fear of being an imposing obligation, yet this links with an opposing desire to be fully connected with a community who is blessed by dispensing hospitality.

We cannot serve both God and mammon? See you on the riverside. Hopefully God will part the waters, as He did for Moses, so we can walk through dry again.