carbonated joy

I want to be a player.

People look at me funny when I say that.
I think It’s because the word Player now has negative connotations. It’s now used to describe a sketchy dude who uses and manipulates women. Let me be clear, THAT is NOT who I want to be.

I just want to play.
I want to let my imagination run loose and find new ways to amuse and amaze.

But, the word play has negative connotations, it’s silly and childlike and completely impractical. We are expected to grow out of play, we are told we need to be practical and responsible. We need to leave the childlike stuff in the sandbox, right?
Play has become the opposite of work. Players are obvious slackers, right?
But, hold on, wait a minute, can’t we work at play?

I just want to play.
But, play is not priority.
We even make it hard for people who are paid to play.
I’ve watched a few football games lately where PLAYers were penalized for unsportsmanlike behavior because of “excessive celebration” and “coordinated choreography”?!? Really?? When did playing with excitement become illegal?
People, Playing is not a crime.
You can still play in the USA.
Play is an attitude, it’s a way to take life with a grain of salt. It is mischief, it is mirth.
Many seem to think that fun makes you a flyweight. But, I think there is a profundity that is ONLY found in fun!
Play matters!
I believe that we are wired to wiggle, we are programmed to play. It has to do with how we were constructed. We came from the dirt, Maybe that’s why we feel at home on the playground. I believe in a God who is playful, He designed our bodies to make some pretty crazy noises and smells. He invented the platypus. Part of the original design was regular play dates in paradise with Adam and Eve. I think that is STILL His desire…play dates with His kids. I like that!!
So C’mon…Let’s play!

What if hope was a spice?
You could sprinkle it on your poached eggs every morning and it would make you feel better about things. You could share it with friends, they could put it on their tomato soup and it would give them a reason to get up in the morning.
It would bring flavor to the blandness.
It would give you a taste of the not yet.
It would infuse the rich, undeniable flavor of organic expectation.

It turns out that hope IS a spice.
Jesus put it like this: “YOU are the salt of the world”.
YOU are that spice, uniquely crafted to infuse the taste of raw hope.
In the land of the bland, bring the flavor!!
BE THE FLAVOR.
BE SALT.
Bring hope.
Be an original hopester.
Overcome the darkness with deliciousness.
Sprinkle hope wherever you go.

Sometimes I wish there were day passes to heaven.
I would get a chance to say the things that were left unsaid, catch up with some friends who left too soon. I would sit on a bench with my Dad and show him pictures of his beautiful granddaughter. I would finger-paint with my Grandma. I would play a quick game of bingo with my Mother-in-law. I would look around at all the undiscovered wonder and unbroken beauty. I would be captured by the WOWNESS. And…I wouldn’t want to come back. I wouldn’t want to wander away from a world without pain, a world without end. That’s probably why they don’t give out day passes. Nobody would want to come back.
So, here I am with my feet on the ground and head in the clouds. My true citizenship is in a place that I’ve never been. I hunger for heaven, I don’t think that’s accidental. I think heaven is the perfect prototype for what earth was meant to be. But, choices and consequences have marred and scarred. Ugly crept over the land, but beautiful can not be denied. There are glimmers of the homeland. There are chunks of light squeezing through the dark places. There are appetizers that awaken our senses to a glory that is beyond our imagination. If we are paying attention, we find that heaven droppings have been generously tossed around like glossy tourist pamphlets. We are surrounded by a percentage of paradise, enough to remind us of A homeland we haven’t lived in yet. A hope for those beloved travelers who have gone on before us. We miss them but we know that they live in the completely undiluted land of the incomparable, and nobody would want to come back from that.

In one of my wilder dreams…
I woke up, in a pool of my own sweat in a suburban Atlanta hospital, I awoke wondering why all of these apocalyptic stories take place in Atlanta? What’s the deal with that?
I was laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV for no apparent reason, there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. Other than the fact that I smelled a little like a sweaty pizza. I pulled out the IV, hopped out of the bed and carefully adjusted my greenish blue hospital gown so that I wouldn’t expose myself. I was a little light headed, like I’d been watching way too much reality television. I had the presence of mind to look around for some shoes. All I could find were some fuzzy, pink bunny slippers. I quickly slipped them on and carefully exited the room. The hospital seemed to be abandoned. There were empty gurneys and carts with half eaten bowls of lime green jello, but there was not a human person to be found. I begin to panic and I made an embarrassing, slightly girly noise as I took the elevator down.
I ran out of the lobby and into the street as fast as I could, while wearing a hospital gown and bunny slippers. That’s when I saw THEM!!!
It was a large horde of millennials shuffling through the street. They had glazed, lifeless expressions. I shrieked and realized that once again, I was making embarrassing girly noises. BUT, this was BIG!! I’ve read enough glossy graphic novels to know exactly what was happening…
ZOMBIES!!
I was staring at a horde of the UNDEAD! And, some of them were wearing skinny jeans. It was, needless to say, HORRIFYING!!
I was pretty sure that I was about to be attacked by zombies who would eat my brains. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t touch the bunny slippers.
But…then something strange happened…
They WALKED RIGHT PAST ME!! They just moved by me in their socially conscious footwear. I must admit that this hurt my feelings a bit, WHAA??! were MY brains not good enough?! maybe they were looking for organic, farm raised, gluten free brains?! I had never been rejected by the walking dead before, it was a special kind of rejection.
BUT, then I saw it and I felt realization and relief.
They had smartphones!!
They weren’t zombies!!
They were full blown SMOMBIES!!!
They were totally lost in their smartphones. Their sleep deprived eyes were focused on their screens. Their thumbs were glued to the keyboards. They were immersed in a world of apps. They moved along in a syncopated shuffle set to a common Spotify playlist. They stopped every few feet to take a selfie and posted it to snapchat. They only communicated with one another via text. They occasionally bumped into things like glass doors, Volkswagens and each other. But this didn’t seem to phase them. They just readjusted and kept tweeting.
I knew what had to be done, I couldn’t let this go on, the only thing that could end the madness was a direct phone shot. Service had to be interrupted.
I was lucky enough to find a randomly placed crossbow and arrow and I took aim…
BUT, then I heard a ringtone…
It was a Taylor Swift song.
I dropped the crossbow and looked down.
There on the sidewalk was a solitary phone.
It had a fuzzy leopard print phone cover.
I picked it up…I couldn’t help myself.
I was getting a notification that I had been tagged on Instagram.
My eyes begin to glaze over, my thumb begin to twitch.
I begin to shuffle down the street.
TTYL.

Sometimes I’m reminded of WHAT I am…
By the voices that crack like static in my mind…
Voices that say…
Have you?
Did you?
Why can’t you?
Will you ever?
How many?
How much?
What do you have?
I hear the voices that measure and compare.
I hear the voices that leave me empty and beige.
WHAT.

Sometimes I’m reminded of WHO I am…
By the voice that sings a sweet love song in my mind…
The voice that says…
I love you.
I am with you.
You are mine.
That is enough.
I hear the voice that makes and completes.
I hear the voice that leaves me full and multicolored.
WHO.

Today I will listen to WHO I am..

When I was growing up Labor Day meant one thing…the MDA telethon. It was a September Childhood constant. It was a tuxedo clad tradition. To my 9 year old self, Jerry Lewis was the funniest man to ever live.
The telethon was like a big glitzy Lock-in coming from the truly magical town of Las Vegas. They had stars, BIG stars like Charo. It was wonderful and wacky.
They would break away to the local channel where hometown celebrities would make heartfelt pleas. Miss Green Country would smile while performing with a baton. It was riveting television.
It wasn’t a school night, so We stayed up and tried to watch all 21 hours and 30 minutes. We were fueled by Cheetos and Dad’s root beer.

Jerry Lewis and Ed McMahon were the chain smoking Batman and Robin of Labor Day.
I also loved the ultimate hip cat, Sammy Davis Jr, maybe because he was a short guy with one good eye, so was I! He would snap his fingers and sing in slack jawed greatness, “Who can take a sunrise, Sprinkle it with dew…the candy man can!”
And I sang along at the top of my lungs.

I would badger my Mom until she let me call in and donate 5 dollars of her money. Then I would impatiently wait to hear the local weather girl announce my name and generosity on live TV.
They would show the tally with a big drumroll and much fanfare. It would be a huge amount and I would feel better about myself because my 5 bucks (or technically Mom’s 5 bucks) was a part of that huge amount.

It would all come to an end with a sleep deprived Jerry Lewis loosening his bow tie staring into the camera and singing “You’ll never walk alone”.
I really miss the Labor Day telethon.
Besides, it being a great excuse to stay up all night. They helped people, they did what they could to fight an ugly disease.
And we all got to sing along.
It was a labor of love.

Sometimes life can sucker punch us.
You wake up to news that makes your head spin.
Life can change in a heartbeat.
Things don’t work out the way we thought they would. We are left wondering and wandering, dazed and disturbed.
Sometimes, we need a hope with love handles, we need something that we can grab hold of with both hands and not let go.
We need a grace that is thick, something strong enough to pull us up.
Sometimes a promise isn’t enough, we need presence.
Sometimes, we need to remember that the Maker of the cosmos is our unshakable companion.
God has love handles.
If you are going through the season of the sucker punch, I pray that the Comforter, the Spirit of the living God, would be present…totally, tangibly present.
And, that He would be so close that you feel His breath on your face, close enough that you can grab His love handles.
You are not alone.

I HATE CILANTRO.
(Please notice the use of all caps to indicate the passionate level of my hatred)

Some think of salsa and cilantro
Like the Lone Ranger and Tonto,
You can’t have one without the other.
But, please listen to this Caucasian brother,
Cilantro is like my secret herb kryptonite.
I eat it and suddenly I’m not alright.
My belly starts to twist and churn,
My head begins to pound and burn.
To me, it is a wicked, wicked weed.
A bully that gives me a nosebleed.
I completely love a big bowl of guacamole,
But the wicked weed makes it unholy.
I honestly think it tastes a bit like old soap,
Yet, people say it’s the great coriander hope.
If you could keep it off my burrito,
That would be really super neat-o!
If you are a fan of cilantro, that is fine.
You can still be a good friend of mine.
I still think that you can be totally great,
I just won’t be eating off your plate.