MySpace

I've posted a few pictures from the past winter. We received more snow that what we (or most Philadelphians) are accustomed to over the course of three or four snow storms.

The snow lasted for days.

There were streets that were never plowed (ours, for example).

People... started to go crazy.

And by crazy, I really mean that most people were living according to how they exist. That is people were afraid, so they protected what they had. People were selfish, so they hoarded what they had. People were greedy, so they took more than their portion.

When I say people here, I am not intending a universal sense of the word but one in which there was a large consensus of many who declared, "this is mine," in one way or another.

What I mean by all of this is that (for those who own vehicles) parking was hard. Some people resorted to "marking" their space by leaving various things to say, "this is mine!" I even heard of a story where an older "gentleman," began arguing with a young lady (not my wife) because she was trying to take a spot that had been marked off in front of his house by means of a bucket in the street.

She was pregnant.

For now, I am leaving out my interpretation of my own judgement of what people were doing. The pictures I'm posting are garish; they were taken at night and I tried to squeeze in between cars on the other side of these respective streets to get a face forward view of what I was seeing. The light from the flash is harsh. Up to this point, none of these are edited (I will do cropping etc later). I think it just provides a stark reminder of how folks can be in this city.

As a post script, it didn't help that the mayor encouraged this behavior. It's mentioned on a story you can read by clicking here; it's about a woman who had her tires slashed for moving a trash can.

You can check out more of the MySpace pictures by clicking here (or the link on the title of this post)

PHL@Night

Laura and I drove to the Schuylkill near the Art Museum so that we could walk the dog tonight. I did a little running while we were there.

On the way back, I took a few pics with our cheap (it was literally given to me for free 3 or 4 years ago) HP Digital camera.

We always like that the pics and movies from this camera always come out a little grainy - you can even see it in the blurriness of a lot of what I'll be posting. Altogether, picture taking while driving at night is more of an exercise in drawing with light than it is in composition or perspective. I hope you enjoy them at least half as much as I did taking them while waving a camera around (if you do, you can check out more by clicking here)...

Amazing things you can find in and around Philadelphia, PA

I was looking up a local grocery store and found the first link that you'll see tonight. Frankly, I am quite dumbfounded by the website (you'll have to click through to see what I mean). Sometimes, people try really hard to capitalize on something that just doesn't make any sense - this is one of those times.

Click here to check out the website for African Sunshine.

You might think, judging by the quality and lack of intuitiveness of the website, that I made this up. You, my friend, would be entirely mistaken. It's the real deal.

This next one is something that people around here go crazy over - something that I never knew existed before I moved here. On my first day in the office, I had a few of these babies on my desk. Welcome to Philly. Click here to check out the City of Brotherly love's affront to Little Debbie. In all seriousness, I've actually seen Tastykake as a sponsor of local running events. No Joke.

Crown Fried Chicken is something that I've had only once before. The reason: They are ubiquitous in this city. I've probably seen more Crown Fried Chickens here than all fast food burger joints combined. You can read about it here. Or, you can check out how another person will make you your own Crown Fried Chicken website by clicking here.

At home.

I live in a city of over 1.4 million people.

In the metro area, there are almost six million people.

There are some great things about this. There are times where you want anonymity and it can definitely be easy to find.

But other times, you want to be known.

Jason, I think, blogs about this often (or at times, anyways).

Altogether, it has always been so interesting to me to see people I know in this city. I came home from a long trip today and saw two people I go to church with on my way home. Once was walking out of the train station - those sightings are always a little awkward because you know that the person walking in is in much more of a hurry than the person walking out (sometimes, you'll need to wait thirty minutes before the next train comes!). The other was while I was standing in a subway car. He actually came into the same car and we talked for four stops.

Its a great thing to be known. Its a wonderful feeling knowing that in this huge place that so many people call home, there are so many people that you can call friend - that you can see, that value you and that add value to your own life.

For various reasons, I'm happy to be home.

Lord, be good to us...

There is this guy who I gave a ride home to every now and again.

His name is Lamar.

We were talking a few weeks after the Philly’s won. I’m not usually one who is much for sports, but everyone else around me seems to be. The Philly’s, if you don’t know (or don’t remember), won the World Series.

It was their second World Series win… in 125 (yes, one hundred twenty five) years.
Needless to say, most people remember where they were when the Philly’s won…

Lamar remembered where he was.
He had only just left the hospital…
Right after they pulled the plug on his cousin…
He died from a gunshot wound to the back of the head.

It’s a jarring thought, I think. Few within my age range deal with death in any tangible way. Fewer deal with it as a reference to the reality of the violence practiced by one man to another.

I didn’t think that there was much for me to say.
I don’t think that there’s much for me to say.

For the rest of the ride that night we sat; we would talk but the conversation never came back to Lamar’s cousin. Towards the end, I really felt that the impetus was on me to ask what I could be praying for Lamar’s family (including the obvious loss).

“Just pray that life would be good for us.”

I thought about this on my way home and I prayed for Lamar and his family in North Philadelphia. I thought about my own experience with death – about how, beginning with my Aunt when I was in college, every Christmas and Thanksgiving seemed a little less joyous every year. I thought about how fewer and fewer seemed like they were filled with the joy that usually comes with the holidays. It almost seems as if every year has produced some sort of tragedy (friends who have died, my dad dying, other family members who have died…)

But back to what Lamar asked… isn’t it what we all pray in unnecessary and complex ways?

“Father, I beg you, be good.”

Because frankly, sometimes it doesn’t seem like He is being good to us. Sometimes life doesn’t seem like it allows the room or freedom for goodness to happen. Sometimes (and I really have been wrestling with this in different ways), it just doesn’t seem as if God cares.

Intellectually, I acquiesce to the Apostle’s Creed. I pray the Lord’s Prayer with the Church and I mean every petition (I consciously think about what I’m praying every Sunday with people around the world because I don’t want the word’s to be dead to me). When I speak with God, I ask (in words much less specific), “Lord, be good to me and my family.”

No doubt, things have been good for us in a physical sense.

Though, more often than not, I feel like we have everything we would want…except for a listening ear from God.

God…please be good to us. Amen.

City Sense...

You'd like to think that it's something you get when you live in the city - a transformation caused by some of the pollution around you that gives you an innate and super ability to live, work and play in a city.

But really, it's just an understanding you come to.

Sure, after living in an urban environment, you develop some "abilities." For example, you should learn to parallel park a car - when I use the word, should here I don't use it in a suggestive sense, but in the sense that it's something that will happen as you park your car over and again on a curb in any populated neighborhood.

You learn how to feed a meter. Regularly.

You learn that bicycling is a more environ-friendly mode of transit and that it's generally faster than driving.

You learn (and this is something that I've hit on before) that amidst the beauty of a thing created (like a cityscape) comes the reality of a world that exists in brokenness caused by sin.

It's a funny place where everything can be simultaneously right and wrong. It is right for you to be where you are because you know, in one way or another, that you're called to be here. It's wrong because there are others calling you to move away.

It is right because in the confluence of ideas, art, culture, science, education, government and technology there is understanding that image bearers are able to imitate and reflect the God they may or may not know and recognize. It is wrong because in the confluence of crime, destruction, racism, discrimination, murder, greed and indifference there is an understanding that image breakers are willing and desirous of rebelling against the same God.

There's not really any one thing that got me thinking about this on this time out writing. If you've stopped here before, you know that it's something that comes up from time to time when I write; meaning that I'm thinking about this a lot. A few good examples would suffice to describe the sense that my city (Philadelphia) exudes.

When you're walking the streets here, you can experience two (or more) entirely different "cities," in the course of a mile or two. It's not uncommon to walk down a street and see a home valued at $600k+ next door to one that's dilapidated, condemned or (even worse) the base of a drug dealer. Center City is what you'd be familiar with if you came to visit, however. Center City is where all the large buildings are. It's where all the fun stuff is - the kind of things you do when you visit a city. While there, you'd probably also visit the Art Museum area and Old City. You'd notice that the streets in Center City are relatively clean, that there are friendly people to help you when you're lost and that there's a healthy police presence.

The sense of Philadelphia changes, however, if you go a mile north or a mile south of Center City. As you travel down Broad, away from the big buildings, it wouldn't be uncommon to see a neighboring car's window roll down and watch trash free float from there to the ground. Towards the fall, there are sometimes whirlwinds of trash as the weather gets a little more windy. The trash thing spans all colors of skin and economic status, apparently...

If you ride a train in, you might be awed by the striking beauty of the city (if coming in from the North or East, this view is to your left). Looking off to your right, it's easy to be sickened by the amount of garbage piled beside the train tracks - the amount of bad graffiti tagged on train tunnels and abandoned buildings.

The sense of a city, mine at least and I imagine most, is conflicted. The sense you develop in interacting with it is the same. It's easy to question trust in other people. You wonder when and how you should trust them. While in a town watch course, La learned that when you're walking the streets in any part of the city, you should always be aware of what's around you by turning your head every few seconds.

We've found too that there can be a cultural mistrust at large. It doesn't always seem like a good thing to some that younger people of a different color of skin or background would be moving to their neighborhood. Gentrification has detrimental ramifications and years of discrimination won't be left buried under the guise of hope and promise. In my mind and heart, I don't believe that anything apart from Christ can really work to heal this sense of deep sadness and betrayal that some (not all, trust me, not all) of our African American neighbors hold - it's complicated and ingrained in a few generations who have learned that you can't trust and that you'll never get anywhere for it.

City sense is not necessarily something you get, but something you become a part of. The sense of a city will exist with you in it, or with you away. It isn't a super power or ability, but it is something to interact with - something that can affect you and something you can affect.

A truck bed full of wood...

As you may be aware (from Jotting Ajar), I have a truck bed full of wood. I'm trying to be a little industrious here by making some outdoor furniture - it's coming along okay.

In regard to that, I was out yesterday with a handsaw making legs for an outdoor table I'd like to make. As an aside, standing outside of your truck bed with a saw and some cut tree stumps is a great way to meet neighbors in the city.

Everyone wanted to know what I was doing.
Some even suggested that I use a chainsaw.
My response, "That costs too much."
"But it's only $20 at the Home Depot!"
"I already have a handsaw though." *smile*

That kind of idea is lost in a culture of waste - theres no value in doing something by hand. No value in the care and attention it would take to do something slowly...purposefully. Part of this definitely feeds into our cityscape trash. Part of this definitely feeds into our city's rate of murder (less than last year, still climbing).

Either way, as I'm cutting Raheem (or, Rahim?) our new little from friend from down the street comes bounding up with a jump rope in tow. We met Raheem during our record breaking city wide cleanup a few weeks ago. Raheem helped us clean up the neighborhood and was probably a lot more enthusiastic that we were about it. We wave at him any time we see him and enjoy talking with him when we have the chance. Right now, he's training to beat his mom at jumping rope. He's in the second grade and his favorite subject is math (especially multiplication, division, and addition).

"Why you got all this wood in the back of the truck?"
"Well, someone was giving it away for free, so I just picked it up out of their yard on my way home from work."
"Oh. All this wood would be good for camping."
"Um...yeah, I guess that it would."
"So when we go we can make a big fire out of it."
"Uh...excuse me?"
"You know when we go camping..."

Now, this wasn't said with any presumptuousness. Really, it was said with a sort of innocence that I guess you'd expect from a second grader moving into the third grade. When I told La, she melted...

"So, whatcha doin' March 13th?" asked Raheem.
"What was that date again?"
"March 13th."
"I dunno."
"Well, next week, we're going to a farm!"
"We are?"
"No, we are."
"You mean you?"
"Yeah, me and my family..."

He went on to tell me how excited he was to go and to talk about the things he wanted to see when he went there.

I would like to go camping with Raheem. Maybe that's a little strange. La and I talked about how we could work in a trip with other folk from City Church or something - that way it becomes something that might become more palatable by his grandmother (who he lives with).

As always, this story is probably funnier if you here me telling it. Though, it was definitely worth sharing...

Hope through a valley named "Trouble..."

Lately...I've felt owned by the city.
I don't try to talk about that subject as much, you know?

Sometimes, people say, "It's so cool that you live where you do." While there's some truth to that, it's also so difficult to live where we do (at times). It's so hard to live where we do.

Sometimes, it feels like a lot of trouble.

The other night - really, at this point, about a week ago - Laura and I were sitting and I told her the same thing. We're coming up on our first full year in Philly. During that time, I've literally lost count of how many times my truck has been vandalized or damaged. I've lost count of the number of hours I've spent on the road for work (whether for travel or just commuting). I've lost count of the number of fights Laura and I have gotten in (no doubt, the burden of our city weighs on this). I've lost count of the amount of trash we've picked up off the street (sometimes, even placed in front of our house intentionally).

I've lost count of the fights on the street.
The number of parking tickets we've gotten.
The number of times I've had to contact the gas company due to their immense ineptitude.

Last week - March 25 - things even took a turn for the worse. If you know me, you know how much of an advocate I am for taking public transit. Come to find out, I may be the only one who uses it out of an office of 400. Seems SEPTA (Southeast Pennsylvania Transit Authority) has found out to - which is why they cancelled the route to my office - I now have to walk over a highway that definitely has signs forbidding pedestrian traffic and then 15 minutes at a clip to my office building.

Oh, by the way, I found this out after I sat in the bus for an hour.
Oh, and don't forget, I overslept that morning and missed my Amtrak out to my office's area and had to take a later train.
I left my bike helmet on that same train.
Too, work was really hard that day.

There have been a number of things (personal and public) that have caused me to question whether hope is lately. I don't write this lightly - because without hope, there's not much of a reason to continue forward.

At the end of the day, when I finally made it home (helmetless, cold, angry, etc.) I overheard a conversation down the street.

girl (questioning) - "You're in the fourth grade, right?"
boy (proudly) - "Yeah, but I'm supposed to be in the sixth. You know, they held me back for a while."

The same boy came walking down the street. As I struggled to get my bike into the house, the same boy walked up to me and asked, "Hey, can I ride your bike?"

me (incredulous) - "Where do you want to ride it?"
boy - "Around the corner to my house."
me - "That's a little far."
boy - "How about down the street?"
me - "The bike might be a little big for you."
boy - "It'll be aight."
me (hesitantly) - "Um. ok."

See, this kind of crap doesn't happen. This is the kind of stuff of naivety that leads one to losing their bike and never seeing it again. But...I felt compelled to do it.

So, he rode slowly on the bike, but only after switching it to the lowest (slowest) gear. He rode down one block. Then two. I locked my door - I thought to myself, "I can catch up if I need to - the shoes are okay to run in."

At the end of the 2nd block he turned around and began the work of riding the bike back. As he approached, two older boys rounded the corner.

older boy - "Where'd you get that bike."
boy on my bike - "It's not mine."
older boy - "Then whose is it?"
boy on bike - "My friend's over there."

He was pointing at me.

I was reading through Hosea earlier that morning and thought a lot about the pursuit of the Church by Christ. I thought a lot about how that pursuit of me...as an individual part of a whole...looked.

See, I at the end of the day, I can look at my situation and feel like I've been owned. I can feel like there is no hope. But our feelings, by definition of a reality that has elements of ruin intermingled with the capacity of understanding, can stand erroneously and in contempt of what is.

More often than not, my problem is not that God is destroying me by my environment. More often than not, my problem is that I don't understand my circumstance to be subordinate to the hand of God - to His providence, grace, and mercies.

So when a fellow image bearer, who I've determined to be of ill repute in my own heart - to be of low standing, of little trustworthiness, and disparate motives - embraces me (whether literally or metaphorically), it strikes a cord. I've lent that same understanding to my environment too.

Instead of seeing the boy as an image bearer, I see him as a thief.
Instead of seeing the earth as a means of God's providence, I see it as a prison.

And so what is real is defined by me. I make myself a god. And for that, I deserve to believe that life is hopeless (as, in that context, it is).

Seriously though, thanks be to God - who can show me that through the Valley of Achor (trouble)...there's a door of hope.

Right now...I'm glad to be in this valley, because I know that this valley...this city...isn't the whole of reality. Right now...I know that it something be be engaged - something that I can grow to understand and love, or something that I can fear and hate.

Home sweet home...

Unfortunately... at least for those of you who have, in the past, taken great pleasure in my traveling woes, our Thanksgiving travels went off pretty cleanly.

Of course, it wouldn't be a Twilley Travel Time without some kind of hitch.

Though really, when it comes down to it, this isn't typically of Twilley Travel. I think I've mentioned this before, but prior to my marriage I rarely had travel woes. In fact, I was once even bumped up to first class on a flight for nothing. I've talked to my bride's father and he concurred that these traveling times are more typical of something that would happen to them.

So here is a recent Twilley Travel update.

We left Amanda and Renee with our home last Sunday [they both ran the Philadelphia half marathon, congratulations!] in hopes of making it to the airport early... by regional rail [which is kind of like a subway, except it's mostly above ground and goes throughout the region...on rails...] We made it to Suburban Station [basically the regional rail's hub in Center City Philly - all the trains out to the burbs end up here at some point] about ten minuted before the RR [regional rail] was supposed to show.

I looked up, and our RR had a number "29" beside it and the word, "Late."
Laura and I debated a little about what the "29" meant. That is, we debated until the LED for our RR disappeared altogether. Why show up 29 minutes late if another train is going to be there @ 8:30 anyways?

We decided to run out and catch a cab [the RR would have couse us circa $14, Philly cab? $26.50].

Did I mention that there was a marathon, half marathon, and 8k being run on the day of our departure? Did I mention that there were somewhere around 15,000 runners out that morning? We walked south and smack into a wall of runners [actually, when it comes down to it, our path was perpendicular - ancillary point].

We walked two blocks east and then a block north to city hall [this is where the major N, S, E, and W roads that dissect Philly converge] in search for a taxi. We found one and he brought us to PHL post haste.

No real hangups in the security lines [and actually, you can read a new installment re: travel on Twilleynomics - because I'm going to try to run with the idea of Twilley based economics there].

The plane was [surprisingly] on time.
Our actual departure, not so much.

We sat on the runway a while. You know, because it takes a while for 17 planes to take off before your's does. Yes...seventeen planes.

So, we made it to ATL after some time in the air, grabbed some lunch, and headed to our gate for a flight to BHM.

A few situations here.
First, our preferred mode of travel is with limited luggage - meaning we've usually got our lap tops and a carry-on with our clothes with nothing else.

Apparently, the gate domimistress decided that Laura's bag was, in fact, too large for the plane. Checking the baggage at the gat was completely against our plans, yet we obliged.

Then, as we are literally on the runway [of couse, after we had already boarded the plane and left the gate], the captain informed us that one of the doors appeared to be open on the plane. Not only that, we'd also have to head back and wait for an open gate before any of the doors could be checked and rotated through their sequence. He knew that it was open because a light on his dash told him so.

The question begs, why didn't someone check this light before we left the gate?

After an hour of waiting, a gate opened up and we were checked out and back out on the tarmac in little to no time. But, you see, we were taking off close to when we should have been landing in BHM. I was actually composing my letter of complaint to Delta in my mind during the flight. However, my dreams of compensation were short lived - we actually made it to Birmingham in little less than a half hour than we were supposed to.

All to say, pilots must be regularly flying much more slowly - which I am sure helps with fuel economy.

In BHM, we thought Laura's carry-on was lost - for some reason, they had taken it straight to the luggage office instead of tossing it on the conveyor belt with everyone else's.

In a nut shell, that's it. We actually made it home early through one of the world's worst [read - most congested] airports [PHL]. I guess, you could say the only thing we regretted about the trip home was that we didn't get bumped [last year, we gave up our seats for $400 worth of flight vouchers, two free meals, and extra skymiles - see Twilleynomics for more info].

Gene loves the city...

Last night, I thought a lot about movement and windows.
I thought a lot about the lives people were leading – how they were doing, where they were going.

I’ve started taking the train to work – I’ve talked about this before, but as every day passes, this seems to be more and more of a viable option for us. To be honest, I feel so much more rested and composed when I do not have to drive for 1 ½ hours on one of the busiest roads I’ve ever driven. More than that, riding while someone else is “driving,” gives me the time and opportunity to sort and process all of my thoughts from a given day, or a given week, or a given relationship.

Last night, I was reminded why I love to live in a city like Philadelphia.

When you’re riding in from the suburbs in the evening, there is darkness. Even from the tracks of public transit, you can see the homes, lawns, and privacy fences of those who were tired of the City and ready to literally “get away.” There’s less graffiti, more trees, and the tracks become slightly more removed from its surroundings.

Riding back into the city, there are monolithically constructed buildings of mortar and reflective glass. There, all the tracks seem to coalesce at 30th Street Station in University City. The remnants of older trains stand guard as you enter into a grand old station.

There is graffiti.

There are few trees.

There is chain link, but no privacy.

There are city lights. There, on the left, is the art museum. There are people bustling to get out of the city and people hustling to get their next meal (or, their next drink, or, their next fix). The buildings of mortar and reflective glass are lit like Christmas trees covered with votives and garland – beautiful in a way that an urbanite would appreciate.

In a city like Philadelphia, the tower of Babel has fallen and there really seems to be mass confusion. Despite the fact, people have decided to stay for one reason or another; they have decided to love the city. Perhaps it’s a mere tacit approval; perhaps they’re here because they couldn’t have afforded the quiet life in the suburbs – but the fact remains that all 1.4 million of them are here.

Last night I thought about movement and windows.
I thought about how the past has been left behind and how that same past has shaped my loves and desires today.
I thought about all the people who had come and gone through my own life – where they were going, what they were doing.
Sometimes, I wonder if they ever think of me.

A city in all of its grandeur is a stark reminder of the reminder of a world broken by sin. Someone once asked me what I like about the city, and that (in a nut shell) is it. It’s easy for my skin to become thick when I am removed from a situation, a people, or a reality. The city allows me to be surrounded by the beauty that is man created in the image of the Divine. The city allows me to be surrounded by the death that is man breaking the covenant made with the Divine.

[The picture used in this blog was found on Wikipedia and taken by "surplusparts." Picture used under the guidelines of Creative Commons Attribution 2.0]

Link laden and laughing

If you watch The Office, you'd probably agree that Michael [Steve Carrell] is so funny because he doesn't know that he's breaking the rules. It's a part of the show that hearkens back [or maybe for you, even presently] to the problems of sexual harassment, cultural ignorance, and self-centeredness [come to think of it, a time much like the 80's].

Switching gears, I always thought Birmingham, AL had a lot of problems - especially with the Municipal government. Everything there seemed a sham and the problems of the city seemed to be far from those who were in authority.

Switching gears again - Gene and La move to Philadelphia. Statistically, a safer city than Birmingham [to the senses, it's a much harder place however]. Gene begins to hear of the disdain of the current mayor and the hope of a new leader moving up through the ranks. Gene sees why folks are so upset with the way things are now.

You see, our mayor now [John Street] seems to be the personification of Michael Scott [in a slightly larger, darker, and lighter haired way]. When the new iPhone hit the streets, John Street was one of the first in line to get one...because he had been in line since 3:30am [at that point too, the Philly murder rate exceeded 200 - but taking into consideration that the city has 1.4mil people, your chances aren't that great of being one of those 200, especially if you're reading this now]. You can listen to NPR's story on Street's time in line here. Listen particularly closely for the talking points where he becomes defensive.

5 Days ago, our mayor decided to spend a day in a wheel chair. However, according to Street, this isn't the first time that he's done this. You can read an article here [as well as watch a video]. My favorite quote is, "I'm having today a sensitivity experience. I'm going to be in this wheelchair all day. This is not the first time I've done this..."

In times like this, it's hard to submit to the command of respecting the authority that has been placed over me - seriously.

Children.

Screaming. Children. Constantly.

Sometimes, there are children outside as late as one or two in the morning [yes, I've heard them because sometimes I'm up that late too] and more often than not I wonder where their parents are and why they're letting them out like that.

That's one of the funny things about our neighborhood though - children are out all the time. When I leave for work in the morning [sometimes before 6:30am], they're there. When I get home, they're there. When I go to sleep, they're there.

This morning Laura and I went to grab a bagel for breakfast at South Street Philly Bagels and I noticed that there was a lot of what appeared to be grease on my truck. If you're at all familiar with our travails, you'll understand that a lot of our life lately revolves around "my truck." I made mention that I bet that kids were playing around it [which has been one of my hypotheses for quite some time]. In our sickened state [as both of us seem to have come down with a cold], we shrugged it off.

Tonight's not too different - except for the fact that we've been holed up in bed for the past 4 hours - both of us coughing, both of us sneezing, both of us miserable.

But not the children - they're laughing, screaming, running...

And hiding in my truck...

Since both of us have been laying down since about four [watching The Breakfast Club on Netflix's watch instantly and then a variety of videos on YouTube], I decided to check the mail - because yes, the mailman sometimes runs after four. I turned on the outside light, unlocked the door, and peered out. I looked at my truck [it's parked in front of our home] and two small eyes peered back at me.

Caught.

I laughed. I asked if he was hiding. He nodded and slowly climbed out of the truck. I unlocked our mailbox - nothing - and went back inside. Laura and I laughed when I told her about seeing this small boy hiding out in the back of my truck.

I opened the door, saw him hiding down the street, and made eye contact. I told him that it was fine for him to hide there.

Sometimes it annoys me when I hear the kids running around. Sometimes it makes me question the mindset that goes behind their parenting. But in the innocence of a game of hide and go seek, it makes me wish I could run around with them [and not sit here feeling like my head is going to explode].

It reminds me that at some point the laughter of children points to a joy and a peace that's not here yet. Not for us anyways.

For them, now, it's pretty much all fun and games.

A writing glut...

Lately, a lot of my time has been spent on the road.

It's kind of sad how the exploratory nature of traveling can leave your mind wandering in so many directions and yet how the actual act of traveling can leave you totally sapped of inspiration. The difference, I suppose, is between the vacation and the commute.

The vacation brings me something new - new sights, smells, experiences. I write a new history in paths worn by millions before me though the paths seem fresh because it's the first time I have, upon them, trodden. The vacation gives me a reason to explore - to find something to eat, or drink, or wear.

It gives me a reason to be more introspective in relation to how much bigger the world is than self.

The commute leads me down a different sort of beaten path - the path I've beaten down. It leaves me on cold, heartless, and unforgiving interstate roads behind a train of a thousand different cars all driving in the same directions as I: work or home.

Too, maybe the vacation is in some ways representative of a bit of heaven...without the work that is. Most of our time vacating our homes is spent within an industry called hospitality. We're greeted warmly by people who are seemingly thankful for our stays, for our plays, for our eating, drinking, and merry making. They love us because they love our business, but they play out their act of love well - and in that it's no heaven at all...just an act.

Picking up the pieces...

Sometimes I forget.

I forget that that the life of perfection has been broken irrevocably.

I forget that the church is composed of those sharp blood letting shards.

In a way, this is an apology re: the post I left about a month ago referencing the church in Huntsville. I spoke out of anger and without grace. Where is Christ in that?

I had a response, of which I never responded [it was a private one from a friend in the not so distant past] - to that response I would simply say that we cannot hope to expect the Church of God to be perfect, or even near perfect, for when we do we really have no hope in Christ.

You dig?

It's the same mantra that expects self-perfection, right? If we were able to make ourselves better or whole then Christ, in fact, died for nothing and God becomes a sort of sadist. The argument is by far simplified, but sometimes that's what we need.

Part of this response comes from the fact that my truck has been keyed...again. I don't inspect the other vehicles on my street, but I'm pretty sure that no one else is having the same problem [there's a gold Caddy that is flawless usually parked right behind me].

All I can do is sigh again.

Today was different though, La looked like she was going to cry. The intent of the perp really seems to get to her.

But here's the deal [and I said this, in the fashion as usual with me - sin grace or mercy]. We expect sinful men and women to treat us with the dignity that was never granted to Christ, right?

So the whole keying deal [hopefully, I'm not giving up too much of Jason's promised blog] really causes me to think more about the nature of man, the nature of God, and how closely I cling to material wealth.

We don't need the truck.

And every time someone keys it, I think "jeez, that's going to bring down the value of the vehicle," [which will be summarily posted on craigslist.org soon]. It causes me to think about how little grace I show to my own wife. It causes me to think about how I expect too much from everyone and still yet all the while proclaim "Grace alone."

Of course, there are always a myriad of thoughts swimming fervently through my head, most never blooming to fruition here or anywhere.

And so, who picks up the pieces?

Sometimes, I wonder if Christ really wants this mess to be cleaned up. I look at the crime in my city, I look at the inaction in my neighborhood, I look at these broken lives and I wonder why. I don't think the answer will be easy, maybe not even palatable.

Which begs the next question; how do I repent from my domestication of God?

Glad to be home...

The trip to Alabama has been a walk back into a past that I certainly don't miss. So, when I get back to Philly, I'll say "I'm glad to be home."

I came to a retreat for my mom's church to lead the youth group. I don't honestly know if I'll write about that here, but I will say that it went better than I thought it would. Her church flew me down to teach the youth over the past couple of days - sometimes it felt more like baby sitting, but for the most part they were super.

I don't know if we generally associate "memory lane," with the negative - right? We have a fond nostalgia thinking of main streets where window shopping was fun, where there wasn't the graffiti of our lives spray painted on the walls of our minds, where there wasn't the blood of a thousand murders on the streets of our hearts. My mom told me about a falling out she's had with a "friend." Essentially, she wouldn't testify at this person's divorce hearing (she wanted my mom to testify about an event that she never saw, but was told about by this same person - that's called hearsay if you're wondering, and is generally not admissible as real evidence).

This person came back and quoted a scripture to my mother and actually said something along the lines of "On the outside you act like an angel, but on the inside you're full of the devil. One day you'll need a thousand witnesses and you won't have any."

I reminded my mother that her standing before God was in Christ, and that this person has a really screwy view of what Christianity is. My mother knows this.

The fact of the matter is that this person wanted money. She screwed over her husband. She stole everything out of his home and sold it before the court had her move out. She even had balotas to tell my mom that she needed her there to get more money out of the divorce settlement.

After the dust cleared, she then said that she wanted the money back from my mother that she gave to me at my college graduation and my wedding.

I don't miss the divisive back biting. I don't miss the politicalization of the "church," here. I don't miss that thinly veiled spiritualism that people trump up through spending time at church on Sundays. I don't miss this "Christian," culture of destruction, of abuse, of misusing and misquoting scripture for the sake of personal gain. I don't miss this cultural implosion brought about by isolationism.

It's not as if this junk doesn't happen everywhere else, it just hurts when it comes from someone who has said that they've been your friend for the past 20+ years. It hurts when it comes from the people who claim that Jesus died for them. I don't think I should expect perfection from anyone...just a little sanctified living at the least.

Sometimes people ask me if I plan on coming back to Huntsville to live.

What can you say when you'd rather go home to a place where the individual murder count has just hit the 200 mark, where the streets are littered with trash, where the parking is hard and the people are too?

"Anything can happen." Um. Yeah.

5 more hours, and I'll be glad to be home.

You live in the house, not the neighborhood, right?

We've had two visitors today [so far]. The first was at 8:00 this morning - he was a representative from ADT who was coming to make our security system "live" rather than in test mode. He told me, "Yeah, I called in and said 'I need to go back out there to make sure everything is right.'"

Yes. Right.

I spent my entire lunch on the phone with ADT [transferred 7 times, every name written down, and a letter to be written] because I was told 3 weeks ago that they were going to set someone else up to come out. This, however, is a story for another time [as seems fit, the Lord is putting me through the grinder right now in having to deal with people who are blatantly trying to rip me off].

The second visitor was actually a double whammy. I wish I would have responded more smartly, but instead probably seemed as some naive fellow who was out of place. Two older African American witnesses of Jehovah were standing at my door [straight from Kingdom Hall, no doubt] to share with invite me to a Jehovah's Witnesses conference being held next month where I can come [where I will not go as I am a witness to the Truth that is the Christ] to find out how Christ can help me to:

• improve family life
• deal with life's difficult problems
• draw closer to God
• oppose the Devil
• gain everlasting life

They also came, apparently, to complement me on my smile.

"Do you live here?"
"Yeah, we moved in about a month and a half ago."
"Oh, so you live in the house and not the neighborhood, right?"
"Excuse me?" [I find myself asking this a good bit these days, especially when people ask me something as peculiar as this]
"You live in the house, but not the neighborhood, right?"

I looked around. My neighbors all seemed to be looking my way - their bright neon clothing highlighting the fact that their skin was darker than mine. There were children, people I had smiled at, people I've had minimal conversations with [though conversations nonetheless]. There was Mona, she knocked on our door a few weeks ago asking if we had gotten the Sunday's paper and if we were finished with it - she then asked if she could have it. Standing in the door, seeing these people around me, the thought came as to whether or not they thought the same thing - that we've moved to the house but not into the neighborhood.

It's a difficult place, no doubt. I've tried to get out of the habit of saying, "South Philly," to be honest by saying "Point Breeze," when asked what neighborhood I live in. Right now though, I don't know if there are too many good neighborhoods in Philly. I sometimes wonder what is going through the minds of the younger guys when they look at me with a stern face. I sometimes wonder what is going through the minds of the older residents when they shine bright and welcoming smiles at me when I get home from work.

I wonder how I can get to know these people, and whether or not they want to know me as much as I want to know them.

"Oh," I laughed, "I live in the neighborhood - not just the house. I like my neighbors, they've all been very friendly."
"Well, you have a nice smile. You keep on smiling."

Cost of Living, Schmost of living…

Many questions people asked when I told them about moving to Philly invariably revolved around the cost of living [COL] here. I suppose that the assumption is that the COL is so high in the Northeast that Philadelphia surely couldn’t be immune.

However, I think that if you do things the right way, the cost of living isn’t really that much higher here than from where we left [I used to say this before we left and some would look at me incredulously].

Here’s the thing though – homes here cost similar to what homes cost in the Ham. However, if you purchase a home here, don’t expect to have a large yard, large trees, or easy parking. Do expect to be within walking distance of 30 corner grocery stores, Chinese restaurants, and pizza / Italian places. In addition, our home doesn’t necessarily have “large” bedrooms, but we don’t necessarily need them either [maybe most people don’t – see this article which will probably turn into a future twilleythought].

Housing costs aside, everything else is reasonable [and, to be honest, I really believe the housing costs are reasonable too]. One of the best things about PA is the way taxes on essential items work – that is, there are no taxes on essential items. Therein, we don’t have to pay taxes on groceries or clothing. In Birmingham, I paid a 9% premium on stuff like that [thanks to city, county, and state taxes]. The state income taxes here – if you can believe it – are actually lower than Alabama’s also.

Where they get you [in Philly at least] are the property taxes and the Philadelphia employment tax [living in Philly exacts a 4% tax out of each of my pay checks – it would be less if I lived out of Philly but worked here]. Also, I may even start taking the train to work [when I’m not scheduled for travel] – which would cut down even more on gas [and traffic – heavy storms caused something like a 2 hour today – no joking].

The only thing, I suppose, that costs is that of trash can lids. As in, when people steal your trash can lid, you have to purchase a new one. Apparently, that has happened to us…recently [yesterday]. But hey, it’s better than a bike valued over $400 [thanks Birmingham].

Hopefully, I can spew some more interesting tidbits to get you to want to move here with us [not actually in our house, but that would be fine too…temporarily].

I’m Sorry…Tremaine?

Everyone wants to be a part of something where they feel they belong, right?

That's what kind of helped us to make a quick decision as regarding our "search" for a place to worship - when we came to City Church, people told us that we belonged through the many ways they reached out to us as a new couple in a new town [we went to 3 separate dinners the first week we were here - we'll be trying out a small group this week].

This, however, is no particularly sentimental blog on belonging.

Sunday night, I dropped Laura and her sister off while I parked the car [it was raining and we were already late]. When I finally found them, I had to make my way through people on the outsides of the rows of folding metal chairs so that I could make it to them [since they were standing on the inside]. We worshiped, but I noticed that the guy standing beside me didn't stand up for any of the songs, prayers, or creeds. Unfortunately, we didn't meet during the "meet your neighbor," [for lack of better words] time in the middle of the service.

Partaking of the communion meal was interesting - he didn't seemed interested in waiting for everyone else before his tasting of the sacraments.

After the benediction, I thought, "I need to meet this guy." I introduced myself and picked up his communion cup [he had dropped it].

"My name is Gene," I said as I reached down.
"I'm Tremaine," he said from behind his dark sunglasses, beneath a sea of a jerry curl sheen.
"Germaine?" I asked, as I generally can't seem to hear what most anyone says the first time around.
"No man, Tremaine. Hey, are you a Jap?" he asked smiling, oblivious to his cultural faux pas.
"Excuse me?" I asked laughing, with some amused disbelief.
"Are you a Jap?" he was smiling innocently.
"No, my mom is Korean, but I can't even speak the language." I laughed - this wasn't necessarily uncommon ground for me. A few years ago, I was riding a bus through Birmingham (actually, it was a trolley) and a guy asked me if I was related to Yao Ming. It's the kind of thing you become sadly accustomed to when you have a somewhat olive skin, slanted eyes, and black hair.
"Aw man, thems is some of my favorite peoples. Some of my good friends is Korean man. Hey, do you have ten dollars? I need it to get a ride home."
Bold as a lion.
The thing about Philly, is that there is public transportation. I've read some complaints - but I've seen buses everywhere. A SEPTA ticket (for a bus or the subway) is $2. A token, if you have the privilege of entering one of the stations that sells them is $1.30. So, unless he was making 4 transfers, a ride home shouldn't cost $10.
"No man. I don't carry cash with me." I'm always honest with this - I don't keep cash unless I know that I'm going to need it. I knew I wouldn't need any tonight.
"That's alright man," he said this before walking away.

It didn't scare me away. More often than not, it's this very kind of encounter that keeps me wanting to live in "the city." It's the very boldness that someone like this has to remind me of our abject and complete brokenness and the grace that is really alive and abundant in my Christ.
I had wondered if anyone like this entered into this congregation.
I am happy that they do and hopeful that in the midst of the broken worshiping the Perfect, that they too will see His holiness and grace.

Also, thanks to BP for giving us the reference for this church.