Abstract: Psalm 39

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Psalm 39:5

Behold, You have made my days as handbreadths,

And my lifetime as nothing in Your sight.

Dear David,

I understand you broken perspective,

that nothing you do will move history or the people around you.

I understand your helpless desperation,

and I know the sorrow of longing for glory without the hope to see it—

that we are but poor actors in play already written.

Oh, my friend, dearest David:

Had you seen the glory of the Messiah!

Had you read the witness of Paul and felt the peace of the Holy Spirit!

If only you knew, slavery would end and poverty can be defeated.

Maybe, you would know what I do.

Everything is important in our human lives.

Each one of us is a link in the eternal chain,

and we bend the arc of history toward His greatness!

No one is without purpose or love,

Including and especially the least of us,

for His Kingdom is an arm’s reach away,

for all humanity.

Oh, David. If only…

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Short #3: Valley Stream

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I moved into 4914 Valley Stream because I needed a place to live. Blake offered me a room in October of 2009 but I wanted for a more desirable offer. Then, my living arrangement with a married couple began to fray. And, I wanted to leave before the strain turned to hate. A few days after Christmas I decided to join Blake and my married friends happily helped me pack my belongings.

The house on Valley Stream was built just after the second world war, most likely for a veteran and his family. The Madison Park neighborhood, where Valley Stream Road is located, was considered the suburbs of south Charlotte in the mid 1950’s though today it is tucked behind an ever expanding line of high rise apartments and shopping centers. I’d wager the entire neighborhood will be bulldozed and rebuilt into something bigger and more modern by the 2050s.

In 2010, our little brick house showed its age and utility. The home sits square to the street with a sidewalk from the blue front door to the blacktop. To the left of the front door was a rather large uncovered patio we affectionately dubbed the stoop. It was not a stoop in the sense one might think of the steps outside a New York City townhouse or apartment building, but that’s what we called it. The stoop is a concrete pad trimmed in more red brick. A black wrought iron railing guarded the far side of the pad. Over the four years we lived at Valley Stream, we made memory after memory on that very stoop. It’s where we hosted parties, debated current events, and processed our lives late into the night while smoking cigarettes.

Inside the house were three small bedrooms, a working but mold-prone bathroom, and a galley style kitchen. A large great room connected the bedrooms to the kitchen. With the exception of the great room, none of the rooms were big enough to hold more than two or three people at a time. They were designed for young families or newly married couples. We were neither.

The true oddity of the house is the full height but unfinished basement down a staircase next to the kitchen. It was dark and humid with the walls painted in bright green, yellow, and red. I assume whoever painted it was Rastafarian or at least a Bob Marley fan. The basement housed our washing machine and dryer and boxes of old clothes. At night, I would get horror-movie vibes and tried to spend as little time as possible down there.

Behind our house was a rather untamed lot which sloped down to Little Hope Creek. We rarely ventured into our backyard for all the overgrown oaks, brush, and weeds. During the summer the lot was home to various southern bugs, squirrels, and a few tree snakes. Aside from these small critters, our backyard was also home to a couple of adult Barred Owls. They were silent and still and a sight to behold when they plunged down on their dinner.

Due to its age, 4914 Valley Stream had all the classic old home problems. Poor air circulation led to mold problems, excessive heat in the summer, and frigid winters. Cockroaches and spiders paraded inside through numerous cracks and holes. And the house lacked a proper driveway for our cars. One never realizes how convenient a driveway is until they don’t have one.

Despite all these issues, we loved where we lived. Better said, we loved all the other aspects of life on Valley Stream if not the house. Blake was a wonderful roommate and friend. Our neighbors and the life we shared was like what most Americans see in movies but never experience. We were a proper community. It was quite normal for a conversation among two neighbors to evolve into a gathering of five or six or ten people. Each person came and went as they pleased but not before adding their spice to the mix.

In addition to the neighbors, our location within Charlotte was downright awesome. We enjoyed the night life on Montford Avenue and shopped at Park Lane Shopping Center, all a ten minute walk from our front door and uptown Charlotte was fifteen minutes away by car…depending on traffic, of course. Lastly, it was cheap- our rent that is. We paid our landlord a grand total of $625 each month, with Blake paying the larger share due to use of the third bedroom as a home office.

To think, I didn’t want to live in that old dank house. I would’ve missed out on a lot of good living and joy. Thankfully, I did not.

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Vol II: #87 Real Sh-t Part 2

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God bless people who make travel international arrangements for groups and tourists, or anyone. The process reminds me of my amateur status in regards to international travel. I’ve been to Russia and Canada. And, I did zero work to make either trip happen. This trip is all on me to plan and execute. Good Lord, what a task.

What’s great about having most the trip booked is I can begin to plan about my days in Paris and Nepal. Halfway through my escapades yesterday, I realized I’ll be all alone. (I know what you’re thinking: NO SHIT, NIK.) I felt scared and vulnerable for an hour or so. Of course, I’ll be alone in a new country, new culture, with limited ability to communicate in French. That’s what I signed up for, right?

After my brief panic, I reminded myself of two very real facts. First, I am going to Paris on the instruction of the Holy Spirit, not your average American tourist. And two, it’s Paris. The city full of life and culture and history. I’ll start my days at a Catholic mass- where I am to bless them in prayer- and then on to any number of parks, museums, or monuments. Accordingly, I already purchased my ticket to the Louvre and plan to spend my last full day in the Musee de Louvre. In all my life, I have yet to go to a museum alone. I can’t wait because I’ll be able to stare at whatever painting or sculpture I want, for as long as I want. (And, the site has 16- yes 16!- cafes and canteens to service the patrons. What-what?! The prices are reasonable enough?! They will literally have to kick me out of the building. I said all day and I meant ALL damn day.)

As for Nepal, I have little concerns for what or how that portion of the trip will play out. My new friend Simon has made all the necessary arrangements and I’m looking forward to seeing his smiling face. Simon is in his mid-20’s after living in an orphanage. He’s mentally strong and always ready with a joke. But, he’s serious about the Gospel too. I have a lot more peace when I think about going to Nepal because of him.

For the rest of the week, I’ve got a punch list of travel tasks to complete e.g. secure a euro electrical plug, purchase an international phone plan, etc. As I watch this trip go from an idea to a reality, it’s getting more real and I’m starting to get excited. I like that.

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Vol II: #86 Real Sh-t

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Since January, I’ve told anyone who asked “what are you doing this summer?” that I am going to Paris then Nepal. Months ago I said it with joy and anticipation. That joy has since morphed into anxiety and stress. As I type I am only a few weeks away and I have yet to buy my tickets or make accommodations. But, this post will be my last bit of procrastination. I’ve got my credit card beside me ready for the using.

I don’t see procrastination as a terrible practice. When I was in college I did my best work when the deadline was mere hours away. I admit that when I say I procrastinated, what I really mean to say is I waited to do the bulk of the work when it time to work- as in I learned how to build momentum on projects and papers by slowly gathering resources for that final push.

But, this is not college. It’s real life and I have what I need to get the ball rolling.

Ok. I’m gonna stop writing and start buying. More tomorrow.

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Short #2: The Mayor

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I stood on the stoop and fiddled with my key in the lock. It was a new key and unaccustomed to its purpose. Over my shoulder from across the street a man hollered something I did not understand, and I mumbled a quick reply. “Stupid neighbor,” I thought as I tried to force my freshly cut key to do its job.

A moment later I heard his voice again but from directly behind me. Alarmed and annoyed, I spun around to around to get a better look at my interrogator in the fading winter sun. At the end of the sidewalk leading back to the street- with beer in hand- was a middle-aged man in a clean white tee and jeans.

“Need any help?” he asked in a smokey North Carolina accent.

“My key won’t work.”

“Oh. Well…I seen you from my house across the street and wanted to check on you. I’m Mike,” he said and offered his free hand.

As I shook his hand, I came close enough to notice the long-term affects of Michelob Ultra on his broad face.

“Yeah. I’m Nik. I just moved in here with Blake.”

“Ah,” nodded Mike. “I keep an eye on the neighborhood. From my porch over there I can see up and down the street,” as he pointed in both directions.

I saw what he meant. From his perch up the hill, Mike had a perfect view north and south of Valley Stream Road and the part of Seneca Place running west away from our street. He certainly could see all the comings and goings of our house. Over the next four years, little we could or would do escaped his watch, fortunately. After a bit of small talk, Mike wandered back across the street and up the hill to his seat on the porch. I had met the Mayor of Madison Park.

We called him that because he knew everyone in our south Charlotte neighborhood and everything worth knowing about what happened on our street. Over the following years, Mike helped us cut down overgrown vines and fix our cars. And, he was always good for a cigarette or fresh beer when needed, both of which he kept in his back pocket. That day on the stoop, just two days after my arrival, he wasn’t just being nosy. He was fulfilling his purpose as mayor and volunteer neighborhood watch.

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Vol II: #85 Roe

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I walked into the mostly empty Bethel prayer chapel this morning. The lone person inside was a gray-haired lady in hot pink pants. As I walked to take my seat she asked, “Did you hear the news?” I hadn’t. “The Supreme Court over turned Roe v Wade. I’ve waited for this day most of my life,” she answered as she scooped up her belongings. Without another word and head held high, she strutted out the door and into the bright morning sun.

Due to the leaked draft early this year, I knew this day was coming, the day Roe vs Wade was overturned. Despite this knowledge I was unprepared for the news. I slunk into my chair and felt tears gather in my eyes. I thought about all the people who never got a chance to live and love and add their spark to this world. I thought about the people in my life who were born to teenage mothers- mothers encouraged to terminate their pregnancies. But, they didn’t. I thanked God for those women and their heroic choices.

Some time later, I remembered all the people who will hate this day. The enraged and angry. And, I have some thoughts on that. Being a pro-life person is about more than abortion. Pro-life includes how we treat the people we meet at the grocery store or in line for coffee. And, it absolutely includes our treatment of political opponents. So when my liberal friends texted me, to gauge my reaction to the Supreme Court ruling, I offered them compassion and did not gloat. Why? Because. That’s what love looks like. It’s what Jesus did and commanded. And, if I needed more instruction, I have King David:

Psalm 35:11-14

11 Malicious witnesses rise up;

They ask me of things that I do not know.

12 They repay me evil for good,

To the bereavement of my soul.

13 But as for me, when they were sick, my clothing was sackcloth;

I humbled my soul with fasting,

And my prayer kept returning to my bosom.

14 I went about as though it were my friend or brother;

I bowed down mourning, as one who sorrows for a mother.

(In the current political environment, compassion is seen as weakness. It isn’t. Compassion for our enemies is the heart of the Father. After all, our enemies are His kids too.)

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Vol II: #84 Thanks Donna

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I knew I was in the clear when the facilitator started calling last names with the letter D. Her roster was in alphabetical order by last name and I sweated through the Cs. But, when she called for William Dibbs, that’s when I knew. I would not go into the hallway. I would not follow Cheri up the stairs to a court room. And, I would not serve on a jury, at least not today.

To be honest, if being a juror paid well, I’d demand to be on a jury. As in, I would beg them to let me stay. The justice system is fascinating and we citizens don’t take enough responsibility for our part in it. It’s an honor to be on a jury. It is one of the limited but direct opportunities we have to fight for the cause of justice- for victims or the wrongly accused. Aside from TV and movies, I have only been in a court room a few times: once on a middle school field trip and twice for adoption proceedings. I suppose that’s a good thing but I relish the moment when my name is called and I get to fulfill my obligation to my country.

The aforementioned facilitator- Donna- is well versed in the general apathy toward jury duty, and she did her best to crack jokes and relate to the general sense of dread in the jury assembly room. I thanked her on my way out for her upbeat attitude. Only after my exit did I consider offering to replace someone who did not want to be a juror. I admit when I got my summons I researched the compensation for jury duty and it sucks- $15 per day plus .34 cents a mile, one way. For me, that’s a grand total of $16.03. And, they don’t provide lunch. Now, if they paid $100 per day… “Hi, I’m Nik and I am a professional juror.” It was Donna who reminded me that jury duty matters. Someone’s life is at stake. Justice, one way or the other, is needed.

Thanks Donna.

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Vol II: #83 New Years

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I’m a big fan of data. Hidden behind numbers and trends is a story, a story often undetected during the course of a normal day. But, sometimes it’s more apparent. Sometimes, it’s painfully, obviously apparent.

The year I published 330 blogs was a watershed moment into how I operate and what I need to make something real in my life. That’s the obvious data point. For me, Nik, a week or month or two months is not enough time to establish a behavior in my life. Apparently, I need a whole year of intentional devotion to a task. With this in mind, I am turning my attention to new project: drawing.

Drawing is the basic skill of an artist and I need/want to grow my skills. There’s nothing worse than an idea or concept trapped in my head because my hands can’t keep up. And buddy, I’ve got ideas a plenty. So, starting today, I will produce a drawing every single day for 365 days. (Ok. Probably more like 330 for the sake of travel, holidays, illness, etc.) The quality and subject matter is less important than the doing. For now, I need to make art production an everyday part of my life. It’s not a hobby to me and I want to develop into a competent artist. So, I need to treat it more like a job, like I did writing.

The first hurdle will be motivation and for that I need to admit to myself what I want. And, what I want is embarrassing to admit. I want to be a great artist, not a doodler or “church good.” My intent after my year of drawing is to transition to oil painting, then clay work, etc. This will require time, sacrifice, and money. And, all that seems like a lot to waste on a hobby.

The second hurdle is being gracious with myself in the process. For this I will rely my history as a cook. I’m a million times better cook than I was two years ago, ten years ago, and twenty years ago. Being honest, I thought I was pretty hot shit two years ago. Now I know, I’m only half way to where I want to be as a cook. (I know. That sounds ridiculous. But, just last week, I fried up the best chicken of my life with room to improve.) My point is food and art are similar in that they are as much learned habits and skills as they are talents. I can’t draw a circle the way I want to draw a circle…today. To ease my frustration, it helps to remember the days when my rice noodles were mush and I produced one dry chicken breast after another.

Today is day one. Though I am frustrated with where I am, I know the best is yet to come.

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Abstract: Can I?

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There’s a difference between believing something can be done and believing I can do it.

I watched Michael Jordan dominate the NBA,

and marvel as Elon Musk rolls out fancy electric cars.

Likewise, Bill Johnson and Brene Brown touch our hearts with inspired words,

and call us into greater being.

As for me, the question remains:

Can I do it?

In my brain, I know I can, as in I am mentally and physically capable of a great many tasks and journeys,

but…(is there a more loathsome word?)

But, do I believe I will?

Will I push past feeling like an imposter,

being immature and old,

ashamed and ill prepared?

I must,

and in the process grow beyond what I am,

to the final version of me.

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Vol II: #82 Old Promise, New Understanding

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In the middle of a prayer last week, the Lord hit me with a promise- rather a reminder of a previous promise. Years ago the Lord promised “I’ll never leave you and I’ll always be with you.” I’ve thought this was odd as this is two ways to express the same idea. Why not leave it at “I’ll never leave you” or a simple “I’ll always be with you?” Regardless, it’s pretty nice to have the God of All Things promise to remain with me throughout my life. And 23 years after the promise was made, I testify to it being a promise kept. The oddity of the two in one promise still stands, however.

So back to last week in prayer.

I can’t remember what I said or how I got there, but the Lord responded with “You’re not going to lose me.” In that moment, I felt like my largest fear was yanked from the depth of my heart and exposed for what it is. I am afraid I’ll lose the Lord, that I’ve got to walk a tight rope to please Him and I can’t fall. I’m afraid that not matter what I do, I’ll fail. And in my failing, I will miss what the Lord has for me.

The truth I now know is I can’t lose the Lord. He’s not going anywhere. I can fail but I won’t lose. All those years ago, He knew what I needed and branded my heart with that promise. Now I know it’s a promise I can’t undo. I can’t make Him go away or forsake me. (I laugh at that last thought. No matter how much of an asshole I may be, He’s always with me.)

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Vol II: #81 Faithful, Good, and Pleased

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After BSSM, I decided to read through the Bible from Genesis to Revelation which is always a hoot. Much of scripture is never taught or mentioned in church or Bible class. Several times a week I’ll have a “that’s in the Bible?!” moment. These hidden stories and people help add to the wonder of the exercise.

This week, I finished Exodus, which ends with the Lord’s instructions for the Tabernacle. Then, a few people are selected to build the thing, and it’s gets done. The verses read like “so-and-so built the Glory seat as the Lord commanded, according to what the the Lord commanded Moses.” This portion of the Bible like reading a cell phone bill or the fine print on the warranty for your microwave. (We don’t like to call our sacred scripture “boring” but it could be applied to the end of Exodus…by a less careful person.)

Right at the end of Chapter 39, pinned onto the end of another chapter dedicated to the meticulous instructions and build of the Tabernacle, was this:

And Moses examined all the work and behold, they had done it; just as the Lord had commanded, this they had done. So Moses blessed them.

- Exodus 39:43

I’m amazed. Here we have this intricate undertaking to house the presence of God, and it went off without a hitch. If you read every verse from Genesis 1 to Exodus 39:43, you’ll know how rare it is to build something without a delay or disagreement, but not Moses and his construction crew. They bossed the assignment. Good for them.

This one line sentence gave me as hope this week because I think about pleasing God, a lot. It’ not fun because I judge myself- my effort, motivation, and results. And, perhaps all that matters to the Lord. But really, I believe He’s interested in the effort and the doing. “Good enough” exists for the Lord. Perfection isn’t what He wants and it’s not a word the Lord uses when He talks to us. He uses words like faithful, good, and pleased.

Just something to think about.

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Vol II: #80 It Is Love

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Yesterday and today (and last week), I wrote blogs about dating and vaccines and whatever I was offended by at the moment of my writing. In each case, I deleted an hour’s worth of work and decided to write about a different topic. In addition to writing and deleting, I browsed some of my posts from earlier this year and 2021. The practice of reviewing my work often brings me to tears as I recall a specific moment of my life I’d otherwise forget. And while I cringe at the prose or spelling mistakes, I do not regret a single word or post. The process of composing, editing, and wrestling with words is fun and rewarding.

I’m glad I’m writing as much as I am- this blog is the most mine a thing can be. And, an odd but delightful facet in this process is I am no longer obsessed with the future of this website. What I mean by that is, I write because I want to write, to fill a blank space with thoughts and ideas. I even pay for this privilege ($26/month, thank you SquareSpace.) They say what we do for free is either something we love or an addiction. Having been addicted to a number of behaviors and substances, I can affirm it is love.

Who else would know such a fact about me but the Lord?

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