Rust In Peace

I often hang my head in despair after making the decision to listen to sports radio in any length. Last week was no exception. The babble I ingested claimed that having Brad Johnson as the #2 QB for the Cowboys is a blessing (?!) based on the fact he does not need to take a lot of snaps in practice ... because he's so veteran. They claim this would allow the coaches to make a better game day decision on whether Romo could be effective with the bad pinky.

We all know how that worked out.

Two good buddies and my wife backed me into a corner last week and forced me to list out the members of society that I am either unwilling to reach out to or carrying around to much hatred to effectively be Christ-like.

The result of my prejudice and the hatred I must repent from is as follows (otherwise known as the Grimey Cultural Limitation): "Gay unicyclists covered in tattoos who hate babies cause they can't have them and sit around all day wasting their life watching Oprah and fantasizing about Brad Johnson's butt in his uniform."

Sounds extreme but at least my hatred is specific and easily overcome. So just to smooth things over, I plan to go out to http://www.ogreshirts.com/ and purchase one of these awesome unicyclists t-shirts to wear on a night out at a gay bar in tote with pictures of my kids and a bible.

Now I'm in real trouble ... sigh.

Not to take hatred and prejudice lightly, allow me to pull a page from the Radical Reformission and confess a real cultural block that I ran into this week.

Downtown, at the Greenville and Lovers Borders Books, I found myself at the information kiosk searching for a Max Lucado book for my wife. I heard the shadow of a congenial, red-bibbed, employee getting ready to pounce. Keeping my eyes on the screen, I played dead as if a bear were approaching.

The ploy did not work ... and I heard the words that we all fear based on every car buying experience known to man - "Can I help you?"

As I raised my brow and thought the words "No, you retail, paperboy freak - I'm an idiot that can't figure out how to press the big, red Search button" my imagination flashed a few possibilities of the poor soul standing across the table from me trying to execute the futile company training they received in their first week on the job.

1. Would it be the lonely, heavy-set, pale female that finished some college but was only there to find a man until she found out that wasn't working?
2. Or the young, not-quite-out-of-the-closet male in nicely pressed Gap clothes that still lives with his parents and desperately wanted to be downtown but could only find this flexible, lazy scheduled uptown job?
3. Considering where I am it could just be the post-Goth, scrawny genius girl that hates everything but really needs the paycheck to fund her exotic butterfly collection and 19th century original print poetry books.

I was not so fortunate ... the creature that lurked before me actually made him respond to my facial reaction ... his exact words were "I'm actually smarter than I look and can help you find your book." I replied, "I am never accused of being smart - don't let the glasses fool ya." He was not impressed.

This wasn't just tattoos ... I like tattoos ... the colorful, full-coverage body art just rounded out the Pin-Head-esque piercings and Ethiopian stretched out ear lobes. As he took me back to the Max Lucado book, his ears were flapping like a lab chasing a squirrel. I was walking behind the human form of Goofy.

As he turned and said "hear you are" I knew I needed to say something. This is what came out: "Cool ears. Why did you do that?"

His response: "That's a really long story. I'd tell it to you, but I have a hard enough time keeping my day job."

Finding myself wondering what his night job was, I soon realized that my poor attempt at building a relationship was futile and no longer possible at this juncture. I thanked him, paid for the book, and left defeated.

I didn't think there was much out there I haven't seen. Which is true except that I don't see enough of it that my brain is trained to expect only clean, white, lake community folk.

This is a problem ... if I am to live out the rest of my life not being able to see everyone as a person, I will surely never find peace. But if I can ask God to go before me, even when entering the book store, I can at least have Christ on my mind and ready to share the ministry.

The babbling for today is over ... enjoy yours and have a link or two if you're bored:

• Ogre Shirts - Unicycling T-Shirts
• I'm a Man! I'm 40!
• Boxtown Ministries Team Site