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Limeade: Or How I've Lost All Observation Skills

There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.
-Will Rogers

I used to be able to observe.

In fact, I was rather proud of myself for my powers of observation. As an artist, noticing and critically examining the world around oneself is a vital component of creating beauty. I used to always think that I did it fairly well - details had a hard time escaping me. I wasn't a Shawn Spencer from Psych, but I did feel confident in my abilities to observe and notice things differently from the people around me.

At least until this summer.

Two weeks ago I found myself housesitting for the couple with whom I am interning. They were off galavanting on the beach and I reaped the benefits of having an entire house to myself (with their two dogs, who are way too much fun).  The week before I had stocked up on some limes that were on sale and I was excited about finding a use for them. On Monday I didn't have much to do, so I decided to make something out of the limes, go outside, sit under a tree, and read my book (Satan and the Problem of Evil: Constructing a Trinitarian Warfare Theodicy by Gregory A. Boyd. I would highly recommend it if you're looking for a long, deep, academic work that will keep you thinking late into the night). I pulled the limes out of the fridge, got out my trusty laptop that often doubles as a cookbook, and asked Google what I should make with my limes.

Limeade.

The moment I read the word I could taste the tangy sweet nectar on my tongue. What a perfect idea for a warm Arkansas day! I got to work finding the ingredients and cooking supplies in a strange house. Sugar? Check. Water? Easy. Limes? In my hand. This was going to be a quick task, who knew making limeade from scratch was almost easier than making it from a mix? I squeezed the limes, all the while wishing I had the foresight to bring along my juicer on my housesitting adventure (because one always should bring a juicer housesitting, right? What was I thinking?). Then I was ready to combine and cook. I needed a saucepan to make the lime syrup. It was time for a great search of the kitchen! I looked all over the place, on top of the refrigerator, in the spice cabinet, in the oven, in the dishwasher, everywhere I could think. No pans, whatsoever. Strange, what kind of people cook without pans? No matter, I am a resourceful person and remembered seeing a stainless steel bowl on my quest. I quickly relocated it, did a quick Google to make sure that it wouldn't explode when coming into contact with the stove (I had visions of turning around to zest a lime and suddenly dying as an exploding shard of stainless steel lodged itself in my brain. I would just lie there on the floor dead for a week, never getting to enjoy the limeade for which I sacrificed my entire being). Reassured that I wouldn't die, I moved on. Next, I needed measuring cups. If I were the people who lived in this house, where would I put the measuring cups? I looked there first. Random cooking utensils, an apple cutter, but no measuring cups. After about five minutes of looking, I gave up. Strange, but maybe they're really good cooks and just don't need to measure things. Well, I can be a good cook too! So I estimated the sugar content. Then I estimated the water content. Then I estimated the amount of lime zest to add. Quite proud of my measuring abilities, I cooked the syrup, strained it, added ice and water, and went outside to enjoy.

It was delicious. So delicious that I drank the entire batch that day. On Wednesday, I decided I wanted more. I repeated the above process, looking for the pans again and the measuring cups, still unsuccessful. (I had the sneaky suspicion that the people who lived in the house weren't the type of cooks that could manage without measuring cups and pans...they seem pretty vital in my mind. On one level I could understand not having measuring cups, but pans? No.) The limeade turned out almost as good, but not quite since I added too much zest this time and overcooked the syrup a bit, but at least I was managing in the panless house.

On Thursday, I decided I wanted to make breakfast. Pancakes sounded delicious. I located the ingredients and then realized that I had nothing to cook them in. The multi-purpose stainless steel bowl wouldn't help (unless I wanted itsy bitsy pancakes...but I was hungry and not in a delicate itsy bitsy cute mood). After turning over the kitchen yet again, looking positively everywhere (I even looked in the bedroom just in case they kept them in their closet or something...one never knows what other people do for organization in their houses. I did find pan lids on this search, which was even more infuriating as they just acted as a taunting reminder that there were pans hiding somewhere deep within the house, probably laughing at me that very moment), I exclaimed rather loudly, "Screw this! I'm going back to my house to cook!"

And that is what I did.

I made tacos.

Thursday night I was hungry. Once again I completed the all too familiar search for pans (this time I even looked for hidden compartments). The pans were just not there. I was living in a pan-free house where pan lids were kept simply as a reminder of what could be. How novel. As a last resort I decided to text the owners and see if they could shed some light on the situation that had been keeping me occupied for the past four days. Here is the exact transcript of the text message conversation that followed (notice how short it is):

Me: Where could I find saucepans/a skillet. I found lids but no pans!
Meghan: They are on the pot rack. Look up!

Oh.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you experienced such strong feelings of embarrassment, shame, stunned amazement, and pure stupidity that you couldn't move for a long period of time? If not, just stop and think about it for a little while.




...





After I recovered from the initial shock, I walked into the kitchen and raised my eyes upwards. Not towards the top of the refrigerator or the top of the cabinets, but just towards the middle of the room. This is what I saw:

I started giggling. And I didn't stop for a long time. Not refined manly chuckles, but real life giggles. I danced with the line that divides sanity and insanity. 

Eventually I composed myself, decided I was too tired to cook and settled for a frozen pizza. 

It took me another day to find the measuring cups.

-Matthias

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The Day My Shirts Smelled Like Dogs

I believe you should live each day as if it is your last, which is why I don't have any clean laundry because, come on, who wants to wash clothes on the last day of their life?
-Unknown

I feel like many of my posts on this blog are about laundry (such as this one, or this one). Maybe because since doing laundry is such a momentous occasion in my life that I feel the innate urge to document it for the whole world - as if to say "See, I actually DO take care of myself!" Regardless, this summer I've been doing laundry a lot. I have a house with a washing machine and dryer and it doesn't cost $10 to wash all my clothes. Therefore, I don't have to wear my jeans for months in order to justify a washing and my permanent dirty-clothes pile is slowly becoming nonexistent.

A goal for my summer is to be as human and environmentally friendly as possible. From my food choices to the way I dispose of my waste to how I shop, I've been attempting to be intentional about the way I live my life in order to increase my well being and decrease any negative impact I may cause. I believe that this is what we all should be doing as divinely appointed caretakers of the creation we have been blessed to inhabit. Therefore, one of the first things that I did was remove any traces of harsh chemicals from my house and start using purely environmentally friendly, non-toxic, and biodegradable cleaning supplies. This, of course, also translates to my laundry. Gone are the conventional detergents and softeners - they have been replaced with healthy alternatives.

I was so extremely excited about my new products that I just had to do a load of laundry to celebrate, so I rounded up a bunch of dirty things, popped them in the machine, and put three squirts of fun new detergent into the machine. I closed it, placed the large car tire on top of the lid (otherwise the machine will escape while vigorously spinning), and walked away.

45 minutes later the wash was done and I was running slightly late for a wine tasting that I was attending. I ran to check on the laundry and transfer it over to the dryer when I realized that the dryer was already full of clean, dry, fluffy clothes that had been forgotten. There was no time to take them out, walk all the way to my room, put them down, walk all the way back (my room is right across the hall from the laundry room), and transfer over the wet clothes, so I just opted to leave them - "I'll change it when I get home."

I forgot.

In fact, I forgot about them for three full days. I only found the clothes when I decided to to laundry again ("I get to use my new fun detergent!!"). I opened the machine...something smelled slightly funny, but no matter, surely the heat in the dryer would sanitize (or at least, psudo-sanitize, obviously the dyer doesn't get that hot) whatever was on the clothes after being left wet for three days. I put the now almost dry clothes into the dryer, added a new biodegradable healthy dryer sheet, and started the cycle.

Two days later, I decided that I needed more clothes and discovered the dry ones in the dryer. Thankful that I didn't have to resort to washing more of the permanent dirty pile, I pulled the clothes out and took a whiff (I love the smell of clean laundry, so I always breathe deeply as I remove things from the dryer). I started coughing.

The laundry smelled horrible.

Stupid new healthy biodegradable dryer sheets, I thought, I'm never using those again, what a waste of money. Who would make a dryer sheet that smells like wet dog. Gross. In true college student style, I decided that I would just grin and bear the smell until I could get around to doing laundry again.

The next day I put on my dog-smelling clothes, used an extra amount of my new healthy deodorant, and went to face the day. Occasionally, when the breeze was just right, I would smell wet-dog trailing me, but for the most part my mountain breeze scented armpits kept my nose out of misery. That night some friends came over and in the course of conversation, I told them about my new dryer sheets and how awful they made the clothes smell. We all shook our heads in pity as I ran to my room to grab a shirt to prove my point.

"See, SEE, it smells like wet dog!" My friend took a tentative whiff and looked at me. "Matthias," she said "that doesn't smell like wet dog, that smells like mildew." I froze. Mildew. I glanced at my friend, "well, now, come to think of it, these are the clothes that I left in the washing machine for three days before I dried them." My friend gave me a look of horror and quickly handed my shirt back to me.

The next day, I took the pile of mildewed clothes (they still smelled like dog to me), popped them in the machine, used four squirts of my fancy new detergent, and immediately transferred them to the dryer when they were finished. They came out smelling nice and fresh, just like they should.

I feel like I'm going to learn so many lessons this summer.
-Matthias

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On Insecurity: 21 Years

“We're going to have to let truth scream louder to our souls than the lies that have infected us.”
 ― Beth Moore

I am an insecure person.

Probably more insecure that I would like to admit. I always attempt to put on a face of being that strong, confident, self-aware, laughing person that everyone wants to be friends with. But, underneath that facade is a little boy who is terrified of life.

It's spring break. I'm in Ft. Smith, Arkansas. A town that is a strange combination of two worlds. It tries to be a city, but the down-home redneck charm that characterizes rural Arkansas has found a way to sneak into the hustle and bustle of the modern town. Late model Corvettes are parked directly next to pickup trucks so large that one can't help but wonder about compensation. I'm in Starbucks right now. I watch farmers swagger in and order with a drawl as thick as the coffee they're drinking. I see high-school girls in expensive designer clothes giggle and flirt with the barista. Ft. Smith is a place that reminds me of my heart. Underneath the somewhat unsuccessful attempt at portraying an trendy town, small country Arkansas still exists.

I turn 21 tomorrow. It's strange to think that I've been alive that long. I love my life. Yet, over the past couple days of break, my insecure heart has poked its way to the front of my mind. I fight with feelings of inadequacy.  I wonder if the people that I'm spending break with actually enjoy my company. I lay in bed at night and wrestle through questions and desires that surprise and frustrate me - almost to the point of tears. Even though I'm laying right next to another person, loneliness clutches and squeezes my soul. Twenty-one isn't very old. I have life to look forward to, but will these emotions ever go away?

I catch myself as I start talking to Jesus. I begin to be reminded of truth. I am loved. I am invited by friends. I am safe. And Jesus whispers to me "rest." I exhale and the anxiety I carry in my shoulders melts into my pillow. The loneliness that characterizes my fears fades and my spirit begins to be filled. Insecurity may be part of my 21 year old self, but I am learning that true rest - rest with Jesus - takes that insecurity and replaces it with joy.

Regardless of the pain and hurt. Regardless of what dreams I have to let go. Regardless of the people and circumstances around me. My goal for my 21st year is to continue the process of letting my life be characterized by joy.

Happy Birthday to my 21 year old self. Let's grow this year.
-Matthias

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Wait, Where Did My Keys Go? | Reflections on 2011

“Open your mouth and sing out your song. Life is short as the day is long. Can't leave you my body, but I'll leave you a tune. This is my legacy, cheers to you.”
-Brooke Fraser

I have a confession to make – keeping track of my keys is a difficult task. I have a tendency to unlock a door and throw the keys down, not paying any attention to where they land. Often, through the course of my work, the keys get covered up with papers, books, and various items, which leads to a panicked tousle as I attempt to leave the room. And people wonder why my office is messy.

It's been a year of milestones, both personally and professionally. Friendships have been strengthened to points I never knew were possible. Goals have been reached and surpassed. I sit here and remember highlights – watching The Next Big Thing, an event that I poured my entire being into, become a successful reality; winning an ARTIE and having my artwork affirmed by both peers and professionals; bringing Switchfoot and Anberlin, two of Christian music's most influential bands to tiny Siloam Springs, Arkansas – wow. Then there are the other highlights, the ones that are so much more meaningful and important – sitting with a friend at two am on the night of one of the biggest blizzards Arkansas has ever seen and witnessing our surface-level friendship turn into a deep, life-changing relationship; long healing talks over tea with another friend; sharing life with a group of amazing guys who live on a hall named Summit State; late-night gallivanting doing daring deeds; seeing my family for the holidays after almost a year of separation. This year has been incredible.

The high points are paired with the low points. Paralyzing insecurities that left me helpless and searching. Watching as a dear friend was put in the hospital and dealing with the heart-wrenching pain of saying goodbye. Breaking down as the reality of a broken world sunk in, showing me that some of my deepest hopes and dreams must be surrendered. Working through anger and mild depression after harsh words were said by a person I trusted.

I am so blessed.

I see the thread that He has woven throughout the memories. The places where the needle penetrated, the places where souls were stitched together, and the places where the beauty of the tapestry brilliantly burst forth. Here I am, still in process. The needle will penetrate again. Yet, if 2011 is any indication of what is to be, let the stitches come. I am ready and willing, a smile on my face, with laughter not too far behind.

The Triune Being doesn't leave me like I leave my keys. He doesn't toss me off to the side, throw junk onto me, and then remember me later forgetting where I am.

He holds onto me, closely.  

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25 Minutes | A Story of Help Portrait

1. Find somebody in need.
2. Take their portrait.
It's that simple.
The Help Portrait Mission

Laura and me in Studio 2

Watch this before reading.

This morning my alarm went off right as I was getting comfortable. Generally when this happens, I hit the snooze button, roll over and go back to sleep. Then I repeat that same process several times. Life as a college student.

But today was different. Instead of rolling over into that one elusive spot, I wedged open my eyes, climbed down to the floor, and jumped in the shower. As my brain began to realize that sleepy time was now over, thoughts began to flood as quickly as the water peppering my body. I knew I was about to do something that would impact me, but I had no clue what to expect.

Two hours later, after watching a foggy sunrise on the long drive, our small group arrived in Bentonville to participate in our first Help Portrait ever. With anticipation, my partner Laura and I discussed our shooting strategies and ideas for the day as we tested lenses, batteries, lights, and put the finishing touches on Studio 2 - our home for the next nine hours. The finishing touch, a folksy Pandora station featuring the likes of The Civil Wars and Mumford, was put into place as our studio's assistant ran us through the day's schedule. Eight families are going to come through that door. It is mine and Laura's job to make them feel beautiful. This most likely will be the first time any of these people have ever had their pictures done by professional photographers. We get 25 minutes with each family. Down the hall, in Studios 1-9, these same details are being discussed. 25 minutes.

Our first subjects are late. Our assistant brings them in and lets us know that we have about 10 minutes. Single mother. Newborn baby. "She just got out of ICU last week" the mother says timidly, barely meeting our eyes, "She's two weeks old." Between flashes we learn that the baby only weighed two pounds when she was born.  We chat. Laura gushes. A smile begins to form in the mother's eyes. Soon, the smile spreads to her mouth. Joy. 10 minutes. The now seven pound baby opens her eyes for the first time to look at us as they leave Studio 2. I look at Laura, tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.

I walk the memory card down the hall, past multiple other studios, and hand it off to our editor. Back at Studio 2, our assistant brings in our next subjects. Another mother with two kids, ages one and two, pregnant with her third. The kids aren't interested in coming into our studio, but would rather run up and down the hall. Ten minutes later, we coax them in and shut the door. Laura and I look at each other. 25 minutes. The kids are shy, the mother is worried about her appearance. We smile, laugh, joke. Everyone loosens up. Boom. The kids are running everywhere now. "Look, that's you on the screen! Who is that?!" Our assistant appears. We're just getting started. "Your next family has canceled, you have more time." Relief. More pictures. The toddlers are hugging us now. The mother is laughing. Flash. Flash. Time's up.

"She doesn't smile," our next subjects, a single mother with her four year old daughter, "Awhile ago they took pictures of her at her school. When I got them back she wasn't smiling in any of them." Flash. Blank stare. Laura to mom - "You look like a model! Have you ever modeled before?" "Yes, when I was younger, then I got too fat." Flash, flash. We smile, laugh. Mom starts to smile and play with her daughter. She tosses her up into the air and catches her. Flash. Toss. Flash. Then a smile appears on the little girl's face. A big smile. Flash. Flash. 25 minutes.

Lunch break. On our way back to Studio 2, Ron - one of the people responsible for escorting the subjects from registration downstairs to the studios upstairs - catches me. "We just gave the finished prints to the mother and daughter you just shot. She took one look at them and burst into tears." Ron has tears in his eyes. I tear up.

Two more families. Many smiles, lots of laughter. Another break. Laura and I wonder if anyone else is going to visit Studio 2. As we begin to think that all our other families haven't shown up, our assistant brings in our final subjects. A mother, probably my age, and two daughters, ages two and six months. After a short amount of time, smiles are coaxed out of everyone. The two girls attach themselves to "Miss Laura." Flash. Smiles. Big hugs. 25 minutes. Mom literally has to pry the two year old out of Laura's arms. The little girl cries. Laura cries.

We deliver the last prints to the mother - the first time of the day we personally get to hand our work to the subjects. "Oh wow. Those are beautiful." The two year old spots Laura and runs into her arms. The mother hugs us tightly and whispers "Thank you so much. Thank you." We say goodbye. Laura cries again. I tear up.

We pack up all our equipment and say goodbye to Studio 2 and all of the photographers who are now friends. On the drive home, "We are so blessed."

We'll probably never see any of the families again. We'll probably never see the photographs we created today. But, we will remember the smiles and the tears. We only gave photographs today. We received so much more. Our photographs may not change any of our subjects lives, but our subjects certainly changed ours.

I'm crying again.
-Matthias

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Jeans (Or Why I Am Stuck)

I have often said that I wish I had invented blue jeans: the most spectacular, the most practical, the most relaxed and nonchalant. They have expression, modesty, sex appeal, simplicity - all I hope for in my clothes.
-Yves Saint Laurent

All of my favorite pairs of jeans have ripped in a certain somewhat embarrassing area in the past few weeks. The rips aren't large, but they're there and that's enough to warrant exile to the permanent dirty-clothes pile (I have two dirty clothes piles, the one that gets washed on occasion,and the one that never gets washed because the other pile takes priority...). It's sad having to exile my favorite jeans, because they're always the ones that were most expensive, Express, Bullhead, Cropp (it's a Polish brand), they're all sitting in that pile.

This morning I was put in a predicament. Every single pair of jeans that are not ripped (which happens to be two pairs) are so in need of a washing machine visit that I can barely touch them. One pair I wore for multiple days while preparing for a concert I was in charge of - after hours of loading in equipment, loading out equipment, jumping up and down, and general running all over the place, they reek. The other pair I wore camping, and we all know what happens to camping clothes. Therefore, this past week I've been getting extremely creative with what I've been wearing. Dress pants - check, now they have grass stains all over because apparently when I'm on photo shoots I pay no attention to what I'm kneeling and laying in. Random cargo pants that I never *ever* wear other than when I'm dressing up as a marshmallow to play in the snow - check, now they have stains from going stargazing in a field where cows live. Therefore, this morning when I stepped out of the shower, I realized I literally have no pants to wear at all.

None.

I like to think of myself as a rather ingenious individual who is creative enough to work through challenges and emerge triumphant. As I stood there surveying the piles of clothes strewn around my room, I mentally put on my ingenious hat and got to work. I first double checked that all my acceptable pants were indeed smelly and gross. They were. So, I moved to the permanent dirty-clothes pile. I looked over all of my favorite jeans, sighed, and asked myself "Why not? It's not like anyone ever looks intentionally at that area anyway." I became brave. Very quickly that braveness turned into apprehension and I spotted my double sided tape. Perfect.

I grabbed my most favorite pair and spent several minutes taping shut the holes with double sided tape. Soon, they were good as new and I felt triumphant. I mentally took my ingenious hat off and slipped on the jeans. Just then I realized...oh gosh, I used double sided tape. But, it was too late. My jeans were stuck to my legs. I was already close to missing breakfast, so I figured I'd deal with that later, and walked to the cafeteria thinking I really like these jeans!

All went well, I got through breakfast and my first meeting of the day without anyone being suspicious or yelling out "Matthias! Did you know you have holes in your jeans?!" I felt rather happy with myself, after all, I did solve my problem without having to resort to the pants I used to paint in this summer. All went well, until I had to use the restroom.

I stood in the stall, unbuttoned, unzipped, and started to pull down when all of a sudden something caught. Oh no, the double sided tape! I realized quickly, I'm stuck! I can't get out of my pants! I really need to use the toilet. I tried again, still stuck. What had I done? The tape had fused to my skin and wasn't giving up without a painful fight.

Eventually, after removing several patches of hair, I was able to accomplish my goal. Then, absentmindedly, I pulled the pants back up. As I write this, I'm realizing I'm stuck again, and probably will try to hold it until absolutely necessary.

I think it's time to do the laundry...
-Matthias

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Excuse-and-Run

In Alaska it is considered an offense to push a live moose out of a moving airplane. Additionally, it is against the law to view moose from an airplane.
- Strange Alaskan Laws

There goes the one thing I've wanted to do all my life. Moose are funny when they run, think of what they'd look like flying!

In the spirit of my upcoming trip to Alaska, which due to unforeseen expensive circumstances just drew a day nearer (not by time travel). I have decided to write a survival guide for broke (and even in debt) travelers. While there are many different ways one can survive on a delightful jaunt in the Alaskan wilderness, or any wilderness for that matter, there is one key method that consistently works. I call it Excuse-and-Run.

In order to gain a better understanding of how to use this method, I will give you two examples that I fully expect to encounter next week while treating my sunburn in Alaska. Mainly, you just need to remember two things to prevent yourself from spending money while on vacation: blurt out the first excuse that pops into your head as to why you cannot participate, and then run before people can realize your cunning charm.

Situation #1: Whale Watching
You and your friends are sitting on a nice Alaskan couch discussing iceburgs and the like when someone mentions, "there are these really neat whale watching excursions that we can take if anyone would be interested. They're only $50 for 2 hours!" Suddenly, you freeze. Whale watching sounds so exciting, but alas you do not have $50. Anywhere. How do you gracefully get out of this exciting opportunity that could so easily broaden your horizons? Easy. Excuse-and-Run. As the rest of your friends are wondering how the size of whales compare to Russia, blurt out, "I'm terrified of whale watching. The last time I went whale watching, I was in Oregon. I got very seasick and while I was leaning over the edge of the boat sticking my finger down my throat trying to throw up just to ease the sickness, a whale emerged from the water and tipped the boat over so that we almost drowned. The coast guard had to rescue us and it was quite a debacle. It even made the local news." Then, before anyone can think about the legitimacy of your story, declare "Oops, I need to take my moose allergy pills!" and run off.

Situation #2: Eating Local Cuisine
Several days later, you are walking down Alaskan streets with your friends listening to them talk about a large whale that they got to pet. Someone's tummy rumbles (maybe it was yours, but you're not going to say anything) and another person mentions "You know, there's this really good Alaskan restaurant up here that serves delicious Alaskan food that costs money." Eating food sounds delicious, but you do not have money. Anywhere. How do you gracefully get out of this opportunity to satisfy your groaning stomach while staying alive? Easy. Excuse-and-Run. As the rest of your friends are beginning to skip down the road anticipating delicious morsels of Alaskan food that costs money, you suddenly stop and exclaim, "Stop! Wait! Guys, I'm terrified of Alaskan restaurants. The last time I went to an Alaskan restaurant, I was sitting by a window enjoying my moose burger. Suddenly, a real live cannibal moose burst through the window, took my burger in its mouth, and funnily ran away! If that's not bad enough, the glass from the window breaking got into my mother's water glass and she suffocated and died." Then, before anyone can process what you just said, declare "Oooh, I think I saw some fresh wintergreen leaves over in that forest by the ocean. Let me go see!" and run off.

By now, I think you get the picture. Excuse-and-Run is a very effective method of getting through a vacation after accidentally putting too much of your summer savings into investments that are more secure than under mattresses.

Bon Voyage!
-Matthias

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Sweatpants

"You know the message you're sending out to the world with these sweatpants? You're telling the world, 'I give up. I can't compete in normal society. I'm miserable, so I might as well be comfortable.'"
- Jerry and George, Seinfeld, in "The Pilot"

I used to wear sweatpants every single day of my life except for Sundays.

This confession may come as a shock to you, seeming how the vast majority of you only see me in my present state as the guy nominated for "Best Dressed on Campus" (which, I didn't win, thank goodness).  But, it's the 100% truth. I would wear sweatpants to school (this is when I wasn't homeschooled). I would wear them to the camp where my parents worked. I would wear them on social outings. I would wear them to T-Ball practice. The only time I wouldn't wear them was on Sundays, when I would insist on donning a full suit and tie. Every Sunday. To church. I also wanted braces, and freckles, and big glasses (which, my parents eventually bought me in the form of safety goggles...but that's another story).

I was a peculiar little boy.

I was on the T-Ball team in Medford, Wisconsin - the place where I lived. One particular year, when I was 5 or 6, there were these two nice ladies, probably in their 20's, who decided to coach the team. I liked them, they were nice, except they had a very strange propensity to yell the phrase "Hustle Hustle Hustle!!!!" whenever they felt like it, which was quite often. The first several weeks of practice, I ignored it. I had no idea what the words "Hustle Hustle Hustle" meant and the rest of the kids on the team didn't seem to either. One day though, I decided to find out. You see, on that day, the people who were supposed to set up all of the equipment for practice hadn't done their job, therefore the two lady coaches decided it would be our job to set up the equipment. Unfortunately, the shed where all the equipment was held was located on the complete other side of the baseball diamond AND the high school football field where we practiced. The lady coaches explained this to us nicely and then burst out yelling "Hustle Hustle Hustle!!!!" Everyone on the team started running across the field.

Except me.

"What does hustle mean?" I asked one of the lady coaches. She looked at me. Looked away, yelled "Hustle Hustle Hustle!!!!" again to the people who were beginning to slow down from utter exhaustion, and looked at me again. "It means you have to run really, really, fast. Now HUSTLE HUSTLE HUSTLE!!!!!" I jumped and started running. Except, my sweatpants were particularly loose that day. (I'm not entirely sure why I wasn't wearing a team uniform...but oh well).

Kersplat. (It had rained the night before). I hit the muddy ground with my face. My sweatpants stopped before my little body did, so I kinda slid partway out of them. It wasn't pretty, but thankfully everyone else on the team had already reached the shed and were too busy trying to hit each other with the T to watch little Matthias have a wardrobe malfunction.

Needless to say, that was the day I stopped wearing sweatpants to practice. I still wore them everywhere else for a several more years until I discovered that jeans weren't as horribly awful as I thought ("my gosh, these are actually comfortable! and they look better than sweatpants too!"). Now, I don't even own a single pair. Thank goodness.
-Matthias

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Working Days...

Sweat cleanses from the inside. It comes from places a shower will never reach.
-George Sheehan

Sometimes surprises come along when working outside. Several hours ago, I should have been outside working in a dilapidated barn throwing old things into a rusty dumpster. But, as I was moving around the barn to the epic music that I had forgotten existed on my magic-music-playing-device (it really was epic, I felt like I was in some kind of incredible movie, the wind whipping my hair and everyone in the theater watching and thinking ‘my gosh, he is so good at throwing away trash, I wish I could be as cool as him,’ plus there was a thunderstorm), I noticed movement...

The music swells as the hero's pulse begins to race, now he gets to scare away some evil beast before he can continue his cleaning escapades! The hero sneaks up to the moving critter as the music becomes increasingly intense. The theater audience thinks ‘What is he going to do!? Our hero is about to become even more awesome!’

Then, the hero jumps back and starts running away.

The evil beast was not an unsuspecting opossum like the hero thought. The evil beast was not a squirrel, or a mouse, or a large version of the many frogs found previously in the day.

The evil beast was a skunk.

The soundtrack changes to some kind of late 90’s attempt at hip hop. The hero quickly, but quietly runs to the other side of the barn and quivers behind a wall peeking at the small black and white striped animal through a knothole.

Transition. The film ends with a shot of the once cool hero, dripping from the rain, at a computer typing something on Tumblr. There goes the epic end to that movie.

Oh well…maybe the next one will be better.
-Matthias

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Let's go on a Walk!

“My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She's ninety-seven now, and we don't know where the hell she is.”
-Ellen DeGeneres

This is Kasey. She is one of the two incredibly cute beagles that own my Aunt's house - where I am residing for the summer. Kasey loves to go on walks, which is fortunate because I also love to go on walks, and having company is quite nice. The walks that we take typically occur in the evening once the sun has lost the majority of its fury. Today was different though, today we went on a walk right after lunch. This is the story of that walk:

I enter the scene after eating lunch, agitated. "Nothing is working right with this website that I'm trying to fix! I need to go on a wal..."  I catch myself before the whole word comes out, but unfortunately the damage has already been done. Out of nowhere bounds an excited miniature beagle wagging her tail. Snap.

Queen Kasey sits down and stares at me with her head cocked to one side knowing that no matter how hard I try, I cannot deny her anything. I'm pretty sure she fully realizes that this look will take her all the way to being voted President of the United States if she wants. I head towards the door and put on the red collar thingy that isn't a collar when I notice that I don't have my sunglasses and that I need to pee. "Just a second Kasey, I'll be back! I will! No, don't look at me like that! I'M SORRY, OKAY!?"

Halfway into the walk, Kasey stops being content with sniffing the sidewalk and decides that she's ready to follow an imaginary trail deep into the underbrush alongside the trail on which we're walking. That's when the battle starts. "Kasey, who is walking who here? Stop pulling on the flipping leash and being so stubborn!" She just stares back at me. "Kasey, I am going to pick you up and carry you back to the house if you don't cooperate!" The stare turns into a look of utter shock mixed with an air of 'you wouldn't dare'. But, the threat works and we continue with the walk.

A beaver has built a home by the trail system, turning a lot of the trail into a marshy swamp. Kasey is quite excited about the water and wants to go wading. At first glance, this seems like a fun idea. Then I notice the swarm. Billions of bugs notice me all at the same time and within seconds I am surrounded. "*cough* Kasey! Kasey, get over here! We need to go...*cough cough choke*" Through the bugs I can barely make out the shape of a little dog staring at me with an 'I win' look.

As the walk continues, Princess Kasey gets tired. From previous walks with her highness, I've learned to dread this part most of all. You see, when Princess Kasey is tired, she just walks over to the grass and flops on her side, limp. It is impossible to get her back on her feet, no amount of pulling on the leash, picking her up and trying to set her on her feet, or any other method will convince her that we need to get home. In desperation, I decide to experiment. I brave the swarm one more time to collect a small amount of water in my hands. Then, I sneak up behind the little doggie and *spash!*

I win.

We get back home, Matthias feeling triumphant, Kasey with hurt pride. She walks up to my aunt, looks at her accusingly ('why didn't you save me!?') and plops on her favorite blanket, eyes watching me the rest of the afternoon.

YOU were the one who wanted to go on a walk.
-Matthias

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An Optimistic Look at the Summer

“A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.”-Unknown

School is out in two weeks. I realized this during American Government today when my professor mentioned that our final is only one week away. Not that this news is particularly worrisome, but it hit me...in two weeks, just two weeks, I will no longer be living at JBU.

A popular question traveling around campus is 'What are your summer plans?' (Although, this question has temporarily been replaced with 'Are you going to kayak, raft, or canoe to class today?' Seriously, campus looks like a miniature version of Minnesota - land of 10,000 lakes.) In fact, just yesterday I was asked about my summer plans. I sat there...staring back into this person's inquisitive face and stammered, "I...uh....I don't know."

I don't have summer plans yet. Which is kinda scary.

Therefore, I have decided that I will take an optimistic look at what my summer options are. Are you ready?

Option 1 - The Internship. Last week I applied for an internship that I really want. In a perfect world, I would get this internship and spend a happy summer in Arkansas and New York working on something that I actually want to do. In a follow up email today the company mentioned they were still interviewing potential candidates. Therefore, the eternal spring of hope hasn't dried up yet.

Option 2 - Stuck in Indiana. My friend Dustin has invited me many times to Indiana with him. It sounds like great fun, spending the summer with friends. But, unfortunately my mind can't let me get past the question "What would I do!?" Dustin's family lives out in the country, and since I don't have a reliable means of transportation, or any means of transportation for that matter, this fact could pose potential problems. I envision myself not being able to find a job and being stuck in Indiana with no money, no car, and only the goodwill of friends to keep me alive. That and forest bark...which I hear is yummy in a pinch.

Option 3 - Fat and Happy (but bored) in Illinois. I could go to Illinois, live with my Grandma, and get a job at a delicious ice cream place called Whitey's. Here's the issue. Whitey's is an intensely stressful (yet boring) job. I have a tendency to stress eat. I also have a tendency to eat out of boredom. I'm sure you can see where this is going. Stressed + bored Matthias + ice cream shop = fat Matthias.

At least I'd have ice cream.

Option 4 - Mediocre in Iowa. I could go live with my aunt in Perry, Iowa and attempt to get a job at a grocery store. At least I have friends in Perry, and I can walk everywhere. But, I kinda made a new year's resolution to not go back to Perry this year...therefore, this option creates cognitive dissonance, and we all know where that leads...

(Actually, I have no idea where that leads. Probably an incredibly boring summer, in this case, working minimum wage putting canned beets on a shelf.)

If any of you have brilliant ideas of how I can spend my summer, please tell me. I'm open to anything! Well...almost anything.

-Matthias

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So freaking proud...

This is Kacie Williams. If you haven't heard of her yet, you need to go check out her music right now by clicking here. She's one of the most incredibly talented people I'm blessed to be friends with. She's the winner of "The Next Big Thing" - an event that I created for the campus of JBU (which, side note, theres a nice possibility that The Next Big Thing is going to be a NATIONAL event next year. Stay tuned for news...exciting things are happening!) As the winner of the event, Kacie has gotten to write with people like Alli Rogers, Jeromy Diebler (lead vocalist for FFH), and rub shoulders with some people pretty high up in the Nashville music scene. She also won studio time to be used for recording a new album. Anyway, Kacie just texted me, and I quote: "So, Sara bareilles drummer is playing on my record. WHAT?!"

Yes. Sara Bareilles' drummer is playing on Kacie's new album. This adds to the number of celebrities who are aiding in the creation of this incredible project. Miss Kacie Williams is indeed the next big thing. So, be watching.

This is Adam Howard who goes by the stage name of The Duke of Norfolk. He is another one of the incredibly talented people that I am blessed to call my friend. He was a crowd favorite at The Next Big Thing. If you are not yet familiar with his music, you need to check it out here. The other day, Adam and his lovely girlfriend stopped by my office on one of their fairly regular impromptu visits that I've come to look forward to. In the midst of conversation, Adam said "Want to hear some exciting news?" As you all know, I'm a sucker for exciting news, so I replied with "Sure!" Adam proceeded to tell me that he is going to be featured on a compilation album along with the likes of David Crowder Band, Derek Webb, Sufjan Stevens, and others. The album is set to release in March of 2012.

I am so proud of these two artists. I like to think that somehow I have helped them out along their journey, but if that's true, I've helped only a very little bit. These two have worked so incredibly hard in pursuit of their craft, and it's just starting to pay off.

Beware world. These two are about to blast into the big time.
-Matthias

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God WILL Give You More Than You Can Handle

I stumbled across the following blog post by accident. One of my friends posted a link on her Tumblr that simply stated "God WILL Give You More Than You Can Handle." Intrigued, I clicked on it and found myself reading a post by Nicole Cottrell on her blog Modern Reject. Nicole is a blogger, writer, speaker, and church planter. She uses her skills daily on Modern Reject to write about the stuff no one likes to talk about. After reading some of her posts, I asked her if I could share this with you all. I hope it encourages you as much as it did me, and I also hope you will join me in following Nicole on her journey.

I don’t remember the first time I heard the phrase “God will never give you more than you can handle,” I just know that, at some point, it became a Christian-ism for me. I felt comforted knowing that God would never allow anything to happen that I could not “handle,” whatever that meant. I’d always be okay. Things would never be so terrible, as to crush me.

I remember quite a few years ago even writing those words to a Jewish friend of mine who was going through a difficult time. I felt like it was in the Bible. It seemed like it should be in the Bible. It sounded scripture-y. I didn’t actually check to see if it was in the Bible however.

But then I got knocked up side the head with the truth. Last week I wrote the post, You CANNOT Be Anything You Want, which was part one in my latest series, Don’t Believe the Lie. You see, that whole “God won’t give you more than you can handle” business is a lie, as well. A nice, big, fat one, too. Oh, how Satan has twisted that one and we’ve bought it.

The truth is, the Bible doesn’t talk about giving or not giving us more than we can handle.

The verse that Christians so often confuse with this phrase is 1Corinthians 10:13:

No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

The key word here is “temptation.” We are promised here by the apostle Paul that God will not allow us to be “tempted beyond our ability.” Temptation is very different from the vast, exhaustive list in life of anything that could happen to us. God doesn’t say He won’t give us what we can’t handle. He says we won’t be tempted beyond our ability.

What is our ability? Well the second half of the verse, I think, helps answer that question: “but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.” Our ability is tied to the way of escape. We are offered an exit door with every temptation. It is through that exit door, in part, that we receive the ability to resist the temptation. We cannot endure a temptation unless we escape it. Our ability is also measured by our maturity in Christ and our reliance upon the Holy Spirit, among other things.

God certainly does allow us to experience more than we can handle, though. Jesus was given more than He could humanly “handle.” He was beaten and crucified to death. He died without sin, however, because while He was tempted, He knew the way of escape.

I heard Beth Moore discuss this topic once. She referred to a parent losing a child. She told the story of a woman she knew who had watched 6 of her babies die, one after another. Years later she was diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder that essentially killed each of her children.

Was this woman’s loss enough for her to “handle?”  We say, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle,”,  and we lie to ourselves.Was burying 6 infants more than this woman could handle? I think so. She reportedly fell into a dark and consuming depression. She couldn’t handle it. She wasn’t meant to handle it. Years later, Beth Moore saw this woman, after losing her own foster child. The two women wept together over the loss of their children. They could not handle the pain alone. We are not meant to either.

God will inevitably allow us to experience more than we can handle the death of a parent, or a spouse. Perhaps it is watching a life-long dream wither away and die. Soldiers who have watched their friends die in combat. Mental illness, depression, disease. Or even the realization that you have been wasting your life and have nothing to show for it. Any of these things are more than we can handle and that’s the point.

Christianity is not the guarantee of an easy life, but the abundant life. It makes us uncomfortable to think about suffering loss and God allowing that loss. Don’t get me started on Job. It wrecks me. God wants us to cling to Him, though, to hold onto Him for dear life sometimes, because, without Him, we would drift away into nothingness. We will suffer greatly, at some time in our life, and it is because of our  sufferings and through our sufferings that we can become more like Jesus. Paul wrote, for example:

“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.” Philippians 3:10

I want to know Christ and, if sharing in His sufferings is one way, then so be it. I accept the idea that God will, perhaps at more than one point in my life, allow me to experience such pain and loss that I will be broken under the weight of it. Then I can look to my Lord, the lover of my soul, and cry out to Him, knowing He is the only One who can save me. (And if I forget, I have this blog post to come back to at that point.)

I do not want to buy into the lie any longer of naively believing that there is some magic limit or glass ceiling on suffering. There isn’t, and we demean the power of Christ’s sufferings when we assume there is.

Have you falsely believed this lie, like I once did? Do you think Christians suffer for believing this lie, and if so, how and why?

Check out Nicole's other writings at www.modernreject.com.

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Confessions of a Packaging Addict

Sometimes life gives us lessons sent in ridiculous packaging.
-Dar Williams

I love to shop. Whether it be a quick trip to the grocery store, or a massive trip to Mall of America, there's nothing quite like walking into a store and being greeted by everything that one can own if willing to part with the little pieces of paper held in one's pocket. My sisters trained me well when I was young, yet strangely my sisters' favorite stores were the ones that I would refuse to go into. No, not Sephora...second hand stores (insert dramatic sound of doom here). For as long as I can remember, every single time I was dragged into a Goodwill, Salvation Army, or some other poser, I would suddenly get a really bad stomach ache as well as a splitting headache. Obviously, it's all a psychological reaction, but I've only recently realized the cause for the crippling physical effects second hand stores have on me: awful design.

Think about it. Second hand stores are the epitome of design taboos. Florescent lighting, crowded aisles, grungy furniture, dirty floors, and the smell of cigarettes mixed with pet pee. While the purpose of this post isn't to diss second hand stores (since one can find some pretty incredible deals - Dior blazer for 50 cents? Yes please!), they have helped me realize that I am somewhat of a packaging and presentation addict. I like things to look nice, and appearance causes true physical reactions, at least for me.

One of my favorite websites is The DieLine, it's a blog that features the best of packaging design from all over the world. I will sit and digest the website for hours on end, and I always walk away feeling refreshed. As I was perusing The DieLine this evening, I stumbled across some packaging that literally took my breath away and raised my pulse to an almost orgasmic level (yep...I'm a design major!) Just look!

Isn't it blissful? This is design by recent OCAD University graduate, Joel Derksen for the company 8 Fruits and Vegetables - a company that caters to urban farmers and container gardeners. The '8' stands for infinity and is also the past tense of eat (ate). This packaging caught my eye because deep down at heart, a part of me is still an Iowa farm boy (really deep down....like....really really deep...). I have a passion for growing plants and then using them to create food, and this kit combines the two in an extremely classy way. From the custom branded spades and serving utensils, to the seed packets and napkin, everything oozes sophistication and deliciousness. The moment one opens up the box, it can be seen that the kit is to be used for every aspect of the food creation process - planting, growing, preparing, and enjoying with friends. Derksen presents a very well thought out product that not only pins his target market, but manages to go above and beyond in the area of design. The only thing I don't like about this product is that it's not real - this is merely a mock-up for a company that exists in Derksens ingenious mind. Fail.

8 certainly isn't something one would find in a second hand store, and it has me leaving with a smile on my face.
-Matthias

Resources:
http://www.thedieline.com/blog/2011/2/18/student-spotlight-joel-derksen.html

 

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Redemption & Grace

My friend Jessica posted these thoughts on her blog yesterday. I asked her permission to reblog it on here as this speaks the exact same thing I've been pondering writing about for several weeks. Read, be encouraged, and check out Jessica's writings at http://kimiposts.blogspot.com
-Matthias

Dear Reflection,

You’re looking kinda red again. Running two miles at an overly zealous pace to get rid of excess emotion isn’t always the best plan. Well, maybe it was. You’re making me laugh right now at least. =)

But Jess, just so you know, it’s okay to stop sometimes. You don’t have to save the world. You don't have to fight the labels given to you—just be His. He is Savior & King. People can put any title they want on you (good and bad), but it does not change that your real identity is just Jesus.

Forget selfish pride. Look at you, reflection—I’m laughing again. You are pretty unlovely in any sense, and it is pretty easy for people to label the things they don’t understand. That’s okay!!! They are right—you ARE a sinner.

Just remember this—“and while you were yet dead in your sins, Christ died for your sins to demonstrate His love towards you.” (Romans 5:8)

Grace. It does not depend on what you can offer; it just stands. God’s grace says, “welcome home.” Enjoy His embrace.

So wrapped in an embrace like that, how can you do anything BUT choose to live fully? Oh.... I wish I could make you see HOW overwhelming the JOY and LOVE are. Where did we lose the ability to delight? (maybe that's why I like my roadtrip adventures =)

Therefore, I’m turning away from the mirror right now, and instead I’m writing to you readers for the rest of this post.

While I was out running, I started praying for each person reading this blog. Even though I’m kinda writing these posts to my reflection, I am hoping that people will see the truth of a beautiful Jesus reflecting through a broken Jessica.

I’ve written a lot about my struggle with feeling judged, but I know we all struggle with the fear of rejection, so here are some of the truths I was praying through for you, because they are things that have changed my life. ….and yes, I mean every word of this for every one of you who reads this.

You are accepted because you are loved unconditionally by Him.
You are accepted because He desires your heart.
You are accepted because He wants you to live the BEST of His plan (not good or better, but best)
You are accepted because life would not be as sweet without you.
You are accepted because grace covers ALL of your life and makes you whole.
You are accepted because you have an important story.
You are accepted because in His eyes you are of the highest worth.

Because you are accepted, you can still hold to Him even when others have walked away and the hurt doesn't make any sense.
Because you are accepted, you can live with great joy.
Because you are accepted, you can forgive and then continue to live as He intended.
Because you are accepted, you can walk without shame.
Because you are accepted, you can remain secure in your identity.
Because you are accepted, you can always know you have a safe refuge..
Because you are accepted, you can lose everything to find how sweet He is.

The truths of why you are accepted do not change. However, the second set of statements all have that conditional word in there: you “can”. It is a choice. Do you believe truth? If so, live.

You will find you have to come closer to the heart of God in order to experience the full power of these statements. Do you love Him in return? How much? What does it look like? even if it is little changes and little moments of delight...

For once… just live as His. Lay aside theology, tradition, and time-consuming debates for a moment. You were intended to know the fullness of the joy of His salvation. Live.

Grace to each of you. With sincere love, ~Jessica Kimi

Rule #6: As a sinner redeemed, lavishly extend the same grace & love you received without condition.

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Flashlights and Other Potentially Useful Items

It was never shameful to learn from any teacher things that are useful to know.
-Leon Battista Alberti 

As many of you know, I made a last minute trip to Romania for the holidays. Of course, with any visit to Romania comes attending church - like everywhere else in the world - but interesting things seem to happen in foreign churches that an American wouldn't typically expect (see the post 'Lovebirds' for a good example). This trip was no exception.

Since it was the Holidays, church happened many more times than normal. On New Year's Eve my family and I bundled up, tromped through the snow to church, sat in the barely heated building, and watched our breath emerge from our mouths as we tried to decipher the Romanian words flowing from the Pastors mouth. Slowly the light outside the windows faded and I found myself drifting off into thoughts of warm sunny beaches only vaguely aware that the youth group was getting up to sing. Then, all of a sudden, in the middle of a song the entire church went pitch black.

I have to admit that my first thought was not anything like it should have been. Instead of solemnly thinking "Snap. However shall church continue? The power went out! This is a horribly awful development and will most surely ruin my New  Years Eve," I found myself feeling quite happy and thinking "Yessssssss! Yes! Yes! Yes! However shall church continue? No one can see! Pastor can't read his notes! We get to leave early!!!" (I know, I'm not a very good candidate for Missionary Kid of the Year). The youth group's songs instantly sounded more cheerful, and for a few seconds I found myself full of an uncontrollable hope, pleading with the lights to stay off so that we could move on to our New Years celebrations.

That's when I heard the rustling. The youth group had stopped singing and in the silence I heard a sound that was somewhat familiar, although I couldn't quite place it. It sounded almost like my sister trying to find a tissue in the swimming pool sized bag that she calls a purse. I futilely looked around and right as I glanced towards the side of the church where the females were sitting, I saw it. A soft glow penetrating the darkness.

Someone had pulled a flashlight out of their purse.

Then I saw another light, and another. It seemed like everyone had a flashlight stored away conveniently in a purse or a coat pocket. The worst thing was, no one was acting as if this were abnormal! Needless to say, the hope that I was feeling only moments earlier ebbed away with the darkness. Of course everyone would have flashlights. Of course.

Then, the power came back on.

I couldn't really expect anything else, and really part of me was glad that church could continue (I'm not that horrible of a MK). It just made me wonder, what other potentially useful items are hidden away in the pockets and purses of Romania?

I'll probably find out next time I go to church with my family.
-Matthias

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