For one night, a rustic camp dining hall was turned into a dance club. Flashing lights pulsated and a smoke machine filled the room. Every few songs, a group of teenagers poured outside for a break. It was an unusually cool evening for June and, even by the campfire, the night air allowed for a brief recharge before the bass line of a favorite song compelled them to come back in. While the students were by the fire, they recruited.

"Chriiiiiiiiiiissssss, come in and daaaaaaaance."

I don't dance. Not because of some grand moral stance. I would love to dance. Or at least I think I would. No, the problem is I am a white guy from South Carolina who was raised Baptist. I have tripped other people doing the Electric Slide. Unfortunately, dancing for me is peak awkwardness for an individual that already feels pretty darn awkward most of the time. I discovered recently that I am a 9 on the Enneagram and dance avoidance is a classic example of preserving my inner calm.

And I kind of hate that, because dancing looks like so much fun.

Early in Genesis, Yahweh asks Cain where his brother Abel is. Cain, like a punk, replies, "I don't know. Am I my brother's keeper?" (P.S. He also killed Abel) God's response indicates that, yes, Cain is supposed to be his brother's keeper. But I wish the Almighty had been more explicit; that the story would have put it in all bold and all capital letters "YES! YOU ARE YOUR BROTHER'S KEEPER! AND YOUR SISTER'S TOO!" so that no one could ignore the reality that we are called to take care of one another.

I thought about Cain's flippant response when the news was announced that the president was pulling the country out of the Paris Climate Accord. The move was unfortunately not surprising as it fits his "America First" agenda and also considering his earlier statements that climate change is a hoax. Still, the move was infuriating.

I don't listen to Switchfoot anymore.

That's not a knock on the alternative rock (is that still a genre?) band's music or lyricism. The band was incredibly important to me during my college years. Their songs ignited me like few things did during that time. But as I waded deeper into adulthood, the tether that tied my heart to their music snapped and I'm not exactly sure why. Time deepens some loves and erodes others.

So it was weird that Jon Foreman's voice was the first thing I heard in my head when I woke up on my thirty-fourth birthday:

I want to see miracles
To see the world change
I wrestled the angel
For more than a name

Jim,
We came to your school today to eat lunch with you and bring your class cupcakes. It is fun to see you in this new environment. We were worried how you would adjust to the move, but you prove to us again and again how resilient you are. Your teacher told us that you are a delight. And that's true. You are a delight.

You wear your heart on your sleeve. Your emotions are always at the forefront. Sometimes it goes a little overboard, but I hope that you never learn to shove your feelings down. I hope that I can always see joy on your face when you're happy. I hope that you will be brave enough to let people know when you are sad and upset. You have a beautiful heart and it ought to be worn on your sleeve.

So I haven't written on here in some time. It is not for lack of interesting events. Easter was less than a month ago. A few weeks back, I got to watch our youth group lead our church in worship. We moved into our new house. EA and I went to Seattle this past weekend. We saw U2 in concert while we were there. All of these are events that would typically spark many blog posts. I always think that it's kind of pretentious when artists talk about their muse, so I won't venture down that avenue. I've just been creatively tired of late.

I'm hoping to claw out of this writing malaise this summer; partly because I need it to keep me sane. So I am going to write a few bits and pieces of the thoughts that have been bouncing around my mind these last few weeks. Not enough to be full on posts, but little fragments and incomplete thoughts.

I was getting Jim ready for school this morning while a morning news show was on in the background. A senator was talking about the first hundred days of the current presidential administration. He was spinning his tail off to say that it had been almost universally great. But, you know, that's what politicians do. Yet there was one thing that sent a chill up my spine:

"With the bombing of Syria, that proved America was back."

America has returned to prominence because we rained destruction on a country. That's taking Occam's razor to his statement. I am sure that this senator would say that is not what he really meant, but let's not kid ourselves. The idea that value lies in might is a common sentiment.

This was originally published in 14 parts over Holy Week last year. I am re-publishing in a single post this re-imagining of the Stations of the Cross along a modern subway line for Good Friday.

I was speeding on the subway
Through the Stations of the Cross
Every eye looking every other way
Counting down 'til the pain would stop
-"Moment of Surrender" by U2

Station 1
The train pulls into the subway station with a prolonged hiss. Businessmen, hipster couples, young families, and tourists rise up and make their way to exit the car. The doors slide open and people burst forth into collision. As one mass jostles to get out, another fights the tide to get in. Every eye is focused, steeled to push through to some goal past the throng...