My second sixth birthday.

Last week I turned 35.

Last week I saw an old friend that I hadn't seen in close to 20 years.

Last week I learned a little bit more about myslef, and this friend reminded me that I am who I am suppose to be just by being myself.

But before we get there, we have to go back to the day I first met him.

I entered Kindergarten at the age of five.  And I had just one friend.  His name was Justin.  Justin and I did everything together.  We played together, did art together, we ate lunch together.  Justin was my closest friend.  Justin was my only friend.  Then one fall day, Justin moved away.  I remember my teacher telling me this would happen.  I remember my partents warning me that school would be different with out my confidant there.  The next school day I would turn six.  (Actually, this probally happened closer to October or November, but I am trying to build some symetry here.)

I remember that day.  I rememberr standing at the back of the room looking out at all the toys, looking at all the art supplies, looking at all the other kids, and having absolutely no ideas what I was suppose to do.  I didn't know how to interact without Justin there.  So I simply stood and stared.

Then a kid named Adam Kline bounded into my life.  He came over and we played together.  We did art together, we ate lunch together.  We did everything together.  Adam and I grew up together.  We spent as much time together as we did with our own biological brothers.  Adam was my closest friend.  He taught me that the best way to have friends is to be a friend.  He was the one that introuduced me to comic books.  Adam was the one who first saw something unique and good in me.  (He said of all the Avengers (our template for how the world worked) that I was most like the moral and upright Captain America.  This was the first time someone saw something good in me before I saw it in myslef.)

Then junior high hit.  Adam moved across town and went to a new school.  Then highschool hit, followed by college.  I moved out of our hometown.  Adam stayed.  Somewhere in the middle of all this we lost touch with each other.  We knew more or less what the other one was doing, but with few exceptions we now lived seperate lives.

Last week Golden Shoulders of Nevada City, California played in Chicao, Illinois.  Adam Kline is the front man for said band.  They were playing on my 35th birthday (this time it was in fact the actual day).  There was no way I was not going to see this show and miss a chance to hang out with Adam Kline once a gain.

I grew up in a culture of Christianity that was conservative in every since of the word.  Good people, who love God, but they saw a closed world, with closed theology, which often lead to closed off missions and closed off lives.  I have found the typical reaction to this form of religiousity is to either accpet it lock, stock, and barrell, questioning nothing, and accepting closed theology and a closed off life; or to throw the cross out with the conservative bathwater (if I can mix and mangle my metaphors).

As I look around my predominatley liberal Christian culutre here in seminary, I wonder if I am the only one who grew up as I did, the only one who still sees the value in absolutes, but doesn't hold them absolutely.

Speaking with Adam after the show I found out that I wasn't alone.  I was assured that there was someone else who had taken the same journey that I had.  I was comfrted to talk with someone who had sifted and weighed what we were taught as children and held on the good, held on the truths, held onto the cross, but has left behind that which can led to a closed off life.

The title of this entry is "My second sixth birthday."  It is taken in part from the idea presented in this comic, that breaks life into seven year chunks.  At "35" I am just beginning my sixth life.  (I fudged the timeline of when I first met Adam, to be able to get away with saying):

So I spent my second sixth birthday as I spent my first: learning from a guy named Adam Kline that
I don't have to stand at the back of the room and stare at the new toys and wonder where I fit with the new kids.  I am who I am suppsoe to be.  And more importantly, I am who I am just by being myself.

--Serving alongside all of you, just from further away,
--Jesse Letourneau

I want my flying car...

...and a hover board!

What was I watching?

A few years back; I remembered watching as a child this television show with a spaceship/roller coaster, a giant unblinking clown, and a hyper active pun spewing monkey.  I asked my friends about it, and was a little upset when no one remembered it.  Thanks to the shared memories of my brother (I knew growing up with a little brother would pay off someday) and the wonder of the wide wide world of web I was able to put my mind at ease to find out the show did indeed exist.



The interwebs was able to confirm that I did indeed witness the greatness of "the Coaster" as a small child.  Today, however, the www of web has proven that I hold a false childhood memory as well.  I vividly remember watching the Jim Henson Hour with my family in the Fall of 1990, however the Jim Henson Hour did not air then.  So what was I watching?

Also, while we are on the topic of childhood memories:  As a child of the 80s I was naturally also a teen of the 1990s.  Thank to this article I now understand why I had such an unrealistic expectation of high school.


 --Jesse Letourneau

A Year Ago/Today

A Year Ago

The ODEC at Alliance Redwoods

Today

Dinner and movies with friends

Now

The yard between my church and my apt.


  

A year ago

The blue glow of a computer screen

Today

Explosions of colors in the night sky

A year ago

The counsel of a friend

Today

A shriek of whistles and the pops and bangs that follow

A year ago

Making the wrong guess each time

Today

Second Guessing

A year ago

Wondering where the story was going

Today

Embracing the company of old friends I’ve just met

A year ago

Waiting

Today

Entering the seventh month of my internship with 20 units of grad work completed

A Year ago

Uncertain of all but one thing

Today

Certain of only one thing

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
 --Jesse Letourneau

Little Things part 5 (Sunday June 24)

When I was little and I was by myself, I used to sing a song to the Lord.  It was a simple act of worship arising from a simple song.  The song was I Love You Lord (and I Lift my voice); it is a repetitive song and it allowed me to meditate and pray while I sang.

The summer before I left home for college I sat on the swings of my elementary school playground, singing that song and praying.  It was a time to say good bye to my past, say goodbye to my childhood.  It was a time to let go of the past's familiarity and trust God's guidance for the future.

I sang this song a few other times since then.  But its been years since it has come to my head.

This morning I gave my first sermon.  There was some nervous energy running through me as I sat in the CM Office.  Sunday School classes were cared for, and still and hour before the service started, so I sat down and and began to pray.  As I did one song came to mind: I Love You Lord.  Even when I'm alone I don't sing aloud.  This is the one song I sing aloud; loud enough to be heard.   As I began to trust God for my role in the service, I continued to sing.

As the service started I sat in the pew, and listen to announcements and responsive readings, and sang the songs.  Then the worship team began to sing, I love you, Lord.


My sermon was about ministry (taken from Matthew 14:13-21)  It was about giving our best and watching God take what we have and make it so much better.

Here is the audio of the sermon
 
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
 --Jesse Letourneau

Thaing up the school year

Almost a month ago my first year of seminary came to a close with a Thai ceremony.

According to the ex-missionary, current professor who shared the ceremony with us, in Thailand people take small strands of cotton string and tie them around the wrists of friends and loved ones.  As they do so, they say a blessing over the gift's receiver.  This ritual often accompanies a time of transition. To end our time together as classmates in "Religions and Culture" we took the last twenty minutes of class to share encouragement, blessings, and string with each other.

Traditionally, the strings are only worn for three days.  I have had mine on for three weeks.  I have kept them as a reminder.  I have kept them hoping to remember the feelings of that day.

As we went around the room and shared blessings one with another I found myself standing in one place waiting for others to come to me.  I didn't feel that I had anything to share with the others.  This has been a theme for me this semester.  This semester my sin and shame have been very close to my conscience.  And on this day I was feeling particularly unworthy.

There has been a second theme this semester.  This year God has repeatedly reminded me of my worth before him.  In chapels, academic reading, friends, counseling, and many more times this year the refrain God has played for me is that I have incredible worth and incredible value in his eyes.

The third stanza for this semester was my learning to stop and receive this love, this acceptance.  Sometimes it encourages me to action, other times I can barley take it all in.  I have saved bulletins, I have rehearsed conversations already spoken, I have tried to hold onto the feelings of acceptance that seems so fleeting.  So now I wear around my left wrist a reminder of the blessings spoke into my life on that day nearly a month ago.  I did return a blessing to others when I could find the words.  But mostly, I stood in the corner and tried to take it all in.  I tried to push back the tears in my eyes and the lump in my throat as I received the love God had for me that day.

Yet feelings are so very fleeting.  However, we are not called to feelings but to relationships.  I was reminded of this truth by reading this blog.  I have been trying to find ways to hold onto feelings and memories, rather than living in the now.  Living in relationship.  Living with my God.

This summer has been hard.  There is a lot of free time.  I find myself spending a lot of my free time on the pointless and selfish.  I find myself running from the man of God that I began to see myself as this semester.  It has been the boring, non-fulfilling life of one called to so much more.  What I need is to move from the "hard" life to the arduous one.  To move to a posture of working at the relationship, to give to it, to stay with it despite the fleeting feelings of the moment.






--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Hulk Smash

So here are my completely unasked for thoughts on the Avengers movie.

There isn't much left to say at this point.  Just about everyone loves it and it made over a bajillion dollars at the box office.

So I am going to talk about the Hulk.  Everyone loves him and he is being touted as the breakout star of the film.  Some are noting that Marvel finally got the Hulk right.  I don't think it is so much about finally getting the Hulk "right" but about getting the Hulk into a third act.

By my count there are three (modern) Hulk movies Hulk (2003-with Eric Bana and directed by Ang Lee) The 2008 Ed Norton The Incredible Hulk, and this year's Avengers.  I agree that Hulk was awesome in the Avengers.  What I disagree with is that Marvel finally got it right.  My thesis is that we needed the other two films to get to the satisfying portrayal of Hulk in the Avengers.

In high school I had a history teacher that boiled philosophy down to three questions: Who am I?  Why am I here? and Where am I going?  I believe that (well done) superhero movies answer these three questions.

Most superhero films start with the origin:  Mild manner so and so, runs into some kinda accident, montage designing a costume and learning how to control their powers, fight with minor villain to show competence (or minor fight with the major villain), then big knock down drag out fight with the big bad.  Victory, big musical score, action pose, credits role.

The main draw back to these types of films is that most want to see the fighting and not so much the becoming.  Spider-Man works because Sam Rami made the becoming fun to watch.  Iron Man works because Tony Stark is fun to watch even when he isn't in the flying suit.  Hulk (2003) suffered because no one wanted to watch Bruce struggle with inner demons, they just wanted to see HULK SMASH!  Most heroes become better people after the transformation and revel in the joy of flying through the sky or swinging from buildings.  Bruce doesn't like being the other guy, so to be true to the character you gotta keep the Hulk at bay.  And that ain't any fun.

So the origin film answers the question: Who am I?  In the case of the Hulk the answer was a conflicted guy who no one wants to watch wine about his childhood.  And yes there are other problems with the Ang Lee Hulk film, but I still contend you have to establish the before and after of the character.  You have to answer the Who before you answer the Why.

The Incredible Hulk (2008) had the advantage that all superhero sequels have.  We know who is behind the mask, so now we can just get on with the story.  However, like all story there needs to be conflict.  Most second superhero outings ask the question "Why am I here?"

Sure the first film ends on a heroic note and the do gooder wishes to, well, do good.  But doing good comes with a price.  Usually for the cape and tight crowds it means giving up a normal life.  The "Why am I here?" question becomes "Am I here for them or me?"  I have this great power, do I really need to live into the great responsibility?  Superman II, Spider-Man II, and The Dark Knight all touch on this theme (Hellboy II takes this question and flips it on its head).  Hulk II aka The Incredible Hulk asks this question as well.

In the Ed Norton film, Banner wants to get rid of the Hulk because he wants a normal life.  And what happens at the end?  He makes a sacrifice for the greater good.  He gives up the normal life for our greater good.  That final scene where "The Days Without Incident" clicks down to Zero and Banner smirks as his eyes go green sets up the appearance of Hulk in the Avengers.  Now that we have answered the first two questions (Who and Why) the Hulk is a rounded character and we can get to the third question.

The third question "Where am I going?"  is a bit of a stretch in this analogy, but bear with me.  The third Super-Hero film often puts the protagonist up against the question, "Whose side am I on?"  that is to say "Where am I going?"  The hero has the powers and a normal life is out of the question, but the question that remains is "Do I have to be selfless or can I be selfish"?  Granted that sounds a little like question two, but there is a nuance between the two.

Most comic films have the hero face an "evil version" of themselves in their third chapter.  Sadly, this has rarely been done well.  But with the Hulk this is a tailor made story line.  The evil version is the Hulk himself.  Note that throughout the Avengers Banner refers to the Hulk as "the other guy."

That is why the  big reveal with the line (SPOILERS)"I am always angry."(END SPOILERS) is so great.  The Hulk owns up to who he is.  He owns his flaws, he owns his strengths, and he saves the day.

Yes having Joss Whedon write and direct helped.  Yes having better CGI now than in 2003 helped.  Yes having the Hulk play off other characters helped.  Yes the Hulk taking control was brilliant and hadn't been done before in the other films, but I believe without the other two stories as foundation this revelation wouldn't mean as much.  It wouldn't have been earned.  It wouldn't have been as satisfying to finally see the Hulk stop running from himself, if we hadn't been on that journey thus far with him.

And yes Hulk dogs are still the dumbest thing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

 

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away

 --Jesse Letourneau

There is a an object lesson here somewhere

 We will start on May 3.  There was a 15 min or so thunderstorm/hail storm.  Not much to report other than at one point I thought the windows were gunna break.  However, I did decide to go out and stand in the rain for a little while.  (Funny the things you miss when leave them behind.)  Now being moderately wet I decided to enter the apartment through the back door by the kitchen.

Well the door knob on the inside of said back door had become loose so there was no way to turn the knob and open the door.  So I did what any normal person would do.  I turned around and "mule kick"ed the door open.  No harm no foul. (or so I thought).

Just about then it was time to get ready for the night's activity: Avengers-opening night-midnight showing-IMAX-in 3-D.  After getting out of the theater my leg felt sore.  And I wasn't sure why.  (Then I remembered that I had kicked the door some five hours earlier).  The mystery solved I went to the diner with my assembled friends and then home to bed.


The following morning I thought that maybe I had pulled a muscle in my leg (the right one, for those of you who want the details).  However there were two items on my to do list.  One was meet at the library to work on a group project (the only assignment left for the semester outside of studying for finals) and pack for the Church Family Retreat.

So I walked to and from the library, came home and packed.  My leg was still a little sore and I thought could probably use some rest, however I was on my way to camp and was in charge of the lessons for the children (ages 3-4th grade).  (i.e. I knew that this weekend the leg wasn't going to get any rest.)

Friday night was just hanging out (plenty of snacks and board games-I love this church more and more) so I did stay off the leg as much as I could (you know 24 hours after the injury, and not resting it before that).

Saturday morning and the leg is still pretty sore.  It hadn't swollen yet, but it only hurt when I would walk on it, particularity uphill.  I thought one of two things was true.  Either I had broken a bone and was going to be one of those stories about the guy who breaks his leg and doesn't know it for a week.  Or it was just a minor injury that needed rest that I wasn't giving it.  The solution?

Play in the basketball tournament that afternoon.  There were only three teams (four if you count the team of kids) and the leg wasn't swollen.  What is the worst that could happen?

My leg, which gave me no pain during the hour and half I played on it.  Swelled 50% of its normal size.  The solution?  Take full advantage of camp and pretend like the leg was fine.

By Saturday night there was some swelling that appeared to be caused by popped blood vessel or some such.  By Sunday, it hurt to walk, and I even had a doctor (a great guy who is a member of the church) look at it.  There were two little bumps as well.  He said they were just little blood collections, and to take care of the leg.  (You know rest, elevation, heat, the things I hadn't done the last three days.)

Sunday was a kicked back day, and when I got home I spent the afternoon/evening with my leg up with heat on it.  Monday I got a ride to campus for my one class and spent the night at a friend's house.  More rest and more heat.  Tuesday I was on campus and went to classes but took it easy.  I did make it out to Wheaton for counseling on Tuesday night.  By now the little bumps were bigger.  Well one was still tiny, the other was about 2/3 of a quarter and had hardened considerably due to the heat that I had placed on it.  The solution?

Skip down to the next paragraph if you are squeamish.  I decided to pop and drain the suckers.  (The little one had already "sprung a leak.")  It left a nice open gap in my leg, but the pressure of the blood was now gone (leg didn't feel 100% yet, but I could walk on it if I needed to).

So Tuesday night I returned the car I had borrowed to get out to Wheaton to campus and walked home, (with a stop at a friend's house to catch up on Castle via Hulu).  Wednesday I walked down to campus to help a friend cram for our OT final the following day.

Walked home (by this time the wound is covered with band-aids and I can walk just fine, but standing is painful and/or makes the wound itchy), slept, woke up, got dressed, walked back to campus for the OT final.

So I had this plan.  I have never worn my hair really long before, so I spent the majority of this semester without getting a hair cut.  I wasn't a fan of the look and since summer is coming my plan was to go to the salon a block from school and get my hair cut nice and short right after my final on Thursday (last thing I had for the semester).

So I hobbled on over to the salon but it was closed.  I took that as a sign and went to the student health center to set up a doctor's appointment.

Took the bus over to the hospital at 2pm and by 4pm I had bandages, anti-biotics, and a appointment to come back in a week.

That was a long week.  I watched all of my DVDs including all of the special features.  (More rest and elevation for the leg).  The leg wasn't getting better.  On Tuesday I was actually concerned and thought about going in early to the doctor.  Wednesday morning there was finally clear and obvious healing visible on the wound.  Thursday I went into the doctor who cleaned the wound, recieved some more bandages and was sent home.  The leg was still a little swollen.

The leg seems to be normal sized now, the wound is still open, but it has decreased in size by half since Thursday and looks healthy.  You know as far as flesh wounds go.

So yeah that is May thus far.


--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
 --Jesse Letourneau

He is Risen Indeed! (the week started out so well part 3)

A couple of days passed and I found myself in the upper room with what was left of the Twelve (Judas was gone and there were rumors he had hung himself). I don't know why we gathered. There was nothing left to do, but sit and hope that those in charge didn't want his followers as well.

Then the women burst into the room and began to talk about angels and stones, and how they had gone to put spices on the body, only the body wasn't there, and they didn't know how they were going to move the stone, but it didn't matter cause the stone was gone and there was an angel and...

I didn't catch most of what they were saying, they were pretty excited and it was hard to catch it all. Then Mary Magdalene said something I did understand. "Jesus is alive!"

I took off running toward the tomb. Peter was right behind me. I must admit that Peter is in better shape than I am and made it to the tomb first. He stopped at the entrance. I bolted past him and went straight in. There were the linens and the head cloth, but there was no Jesus! He was alive!

All of us who saw him after that (and there were more than you might think) all have our favorite story of meeting him. The two chaps from Emaus tell the tale of how they met Jesus on the road home, but didn't recognize him until after he left. Thomas tells his tale of disbelief and being invited to touch the wounds. My story is about the time he made us breakfast on the beach.

Those of us who fish were out in the boats. It was a horrible night. We weren't able to catch a single thing. We fished through the night and not a single fish came into our nets. At one point I think we kept fishing just cause it was personal. We weren't going to let the Sea win.

Sometime around dawn we heard a voice from the shore. "Caught anything yet?" When told him that we hadn't, the stranger told us to cast our nets on the other side of the boat. Confused, we were desperate enough to try anything. We cast our nets on the other side of the boat. We had to strain to pull the net it in it was so full of fish. At once we all recognized who it was that spoke to us from the shore. It was Jesus!

Of course I jumped from the boat and swam ashore. The guys still give me a hard time about that. Not so much that I jumped from the boat to get to Jesus sooner, but that I didn't stay in the boat to help them unload the catch.

We sat and talked and ate fish. Everything was back to normal. It was better than normal. As the meal wound down Jesus got up and began to walk down the beach. He asked John to walk with him.

As they were gone, the rest of us speculated as to what they could be talking about. We decided that it would be funny if Jesus was going to talk with each one of us and reveal our future and tell us how we were going die. John came back to the group just as we offered this hypothesis. "That isn't funny!" he said. Then he turned to me and said, "You're Next." I walked down the beach and caught up with Jesus.

"Peter, do you love me?"
"Of course I love you!" I was hurt that he would even ask.
"Then feed my sheep." I had completely forgotten about that night. I had forgotten that I had disowned him. Feed his sheep. Who I am to do such a thing? I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Do you love me?"
"You know that I do." I said without looking up.
"Then feed my sheep."

"Do you love me?" he asked a third time.

One for each denial.

What was he trying to accomplish here? "You know that I do."
"Then feed my sheep."

I said nothing. Eyes down, feet kicking at the sand. Jesus reached out and placed his finger under my chin.

He lifted my head.

Our eyes met.

Again the look in his eyes was unlike any I had ever witnessed before.

Compassion. Mercy. Justice. Love. Peace.


Forgiveness.

Restoration.

He had called me home. He had called me to feed his sheep. He had forgiven me and restored me. All without words. All with a simple look.

As we turned to walk back to the others I looked up at Jesus and asked him what he talked about with John. He put is arm around my shoulder and laughed.

"Don't worry about him." he chuckled. "Maybe he'll stick around for all eternity."

The week started out so well...Friday

Part One

After they took him from the garden, panic and confusion broke out. Those of us left standing there didn't know what to do. I decided to follow (from a safe distance of course).

Eventually we wound up at the palace of Pilate. I was able to make my way to the courtyard. I did my best to blend in, hoping to hear some snippet of news, some idea of what they were doing to him. Some idea of what we should do next.

It was cold that night as the sun began to set, and I soon found myself sitting around one of the many fires that was lit. Those gathered around me said nothing. The silence was unbearable. I began to make small talk, but all that I could think of was Jesus and what they had done to him. I tried to act nonchalant as I asked for any news of the prisoners that had been brought to the temple that night. I guess I wasn't too subtle.

Another man at the fire accused me of being a follower of that "Jesus character." I denied that I was. I tried to insist that I was simply in town for the Festival. Seeing that they weren't believing my story, I got up slowly and moved away.

"How could I do that?" I thought to myself. Moments ago I was willing to risk everything for him and now I was denying that I was his follower.

Moving to a new fire, I sat down. This time I was sure that I wouldn't have anything say. The time pasted and I was able to hold my tongue. then one of those gathered looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Didn't I see you come into the city with Jesus of Nazereth? Yeah I am sure of it. Are you one of his disciples?" I assured him that I wasn't. A little servant girl was standing behind us. She was sure that I was one of the disciples of Jesus, the one the crowds were calling the Christ. She too had seen me enter in the gates on Sunday. Besides she could tell by y accent that I was from Galilee.

I swore (in every sense of the word, I am ashamed to say) to her that I didn't know this Jesus that everyone seemed so interested in talking about. I didn't care about this teacher or his followers, I just came into the courtyard to get warm. As I rose to leave, I saw them bring him out and walk him across the yard.

Our eyes met. This was not a look that said, "you are missing the point" or "you have gone too far." This was something new. It wasn't sadness, and it wasn't quite disappointment, but it wasn't a look I care to ever see in his eyes again.

After that, I don't remember much of the rest of the night, or of the weekend really. I guess I was just numb. I heard that he had been crucified and was buried in a tomb near the hill where he died.

Died.

Dead.

Jesus was dead.

Gone.

Buried.

It was all over. No more denials, no more swords, no more dinners with cryptic talk about bread and blood. No more teachings. Or healings. Or travels. Or talks along the road. No more storms calmed, or fish with coins for the Temple Tax. No more walking on water. No more looks. It was all over.

The week had started out so well.

to fall into God's grace

To become like a child is to open ones' eyes again to the violence that surrounds us, but also to fall into the arm of God's grace, The God who experiences the violence that scars the earth and announces the final word of peace. --Jensen

Conclusion of sorts (aka cacophony of thoughts part 2/edge of epiphany part 2)

When we last left our hero he had graduated from college and moved to the big city.

Okay, I didn't really move to that big of a city. But I did have a kind of "if I can make it here I can make it anywhere" attitude. The original plan was to work as a classroom teacher for a couple of years while getting my credential and then be able to work anywhere in the US as an elementary teacher.

Eight years later...

I was still working as a substitute and barely able to make ends meet. Clearly, I wasn't cut out to be a classroom teacher. I was however made to be a Children's Pastor. This fact was evident to all but me.

But before we get there I wanna back up to my first few years at Grace.
Grace was a home for me. It was more than just a place to serve, it was more than just a place to go that wasn't my apartment or the occasional sub job. It is a place where I found family and security.

I remember one Easter where I joked that I had to leave my "adopted family" (the Derby/Harsh clan) to go to my real family for their Easter meal. Before I could leave Meredith insisted that she take pictures with me and her two girls. In some very real ways, I was adopted into that family. Greg served as a surrogate father and the girls were like my little sisters.

Times change, schedules change, rhythms change, and eventually the Harshs weren't as strong a part of my life as they had been. Somewhere along the way I bonded with the McMullens. I can't even begin to describe what that family has been to me.

Between this transition there came the failed experiment of my going to UC Irvine to get a teaching credential. There were some good times, there were some hard times, some lessons learned the easy way, and some lessons learned the hard way. Ultimately, it wasn't what God had for me. Some of the failure came at my own procrastination, some came through challenges that were beyond my control.

Ultimately, I didn't pass my classes at Irvine because I didn't do all the work. Instead I spent, my time serving in the Children's Ministry at Grace.

I still remember when, after that lunch with Scott Peterson and the bus ride from the airport a few weeks later, that it finally clicked, and I knew what I was suppose to do. I was so excited to tell family and friends of my revelation. I was met with a lot of, "We already knew that." and "It's about time you figured it out." (all said in the most loving way possible.)

When I told my mom her response was, "Of course you are suppose to be in a church and not a classroom. Why didn't you pass the classes at Irvine?"

I was always a Children's Pastor, I just didn't know it.

During these years there were those who knew my story (again mostly those who worked closely with me in ministry). But it wasn't my identity anymore.

At least not to the outside world. Inside though-as I look back, I certainly didn't see it at the time-their was that sliver of need. need to be a kid. need to be a dad. need to be loved.

need to know the stories were real.

More than that, what was inside of me during these years was the belief that I wasn't good enough. There was no way I could be called into ministry, because I am no example, no model, I am too broken to fix others.

Then came John Coe. Or at least tapes of John Coe listen to and discussed in an intimate Bible Study made up of two couples (one of which were the Young Adult Pastor and his wife) and myself. Tapes of John Coe describing the dark night of the soul and what that means. Tapes of John Coe listened to and discussed in a group that had dinner parties around getting me to fill out applications and start to move forward. Tapes listened to and discussed with a group that made me cookie monster cakes and went to see Les Mis at the Hollywood Bowl.

A group that cared. Not about my mission, my calling, and certainly not about my failures. But cared about me.

Then God called me to camp.

The first part of this blog centered around the death of my father and how that impacted my identity. It started as very external thing, and slowly moved inward. By this point (circa 2008) it was moved in so deeply that even I hardly notice it.

At camp even fewer knew about my dad. Funny thing was though, they accepted me none the less. They didn't pitty me or need to support me cause I was broken, they just accepted me. Same thing happened at the church I went to. In fact during my time at ARCG/RCC I can only think of two times I told the story of my dad from start to finish (and one of those was in South Africa.)

Then I got involved in the Children's Ministry at RCC, which lead me to North Park.

Something was said to me last semester that is one of the most encouraging things and one of the most frightening things that has ever been said to me. It is encouraging because it shows the strength and healing God has already done in my life. It is frightening because it shows that my course, my path, my story was not inevitable. I had always assumed that my life with all its ups and downs just naturally led me to the place I am now.

We were sharing in small group setting about how we address God in our prayers. The group knew my story from previous conversations. I began with the statement, "I usually begin my prayers with 'Father God' which isn't really a surprise given my story." One of the response to me was, "I don't think that the way you address God is a given, given your story. I think there are several other ways you could understand God through all of that."

It was another reminder that I have been called out. Set aside, made special, made especially for the work of telling children THE story.

So here I sit. On the edge of epiphany. Here I sit ready to go back and expose the wounds, so that they may be cleaned and healed. I am not completely sure when and how this will all happen. But I am trusting God to equip the one he has called.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

the week started out so well

The week started out so well.

We had all come into Jerusalem to celebrate the Feast of Unleavened Bread. Our rabbi told us to go to a certain man and borrow his donkey. We walked into the city and the people came out of nowhere! They began shouting and singing and waving palm branches. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. …I’m sorry. How rude of me, my name is Peter and I was one of the disciples of Jesus.

You haven’t heard about Jesus? You must be new to these parts. Let me tell you all about him.

Like I said the week started out to be wonderful. We walked behind Jesus as he rode in on the donkey. The people were singing and shouting and were so happy to see him. I learned from Jesus for almost three years now, I have never seen anyone respond to him the way the people did. No one threw him a parade when he healed the lame and blind. No one cheered when he touched the lepers or ate with tax collectors. And they certainly didn’t lay down palm branches and coats along his path when he told the crowds that following him was to follow Yahweh, and that following would be hard. In fact many left him when he did that. But I stuck around. I would never betray Jesus. Well that isn’t completely true…

So the week went pretty normal from that point on. Well normal when you spend time with Jesus. He spent a lot of time teaching. Saying things that I wasn’t really sure what they meant. But so much of what Jesus said didn’t always make since to me.

But it was the night we had our Seder Meal where things got really confusing. We were all around the table. The meal is about to begin, and Jesus stands up and goes to a corner of the room. He grabs a bowl and a towel. Then takes off his outer cloak and fills the bowl with water. He returns to the table and without a word begins to wash our feet! Our Rabbi was washing our feet! The man who only days before had been welcomed into the city with singing and celebration, was now dressed in a towel and washing our gross smell disgusting feet! The one who I thought was the one. The one we had been waiting for. The one promised to his people by The LORD was now on his hands and knees like a common lowly servant. I sat in awe as he made his way around the table.

I decided I was going to have no part in this tomfoolery. I was going to have no part in this ridiculous behavior! Wash my feet! I don’t think so! And I told him sold! No way my Lord! There is no way you are touching these gross feet of mine, that is beneath you.

Then Jesus looked me straight in the eye. There was a little smirk at the corner of his mouth. It is the same look he always gave me when I was close to what he wanted to teach us, but not really getting the point. It was the look that I knew meant, I love your enthusiasm Peter, but you are missing the point. It was his look that told me to Stop. Wait. Listen to what I am about to say.

“Unless I wash your feet then you have no part of me.” That is what Jesus said to me. Well if washing the feet is good then washing the head and the hands must be even better. No one loved Jesus more than I did. No one understood me like he did. And I understood him better than anyone else. “Wash my head and my hands as well then!” “You are already clean, you need only have your feet washed.”

From there the meal was pretty normal. That is until the end of the meal. As we were finishing the Seder meal, Jesus took some of the bread and said, “This is my body broken for you.” I will be honest here; I thought that was a really odd thing to say.

Jesus took the cup and said, “This is my blood shed for you.” No it isn’t I can see it from here, its wine. (Really good wine too, but not as good as the wine we had at Canaan that one time).

I really truly didn’t understand what Jesus was trying to say. Why was he using bread and wine to describe a broken body and spilled blood? Then it dawned on me….All last week he kept saying things about going away, and rebuilding temples. Did Jesus plan to die?

We left the upper room where had had our meal and walked outside the city to a hill known as the Mount of Olives. There is a garden there that Jesus loved. He took us all there, but told the others to stay as he went on. He brought James and John along with myself a little further into the garden. (By the way, John always claimed that he was Jesus’ favorite, but I know it was me, and I was ready to prove it.)

Jesus went further in and prayed. He told us to watch and pray. We all fell asleep. It was really late. When I woke up, Jesus walked by us, mentioned something about our inability to stay awake for even a little while and said that the time was soon.

When we came back to where the others were I could see torches being carried in the distance. As they got closer I could see that it was Judas (he had left earlier) along with some of the religious leaders and small group of Roman soldiers. I don’t know what Judas thought he was trying to prove with this little stunt, but I had come prepared. I was packin.

I drew out my sword and swung it at one of the Roman guards. He moved, but I still sliced off his ear. No one was going to take my Jesus away from me.

Then Jesus bent down, grabbed the man’s ear, placed it back on his head, and the ear was healed. Reattached and working just fine. I was confused. And hurt. Jesus didn’t seem to be impressed by my courage or my swordsmanship. He gave me a different look. One I had seen many times before. It was the look Jesus gave me when I had gone too far. He didn’t need his words to tell me it was time to put away the sword. Then Jesus did the one thing that made absolutely no sense in that whole confusing night. He walked away with the leaders, the soliders, and that traitorous little snake Judas. He went with them. He let them arrest him!

The week started out so well.

cacophany of thoughts part 1

I haven't written on here in awhile. And I certainly haven't written as much as I should.

The move to Chicago was big and scary. I wrote some post on here then, and wrote a ton for my own journal. Then I adjusted and there didn't seem to be much to write about. Then my school load became real and there didn't seem time to write.

Yet so much has happened, and is happening, but I don't know that I have the words.

To encapsulate, to sum up, to get to a point--these all seem like the goal, and they all seem impossible.

New ideas form, new experiences form.
Building on each other, influencing each other, contradicting one another.

I wake up each morning and look at myself in the mirror. Each morning I see someone new. Sometimes there is confidence behind the eyes, sometimes there is fear.
Other days my reflection echos back a man full of doubt.
Then of course there are the days when it is clear I simply need to go back to bed for ten minutes.

I look at my schoolwork
The grades. The tests. The effort.
Somedays the work isn't so hard and I know that I belong in this world.
Other times I feel like a slacker and fool.
Then there are the days where I don't care about the theory and simply want to tell the story.

The story of God. Of his care, of his Love of his Son.
I want to tell my story. My story about God. His care for me, his love for me, his love for his son.

I want to tell this story to children. I want them to know and not to doubt. I want them to know that God is with them today and tomorrow.

I want them to know that God is with them when they grow old like me.

When they look in the mirror and see fear staring back.

To know that he is there on the days they feel like a fool.

and I wonder....

I wonder do I want to teach these things so that they will believe?

or so that I will believe?

I know God is there. But do I trust that God is here?

I know that God loves me, but do I live as though I am forgiven?

Now this isn't a crisis of faith or even of calling. Deep down in my bones
in my marrow
in my soul

I KNOW that I am called, that I am made to teach Children the story of God. There is nothing I would rather do, there is nothing that I am better at.

But I know that some piece is for me. Some sliver of my efforts, some sliver of my desire and motivation is to make me feel better.
And I wonder.

I wonder if it is to make me feel better now

or make me feel better about what happened in my past.

My father died when I was 12. Most of you already know this.

When I was 13 everyone at my school (the school I had been at since Kindergarten, the school where my mother taught) knew who I was and what happened the year before. I was Jesse, whose father just died. This new title that I now wore was often said in hushed tones, least I overheard. As if I didn't know, as if I had forgotten, as if I could forget.

I moved to high school but stayed in the same private school. The distance of time and the expectation of who I was becoming (an adult) caused the title to slowly drift away. or rather behind. it was still there, it simply wasn't the first thing you knew about me. It wasn't my title, it was slowly becoming my past.

College-the time where you can reinvent yourself. The time where the past is the past and you are free to find who you want to be. I wanted to be just Jesse. I wanted to not be the kid whose father died. For one I was no longer a kid. For two I wanted people to see all the other things that I was.

Granted there are those who shared my life, shared the stories of my past and knew that my father had died. Certainly anyone who did ministry with me knew the story. The event had become a story.

No longer a title pinned to my chest, or rope drug behind me. It was now mine. I could take it out and put it away when I wanted to. It informed me of the pain of childhood and drove me to do what I could to make other children's stories better. There was only one way I knew how to do that then (there is only one way I know now).

Tell them THE story. The one of God and his love.

I graduated college and headed toward being a classroom teacher. Over 12 years, with a stop over at camp, God directed me to Children's Ministry. We'll pick up there next time.


--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

A Year Ago Today ( "Fear the Lord")

A year ago...

I worked in a redwood forest.
I had my faith shaken in the ministry I was working for.
I found out that Howard's doesn't serve dinner.
I was asked my favorite question that I have ever been asked.

today...
I live, work, and attend seminary in Chicago.
I played "21" instead of a full game, because only two other people showed up for ball this morning.
I left early because we finished early...
..I met a man who need $6 for his child's medicine (I only had a $20 so that is what I gave him). I don't know what his need truly was, but it doesn't matter.
I sit in the office at CCP (The Church where I serve as Children's Ministry Intern).

I wonder today, what I wondered a year ago.
When will it end? When will the truth be exposed and I be found out to be a fraud?

I wonder if I have the strength to change.
I wonder how different I really am. I wonder if I am different, but not for the better.

Fear Not, the angel said to Joshua.
Fear Not, the angel said to Mary.
Fear Not, the angel said to the Shepherds.

But they were those who God had picked to lead, to bear, to witness what He was about to do, because of who they were, because of their faithfulness.

Feat Not, the angel said to Gideon.

Fear Not, the holy messenger said to the man hiding in a wine press. Fear Not, though the number of men who will fight with you is cut in half, and then cut in half again, and then cut again. Fear Not though you come at the problem with flashlights and Tupperware.

Fear Not though the only thing you have to trust in is God Almighty. Fear Not.

Lord,
I have nothing to give. Except my surrender. And yet I hold on. And yet I fear.

Today I remember when I thought I had it all. Today I want. Instead of you, I want my control back.

You stand before me and you say "Fear Not.' You remind me that the battle is not mine and never was.

I have seen you work in my life time and time again.
Yet like the nation who cried to you for deliverance,
the nation who gave you honor until they had been given comfort,
the nation who asked for kings that they could see;

I balk, I forget, I fret, I sin, I shutter at the light, I fear.

Yet while the light exposes the filth that fills my life, the light also purifies the stain.

You never leave us where you find us.
You always have an answer.
The answer is always the blood of your son.
The answer is always your perfect love.


Your perfect love...



...that drives out fear.

But you don't have to take my word for it....

(...insert Reading Rainbow "da-na-na" music cue)


So I have thought about writing an autobiography. And while I still may do that some day, I found out that Phil Vischer (Creator of VeggieTales) as already written my autobiography for me.

Okay, he wrote his autobiography. And while I didn't create or loose a major company that produced direct to VHS Bible stories staring anthropomorphic vegetables; there are some major thematic similarities between Phil's life and mine.

In fact if you swap out the word divorce for leukemia and Walt Disney for Jim Henson you pretty much have my story.

Phil even had a studio on Foster Ave. in Chicago (where school is and where my apt was last semester).

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

the edge of epiphany

I had this great and lofty goal.

I was going to sit down and tell you all the tales of January.

There was one about beginnings and acceptances (and blunderbusses) underscored by Doctor Who at the Mc Mullens.

There was a mini-adventure in the airport, and an object lesson about waiting.

There was the story of legendary Post-Christmas Gift Exchange Party that I got myself invited to.

There were everyday tales about my life, and new apartment, classes, and friends old and new.

There was half a blog about Phil Vischer's story and how it kinda echos mine.

Yet when I sat down to write, I felt empty. I feel empty like no one would care to hear my mundane little stories. That they wouldn't help you grow or understand God. So why bother.

Now I hear the protests and the complaints. I hear the reassurances of my worth and of your interest in my tales. But I'm just here to put down my thoughts, and these are them.

But here is the thing. I feel something more.

Something just out of reach. There is a wholeness and a healing for what is broken inside.

I can't grasp it yet. I can't even see it yet. But I know that it is there.

I know it will come through classes and council, friends and strangers. It will come as I sit and listen, it will come as I get up and do. It will come from above.

So I sit here on the edge of epiphany.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

For my own amusment

So I have been at LAX fro roughly 12 hours now. I am flying standby. I am not complaining. I was able to get a friends and family ticket super cheap. That allowed me to go home and see friends and family. It allowed me to start 2012 in the place I began 2011. It allowed me time to reflect on 2011 its ups and downs, and to begin to embrace the change of that year and the challenges of this coming year. There is a blog or two in all of that.

But for now I am simply writing a blog for my own amusement. The next flight to Chicago doesn't leave for another 30 minutes, and I need to keep myself occupied in that time cause I have been here-as I said for 12 hours, and am getting quite bored.

Here is a list of some things to bring with you when you might have to spend more than 10 hours in an airport. Not just what you needs for a 10 hour day by yourself, but what you might want for ten hours in an airport.

In no particular order:

#1 Noise cancelling headphones
The ambient noise changes just enough that it is really hard to block it all the way out. I have a Bible, a computer, and a year of growth and change to process and I couldn't find a place where I could hear myself think.

#2 A really good book. Not the new book you are trying out, not a text book to get ahead in your reading. That book that takes you away. That book you can read a 1,000 times and its still new. I wish I had one (or more of those now.) I could really use a portal to Narnia

#3 Snacks-or a gift card to Mc Donalds

#4 If you are a video junkie, Music and Movies-along with those noise cancelling headphones.

#5 Journal/sketch pad/camera

#6 A single lightly packed carry on. Seriously, check the rest of it. You don't want to be lugging around multiple bags all day

#7 Comfy shoes and a pair of clean socks.

#8 a toothbrush and deodorant

#9 Layers

#10 A traveling buddy

#11 a since of the moment, an ability to reflect on the past, the ability to be "alone" in a crowd

#12 a time piece

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau