Still Writing

Just over on Facebook for now. I know it is a step down, but time is limited.

Transformation 8b

Greg was a strange dude. I don't advocate his approach, which lacked any social skills or tact. The fact that I responded says more about my need than Greg's approach. I'll bet that he offended 100 people with his approach prior to our encounter, with little success. I was hungry enough for an experience with God that I was even willing to follow a character like Greg.

Turns out, Greg didn't really hear God's voice in the literal sense. He was talking code. I took it literally. After all, I was reading Carlos Castaneda; I believed stranger things than that.

It was only a few weeks after I prayed with Greg that I was walking Whittier Blvd witnessing to unbelievers. This little church believed that God was coming any day and our mission was to convert as many as we could until that time. No time for training or discipleship, God was skipping over that (this was 1978).

It was a dynamic little church while it lasted. To this day, I haven't heard a better preacher than the pastor of that church. He had no formal training. I would consider him my second mentor I have had in my life, my psychic roommate, Randy, being the first. If only the married youth pastor had not tried to hit on my younger brother's girlfriend, maybe things would have been different. The church ended up imploding. Greg and the pastor both lost their faith.

Just my luck.  Why couldn't have been Richard Foster or Dallas Willard instead of Greg?  Although they were a strange group and they led me down some significant detours, they reintroduced me to Jesus and I have never been able to shake him.

Transformation 8

I am reluctant to include my "conversion testimony" in my top 5 all-time life changes, but it needs to be there. I certainly was a life changer. The down-side was that it introduced me to a culture that often had little spirituality connected with it. That part was a huge side-track in my spiritual formation. It took me decades to get past. It continues to have aversive associations in my mind. I often cannot even here the name Jesus without unattractive images and experiences coming to mind. Lot of good came out of as well, it's just difficult to sift through it all. Nonetheless, here is the story.

After moving back from Arizona, I continued my reading of things spiritual and meditating. And I got married. Linda had a childhood girlfriend named Darlene who was marrying the son of the associate pastor of a small charismatic church that met in a YMCA. Linda was a bridesmaid for Darlene. It happened at the rehearsal dinner.

You have to picture the scene. I didn't know anybody there except Darlene and Linda. I had long hair (I was born blonde, but it has been a while). I was standing off by myself, bored, when this dude named Greg came up to me. He had a boys regular hair cut, a button down shirt tucked into his pants which were securely held high on his hips by his cinched down belt. He had a big fat bible in one hand. He approached me with his hand stuck out and a big smile on his face.

"Hi. My name is Greg. Do you know Jesus as your personal savior?"

Oh no. Think fast.

"Yeah," I said, hoping it would put him off.

"Praise God," Greg exclaimed. Undetered, he opened his big bible, licked his index finger and began flipping pages. "I was reading in the Gospel of John the other day and God told me..." He said a bunch of other stuff, but I honestly don't remember any of it. I was rescued by the host announcing that dinner was being served. I sat at a different table than Greg.

A strange thing happened that evening and the next morning. The phrase "God told me..." kept playing in my head. I had been meditating for about a year and reading lots of spiritual books and God had not told me anything. Why is God talking to this weird dude and not me? I felt a stong compulsion to go Greg's church that morning.

"Would you think I was weird if I told you I wanted to go to Darlene's church this morning?" I asked Linda.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think I need to talk to that Greg guy."

We drove across town to the YMCA that the church met in. It was about 11:45 am and we figured that church would let out in about 15 minutes. We sat in the parking lot, waiting for people to come filing out. Turns out that "Pastor Al" was speaking that morning. He was the associate pastor of that little church. He was not the most dynamic speaker. He had a tendency to go on and on and speak well past the typical ending time. He always blamed God for his long-windedness. "I don't want to squelch the Spirit" he would always say.

We sat in that parking lot for freakin' minutes. I remember wrestling with myself during that time. This is stupid. Let's get out of here. But I couldn't pull myself up to leave.

Finally, we saw people shuffling out of the hall where the church met. I walking into the room, spotted Greg leaning up against a table talking with someone at the back and walked right up to him.

"Mark, what are you doing here?"

"You said something last night that I can't get off my mind. You said God told you something. I want God to speak to me."

Greg wasted no time. He sat me down, opened his bible and talked me through several verses. I don't remember any of it, but I am sure it was the "Roman's road." He asked me if I wanted to pray to receive God into my heart. I did.

Transformation 7

When I am thinking through things, I am sure I am wrong about some. If I knew which parts I was wrong, I would stop it. One of the ways I have come to know that I may be on to something is when others are also talking about it. If something is true, it must be discoverable by others. There was a discussion about change on the Jesus Creed blog today. That blog can get theological, but if you can wade through it and the comments, there is some good stuff there.




I have been blogging through the idea of significant life changes or transformation. Change seems to be a desired thing for Christians; at least we sing and talk about it a lot. Jesus directly taught that if we follow him, some amazing change would happen (something about rivers of living water flowing from our innermost being).

How does this change take place? Do we do it on our own or does God do it all? Beware if dichotomies. I love this CS Lewis quote:

"He [The Devil] always sends errors into the world in pairs- pairs of opposites . . . He relies on your extra dislike of the one error to draw you gradually into the opposite one. But do not let us be fooled. We have to keep our eyes on the goal and go straight through between both errors. We have no other concern than that with either of them."

Sounds an awful lot like our ridge path metaphor. Let’s not do it on our own. Let’s not passively wait for grace to rain down. Let’s try and stay on the path.

My position on change is that it is hard. We often sing about power and grace “raining down” on us on Sunday mornings. My observation is that this is more of a longing that it is a reality. In my 30 years of hanging out in churches, that kind of spontaneous, passive change doesn’t happen. I can’t say that it has never happened this way. God can do whatever God wants; however, it appears he very rarely wants to.

We need to stop expecting this kind of spontaneous, passive change. We probably should stop singing about it on Sunday mornings. That’s like singing about crossing the finish line of a marathon race or climbing a mountain without doing any training, or sitting in the back of a van smoking dope and talking about leaving home with no intention of doing so.  It makes us like Beer Man.

A changed life seems to require a mystical balance between grace and intentional, well-directed effort. Connection with the divine, faith, brokenness, and humility and a well thought out training plan seem to be both necessary for significant change. That seems to be how God wants it to be most of the time (allowing for the very rare exception).

The sad fact is that few people ever run a marathon. A running partner might help; better yet, a running group.

Transformation 6b

I drove most of the night through the Mohave Desert and pulled off to the side of the road to catch some sleep. I woke up in my van to a sunrise in the high desert. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a fitting start to a new life. I felt free, no longer boxed into a life as Mark, the doper mechanic. Who was I? The answer no longer seemed scripted.




That morning, I drove into Flagstaff, AZ to an old friend's apartment. I had known Randy in high school. He was a unique individual; the kind of guy that could strike up a conversation with a stranger as if they were best of friends. He had graduated from Northern Arizona University and was working at a local sporting goods store in town. He let me stay on the couch of his apartment.



Randy became the first of only a few mentors I have had in my life. He introduced me to the spiritual dimension. He was into an eclectic brand of eastern religion and reincarnation. We stayed up late into the nights talking about life and spirituality. He taught me about sensitivity and awareness. I ate it up.



During that time, I discovered books. Prior to this time, the only book I remember having read cover to cover was Black Tiger at the Indianapolis, in 7th grade. My classmate and friend, Wayne Hitrolski was reading Moby Dick. I had discovered that reading was actually interesting and enjoyable. With my newfound spirituality, I began devouring books, starting with Carlos Castaneda and his tales of drug-induced adventures with a Yaqui Indian shaman name Don Juan. It - blew - me - away.



Randy taught me a version of transcendental meditation. My journey in search of God had begun. It was an electric time. I met a new group of people who knew nothing of my past. I wasn’t burdened by expectations and the future appeared wide open.



My time with Randy was cut short by us (Randy, myself, and a roommate named Lance) all being hauled off to the Flagstaff jail. Turns out Lance was the “Ski Mask Bandit” that had been terrorizing Flagstaff for the few months he live with us. His failed attempt to rob a local bank led the entire Flagstaff police department to our apartment on winter morning. We were unaware that we had been living with a sociopath. Searching for evidence, the police put everything in our apartment in big pile in the middle of the living room. The landlord gave us 24 hours to get out. Broke, I packed up my van and moved back to southern California.



I lived in Flagstaff for the better part of a year. I have many incredible stories to tell about that time. In many ways, I consider this time my “testimony.” Although telling it in a church wouldn’t fly. My more churchy testimony is not near as interesting.

I was returning, but I was not the same person who had left.



Ch-ch-ch-changes…

Transformation 6

Posts 3-5 in this series are on Facebook.  I can't decide which forum to post on.


Another one of my top five life changes happened at 21 years of age. Part of the impetus for that change may have been the coming of age thing. I had been living the post-teen life; you know that phase where you are out of high school, but still doing the high school thing - going to parties, hanging with friends, living at home. What gets you out of this mode? I know some people that never got out of that mode.

When I was in high school there was this guy called "Beer Man." We never knew his real name. He had long blonde hair with a slightly receding hairline and a beer belly. I never knew how old he was; he looked to be in his 30's. I knew he was over 21 because several times per week he would ride his bike past our house to the liquor store to pick up a six-pack. He was at all the high school parties. He lived at home with his mother.
I had another friend, Steve (we called him "Madre" because he called everybody mother). He was a body and paint guy. I was a mechanic, so we hung out. He always had a driveway full of cars in various states of body repair. Last year I visited his house when I was home for my grandmother’s funeral. He still lives in his parents’ house and his driveway looked like it did 30 years ago. Apparently, coming of age does not always result in life change. Some people never really strive for change or transformation.

Steve and I frequently talked about “taking off,” mostly when we were high. I was in favor of actually planning and saving some money, but Steve wanted to just leave with the change in our pockets and hop a train. I remember the day when I determined that it was time for me to break out of the rut my life seemed to be in. It wasn't going anywhere. I woke up the morning after a party that teenagers dream about, at least the ones I hung out with. In one of my typical morning after, guilt-ridden, self-punishing ways, I drove over to Steve’s house and asked him if he were ready to take off. Turns out, he was all talk. Nevertheless, I had resolve.

At the time, I was restoring a 1961 Ford Econoline van in my parent’s garage. I had determined that I would leave once the van was finished. That also gave me time to save some money and find someone to go with me. Even then, I had a sense that change is easier when done with someone else. I shared by plan with several friends and coworkers. The plan was to take off with no destination in mind, to travel to places across the country until the money ran out, work for a while, and take off again. Most everyone that I talked with thought this was an awesome idea, but when it came down to it, none would commit to go with me.

One guy I worked with at the auto parts store agreed to go with me. I can't remember his name, but he had a distinctive afro. We spent many evenings smoking dope and talking about where we will go and what we would do. After months of planning, I have a vivid memory of the night he came to my door with his head down to tell me that he couldn’t go – something about going back to school; what kind of excuse is that?

Do I stay at home, living in the same old rut, or go by myself? That seems to be the story of my life. All the talk about community sounds good, but often, with change, when it comes right down to it, I haven’t been that lucky. I determined to go it alone.

The afternoon I left, about 15 my friends and family stood in my parents’ driveway in a line. I went down the line saying my goodbyes one-by-one. Linda, my girlfriend of four years at the time, was the last in line. I never made it to her, she ran off crying into the house.

I climbed into my newly restored, freshly painted van, cranked up my man, Neil Young, and drove off with the balloons tied to the antennae flapping in the wind, with a flick of the wrist, waving goodbye to an old way of life. It was a new beginning.


Change takes courage. It's scary. It requires a certain tenacity. It helps when the status quo isn't happening for you.

Moved

I've reluctantly moved over to facebook. So far, I am not sure I like it. I may be back here shortly. The notes function on facebook does not appear to be as flexible, but I will try facebook for a bit. I probably won't do well over there since I don't do chitchat well. I moved because we are trying a bed project group over there. I can't manage 4 sites, so I will try and combine facebook and my blogging together. See you there, or not.

Transformation 2

One of the most transforming experiences I have had was running a marathon. Before the marathon, I had never run more than about 5 miles at one time, I had no confidence that I could ever run 26.2 miles, and I had no desire to try. In a matter of 17 weeks, that all changed. How did such a change take place? It wasn’t a matter of will. You can’t just go out and run a marathon. The first person that ever did it dropped dead at 26.2 miles. The human body is built to run no more than about 20 miles. Something has to change to be able to finish and not curl up in the fetal position on the side of the road.

I was at my friend Joe’s house at a Christmas party in 2004. Here is what happened.

“I think I am going to run in the Little Rock marathon,” Joe said.

I plugged my ears, because I knew what was coming next.

Pulling out a training schedule, “Look, you are already doing the runs during the week; all you need to do is add a little longer run on the weekend.”

After several minutes of me resisting, Joe said in his typical encouraging way: “How about we do this first long run (6 miles) on Saturday.”

“Okay,” I said, “but I am not committing to running the marathon with you, just to running on Saturday.”

At the end of our Saturday run, I had run further than I ever had. “See, you did it,” Joe encouraged. “Yeah, but if this were the marathon, I would still have another 20.2 miles to go. No way,” I said.

I agreed to run with him the next Saturday, but was adamant that I was not committing to running the marathon. At the end of each longer and longer Saturday run, Joe would be so encouraging about what we did, and I would pessimistically remind him of how many more miles we would have to continue running to complete a freakin’ marathon. It didn’t seem to faze him, he just invited me to run with him the next Saturday.

As we followed training schedule, mileage of our long run gradually increased. I began to wonder if it would be possible for me to complete the marathon. I figured if I could get up to 16 miles, maybe it would be possible. With each long run, my confidence slowly increased.

In addition to the change in my confidence, my body was changing. Each long run was difficult, but every run after the long run became easier. Our longest run during the training was 20 miles. It was insane, but we did it. The 6-mile runs during the week became a piece of cake. I was not tired and still had lots of energy after those “short” runs. What little body fat I had was being sucked off. My weight dropped to what it was when I graduated from high school.

Interestingly, I did not lose that annoying middle age roll of fat on my waist. I had that same roll at the end of the marathon. I understand that evolution has programmed our bodies to retain body fat for emergencies, like a famine, but, what the heck, doesn’t running 26.2 miles constitute a physical emergency? What was my body saving that roll of fat for?

Come race day, the transformation was complete. My confidence was high and my body was literally twitching; it could wait to run. The transformation did not happen in the race. It happened in the training. The race was just the frosting on the cake. The race was insanely intense, starting about mile 17. It was like being on another planet.

How did that transformation take place? I had social support. I would never made it without Joe encouraging me. We set small goals. We only focused on the next long run. We had a plan; we followed a training program. I restructured my time so that I could work the training program.

Interestingly, some elements of the transformation persist four years later. I remain confident that I could run a marathon if I properly trained. Physically, I am now in no better shape that when I started my marathon training. Physical fitness must be maintained. Use it or lose it.

While I was in my marathon training, I often wondered what would happen if I dedicated myself to spiritual training like I did for the marathon. Why would we expect spiritual transformation to work differently than other life transformations? Maybe that erroneous expectation prevents the kind of spiritual transformation that we long for.

That thought led to one of my other “top five” transformation experiences (next post).

P.S. I highly recommend running a marathon, at least just once. You will experience radical changes. Marathon is life.

Transformation

In the circles I run in, “transformation” is something to desire and seek after. It’s kind of a buzzword or spiritual jargon. Transformation seems to imply something stronger than change – sort of a complete makeover. Jesus reinforces this idea of a need for change with statements like “I tell you the truth, unless you change…” It all sounds so radical.

Change is a hard thing. People pay lots of money for someone to help them change. Interestingly, many of them still resist the process. In the church, this idea of transformation is regularly put out there as needed and possible, but I don’t recall any significant instruction or examples of how to make it happen. Slow change is inevitable in life, but transformation implies something more radical than slow change. How do big changes in our life happen?

One view, the one that I seemed to hold through much of my Christian life, is that there was nothing you could do, it all had to come from God. I am not sure where that notion came from. This approach is passive, other than the asking part. So, I waited, and waited, and waited…for grace to “rain down.” I wish it happened that way. I am sure it could happen that way, unfortunately, I don’t observe it. From an empirical standpoint, I would have to advise against this approach.

Dallas Willard was the first one to break me of this passive mind set, at least as it related to spiritual change. He argued that grace and effort were compatible (effort was not equal to earning). He would say, “Surely you can do nothing without God, but if you do nothing, it will most certainly be without Him.” Funny thing was, I did not take this passive approach to change in other areas of my life. I changed my fitness level by actually exercising. I gained knowledge by reading. I got better at writing by writing. I developed some compassion by actually confronting injustice.

I have several big changes I have made in my life that led to a sort of transformation. I will post about them next.

Looking Up

I was out running through two-rivers park the other day (a 6 mile run, Iceberg). It was an incredible day, one of those spring/fall Arkansas days that makes all the summer heat and humidity tolerable. Given the unusual amount of rain we have had this summer, the growth was luscious and green. I was one of only a few people in the park. It was one of those days that I sensed I should put away the ipod.

When I run, I tend to have my head down and become absorbed in thought. This time is generally productive, many ideas are birthed and problems solved. However, I tend to spend way too much time in this mode. When in this state, I often hear a quiet voice deep within whispering, “look up.” It is an invitation to another state of mind, another way of being. When I look up, I get an acute sense of the present where my thoughts recede and the beauty, the gentle wind, and the warmth of the sun around me become prominent.

I stopped at a bench off the trail under the shade of a green canopy overlooking the Arkansas River. I decided to spend some time there just being. I was not alone, the place was teaming with life.

I am glad I heard the voice. I need to look up more often.

Chitchat 4

I think I will stop this thread now. I wrote out a rant about facebook but decided not to post it. It would just make me seem like a jackass and would just offend people I don't want to offend.

Suffice to say that I don't like to chitchat much. I want to be able to facebook, but am afraid that it would be too much like being stuck at a party I wasn't having fun at. I know, I am antisocial. Instead, I am outside looking in through a window of a party I wasn't invited to.

Someone needs to start a new social networking site for people who don't like to chitchat; however, I wouldn't recommend investing in that startup.

Chitchat 3

My wife recently opened a new Facebook account. The first few days she had more friends than I would have come to my funeral. I watched each day as our email account was inundated with Facebook notifications. I have to admit, I was jealous. I have like two friends in the world and in a week, my wife has 75 new friends.

Am I missing something? I wonder if I should open a facebook account. (I actually tried several years ago, but that was when you had to be a student. I guess they were trying to keep old guys like me out.)

So, I have been sneaking around of facebook recently using Linda’s account, just to see what it is all about. So far, I don’t get it. I want to get it. I am looking for a reason to open an account. Not much luck so far. And it has something to do with chitchat.

Chitchat 2

I understand the function of chitchat as an initial pleasantry or as a necessary prelude to some more meaningful interaction. I use it, albeit sparingly. However, I don’t have much tolerance for it beyond the initial pleasantries. I don’t enjoy it nor cared to develop my skills in it. It drains me.

I understand that the first 30 seconds of chitchat are often required in most interactions. Otherwise, people might think we have some kind of social disorder. The problem is that many people are content for the interaction to never progress beyond the level of chitchat. I dislike those types of situations and avoid them if possible. Do you want to go deep for some time? I’m with you. Do you want to talk about nothing for more than about one minute? I’m not. Maybe that’s why I am perceived as a heartless bastard.

Which brings me to Facebook.

Chitchat

I was at the gym the other day on the treadmill when one of the trainers came through working the room. I watched him make his way, chitchatting with several of the members. I listened to him chitchat with the guy next to me for a good 7-8 minutes.

I was tracking with their chitchat. I was 90% accurate in predicting what they would say and which clichés they would use next.

I cranked up my speed to the next level hoping that he would see me sucking wind and not try to engage me next.

Taxi Fare Post Post Script

We were under the bridge Tuesday night. I saw Bill, the man who was with the woman that needed the money. I asked him. She did make it to the bus station, for whatever that is worth in this story.

Jerry

I met Jerry about 4 years ago when I spent a night under the Broadway Bridge on a compassion field trip. He was friendly and clean and sober. At that point, he had been on the streets 5 years. In the past he had a drinking problem. He was a truck driver. He lost his job due to to many unpaid tickets. He apparently had burned his bridges with his family because of his drinking.

We visited every week for about three years. He never asked for anything. He was distinctive with his wool cap, grey beard, and camo outfit. He wore this all year, in the heat of summer or the cold of winter.

About a year ago, one of his kids took him off the streets, after 8 years. He aged into social security and was finally able to keep off the streets. We missed seeing him, but were happy for him.

I heard last week that he is in Conway General Hospital after suffering a couple of strokes.

I thought about how those 8 years may have contributed to his health problems. Yes, there are compassionate people providing food for the homeless, but too often it is hot dogs, pizza, and other not so healthy foods. There is a health price for eating that way.

It is nice when we are able to bring more nutritious food.

Say a prayer for Jerry.

Taxi Fare Post Script

Giving the poor woman $10 was not a particularly noble thing. It was the easier thing to do. Acutally picking her up and taking her to the bus station may have been the more loving thing to do. It would have provided another point of contact and may have been experienced by her as more loving. But I was lazy and selfish. That being said, I am sure the $10 meant a lot to her.

Taxi Fare 6? (or, Giver Her the Freakin' Money, Already)

"Mark, I know we have a no-cash policy, but there's a woman over there that needs some money."

"What does she need it for?"

"She says she needs it for taxi fare to get to the bus station."

Why is she coming to me with this? She must think this woman really needs help.

"Which one is she?"

"The woman over there in the blue."

Feeling a need to further assess the situation, I walked over to the woman and to ask her more details about what she needed the money for.


Freeze frame for just a minute.

Is asking her to explain why she is asking for money a good thing to do? Will it better lead to the truth? Why ask for more details? Am I the judge of this poor woman's worthiness? Doesn't this just set her up to lie? It better be a good explanation or you won't get the money. Am I a better discerner of the truth than the next guy? What do I say to this woman?

What did I know about the situation? I knew that she was poor. She was in one of the lowest positions in our society. She was standing in line with the lowest of the low to get a free meal. She had a bus ticket dated that day with a 5:50 am departure time from LR to El Dorado. She asked Elizabeth for some money. I had some money that I could have blown my nose with and my life would be no different. I would be leaving in my white truck in a few minutes to drive to the other side of town to my comfortable home.

Was there something she was going to say that would make me any more aware of the truth of the situation? Maybe. I hated that I might be tempting her to lie to me. I hated that I was in this position of power over her.

I have been in other situations where someone asked for money with a great story of need. A few simple questions and attempts to problem solve with the person revealed that it probably was not a true story.

Let me just interact with her a bit and maybe I can at least reassure myself that it is not an obvious trick. I asked. She answered. No obvious inconsistencies in her story.

Maybe I should avoid the whole money thing and offer to pick her up tomorrow morning and drive her to the bus station. No, it would be worth $10 to not have to get up that early. Your being lazy. No, I'm being practical.

Listen. Drop in...what are you sensing? God, ...? You have the money. Don't put her through this, help this poor woman. But... You will never know what you are wanting to know. Why is this so hard for you? Quiet your mind for a minute. Follow your heart. Give to all who ask. Don't fail this test. Give her the money and give it with love and don't look back.

"God bless you," I said, shaking her had with a $10 bill in it.


Driving away from under the bridge, wow, another amazing night under the bridge.

Taxi Fare 5?

What make us generally distrustful when someone asks us for money? I had a friend who once said that he likes to help people who don't ask for anything, but does not like to help someone who asks. Why? Jesus didn't say give to only those that do not ask.

To speak for myself, I have this aversion to being taken advantage of. I think it relates to a bad experience I had buying my first new car. I was sucker for the old car salesman's switcheroo technique. Funny thing was, I seemed to know I was being taken advantage of, but felt helpless. I remember crying after I bought that first Toyota Tercel (for $3000 brand new!). To this day, I hate buying cars and all car salesmen.

I think it is a Type 1 versus Type II error situation. Type I error is false positive, and Type II error is False negative.

So, the lady who asked me for $10 either needed the money for what she said she did (positive) or she did not (negative), and I either give her the money or I do not. There are four outcomes in this situation, two are correct and two are errors. The two errors in this situation would be to give the money to her when she really didn't need it for what she said she did (Type I - false positive), and I don't give her the money when she really did need it for what she said she did (Type II error - false negative).

Since we can never really know the truth in situations like this, we have to respond in a way that reduces one of the two type of errors. As you reduce one type of error, you increase the other. I could completely minimize Type I error by never giving money to those that ask, and I would never be taken advantage of; however, I would make lots of Type II errors by failing to be generous to lots of trully needy people. I could also give to all who ask, minimizing Type II errors, but I would increase Type I errors by inadvertantly giving money to lots of crackheads.

Which error is more tolerable? Is it worse to be taken advantage of or to fail to be generous to someone in need. Of course, we want to be smart and balance the two types of errors in some optimal fashion.

For much of my life, I was driven by some type of neurotic fear of being taken advantage of. It wasn't until I failed a test, where I sent away a desparate mother of three kids because of this fear, that my eyes were open to that part of myself. I have been determined to not fail the next test; however, I also do not want to give money to crack heads.

Should I give her the$10? Quiet. Listen. Talk to her again. Breath.

Taxi Fare 4?

My friend, Nathan, is teaching us about the power differential in situations like this. This poor woman has needs. I have the money. I hold the power. She has to ask me for my money. I get to decide whether to give it to her or not. I am in control. I have all the power in the relationship. That's the way it works in our system.

Jesus said, give to all who ask.