mlbeck

running with stories

mlbeck — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 13:30:02 +0000

I heard a story recently about a squirrel that fell, unconscious, out of a tree. The squirrel nearly landed on someone. Then it just laid there, dead, in the grass. The person who told me this story ran down the street to tell me. He said, “You are not (deep breath) going to (deep breath) believe this (deep breath)…”

Have you ever had a story you wanted to tell so badly that you ran to tell someone?

Matthew 28v8 – So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell the disciples.

Football Season

mlbeck — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 16:33:43 +0000

This is why I love football, because it is like a great children’s story. There once lived a terrible line of monsters, from the Burg of Pit, who were terribly angry. These terrible monsters pounded and pummeled people much smaller and not so terrible for the fun of it. Most of them had long terrible hair and breathed heavy cold air through their noses, because the ugly face they made with their mouths stuck that way, just as their mothers told them it would. These terrible monsters waved terrible towels at the smallish people they picked on, who cried and cried with no towel to wipe their tears. Little did the monsters of Pit know that there were monsters much larger who were coming to take them over. The rumors spread that the monsters were ten times the size of the terrible ones. They were from the land of Nessee and so were nicknamed the Ten-Nessee Titans. These titans were so big and scary that when they walked the ground would shake. Making the ground shake was their favorite so for fun they would stomp up and down, knocking people to the ground, making them bounce around like popcorn, the titans second favorite thing. When the titans came to the Berg of Pit they stomped on the terrible towels of the terrible monsters and the terrible monsters cried for a terrible whole year. But rather then turning from their terrible ways the terrible monsters vowed for revenge on the titans…

The News Today

mlbeck — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 12:49:01 +0000

There is nothing like reading the news online with a cup of coffee in the morning to shit on your spirits. I mean really, Michael Jackson is still taking up half the feeds. Andrew Sullivan posted a disparaging photo of someone flipping out at a health care town hall meeting. Steroids grab the front page of ESPN.com again, and Rick Patino (married with 5 children) admits to having sex with a women at a bar and giving her $3,000 to get an abortion. It sure is strange who we decide to make our heroes, when there is likely more to learn from our next door neighbor than there is from one of “the greatest college coaches” or last year’s Super Bowl quarterback.

But in the midst of all the depressing articles I found one that sheds a light of hope. A post on Iraq, of all topics.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/12/world/middleeast/12shiite.html?ref=global-home

“Let them kill us…we’ll just be patient.” There is a whisper in the voice, do you hear it? ”Love wins…love wins…love wins.”

the third place

mlbeck — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 00:17:45 +0000

I’m reading The Great Good Place by Ray Oldenburg. He’s the guy that coined the phrase “the third place”, referring to the informal public life (home being the first place and work the second place). Think coffee shops, pubs, and parks. Just started it. Here is a quote from the intro:

The preferred and ubiquitous mode of urban development is hostile to both walking and talking. In walking , people become part of their terrain; they meet others; they become custodians of their neighborhoods. In talking, people get to know one another; they find and create their common interests and realize the collective abilities essential to community and democracy.

I’d recommend it if you are interested in owning your own small business, feel a general sense of disconnection, feel depressed, are in the art of planting “churches”, believe in community, or are concerned about the future of our children.

About the “general sense of disconnection”. I know this is true for many, for as I write this post, relaxing on the porch at the Bed and Breakfast, I see people slow in their vehicles as they drive by, drawn to the warmly lit paintings on the walls, the tables, and the big windows. I think they wonder who is inside and what they doing and talking about. I think they want to stop by and sit, maybe drink a cup of decaf. I wish they would.

making

mlbeck — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 19:57:01 +0000

My mom says she loves people with her cooking. Says that’s what her grandmother did. And that her grandmother used to bounce on the piano bench while playing music. I imagine she loved people in that way too.

Back when I wore Transformer underwear and had blonde hair, my dad used to wake us up on Sunday mornings to make breakfast. Now I find myself getting up early, waking up slowing, making breakfast.

I can still picture the big Texas sun shining through the back porch glass door revealing the flour dust in the air, as my grandma rolled chicken. I can still hear the oil crackling in pan as she fried that chicken, and I still insist, it was the best fried chicken west of anywhere. She loved me well with her chicken, even though I kept insisting at the time that I wanted to be a vegetarian. I gave in. Who wouldn’t?

Down in the basement on the uneven concrete floor, I used to stand on an old rusty crank on a wooden bucket, while my grandpa turned homemade ice-cream. I did not weigh enough to keep the bucket in place for the last few turns. I would lose my balance as the bucket spun, scraping salt underneath on the concrete, so I held onto my grandfather’s shoulders. After we had turned milk and sugar and vanilla into ice-cream, I would carry the metal container over my head, like a trophy, up the stairs to the rest of the family. My grandmother would dish it out and we would fight over who got to lick the churn.

Just last night, Jami, Julia, and I threw peppers, onions, carrots, and potatoes, wrapped in aluminum foil, into a fire and grilled sausages on a cast iron skillet.

There is something important about making things, making things together, and for each other. It reaches something in us that cannot be bought. We are, at our core, makers. And we love each other in this way. In the same God makes for us, loves us.

Standardized, but Still Alive

mlbeck — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 22:07:06 +0000

There is an article in the local newspaper and many e-mails circulating among teachers about the “I.S.T.E.P meltdown”. It was a rough testing week in the state of Indiana for students, teachers, and administrators. Honestly, I don’t want to get into it. Let’s move on, take the weekend, and come back with some creative energy. But before that, I do have to share one thing (in a slightly different tone than the articles and e-mails). To my 6th graders, a poem in their own voice:

I’d rather

I’d rather eat my No. 2 pencil for lunch

then to use it on ISTEP, thank you very much

My arm is numb from writing, I can barely turn the page

a test this vicious should be kept in a cage

Or better yet used for T.P.

What a terrible, unbearable waste of a tree!

There are better uses for these materials

like paper-planes, spit-wads, and high fiber cereals

If I got to chose, I would wear wet shoes

contract pink eye or lick a dead fly

I’d stub ten toes, pick your’s and my nose

I’d smell anything, eat everything, please let me do nothing

for ISTEP is a crime against humanity!

Smell Conversation

mlbeck — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 01:42:21 +0000

I made baked chicken tonight. Then I slathered it in barbeque sauce. I love barbeque sauce. It takes me back. There was this place called The Wistlin’ Dixie in Lubbock where my family and I would frequent. I’d always say a prayer before the buffet of smoked chicken, pulled pork, pork sausage, boardwalk fries, and greens: “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven and as it is at Wistlin’ Dixie. Amen.”. Kidding, but the baked chicken tonight, with the bbq, started a good conversation with my wife. Simple, but good conversation. The question: What are your favorite smells?

Jami: sun-dried sheets hanging on the line, pancakes, and library books.

Me: the smell of when you drive by house in the winter that has a fireplace burning, fresh sawdust, and “mmmmmm” barbeque sauce.

The Language of Honking

mlbeck — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 01:20:17 +0000

Some of my favorite hobbies are: putting stickers on water bottles, doing the dishes, reading anything Donald Miller writes (donmilleris.com), drinking coffee, building campfires, especially building campfires, riding my Trek bicycle, not watching T.V., talking about church, and honking my car horn. This post is about the last one: my fondness for honking my car horn.

My wife doesn’t share this affinity. She actually loathes it. She is cute about it though. When she is mad, she picks up this drawn out enunciation, ending all her phrases with an emphatic “uuuh”. Example: “Mattuuuh! Why do you do thatuuuuh?!” I love it.

While driving with our good friend Kyle today, someone honked at an intersection. Not at me, I don’t think. But I honked back anyway. So then a third car honked. I honked a second time. Then everyone laid on the horn. I found it all very friendly and exciting. It was like the 4th of July at a stop light.

So my wife started in-uuuh on me about my favorite hobby. I’m trying to explain to her how honking, is a sort of car language. And just like any conversation, you can speak kindly and you can speak unkindly. Apparently she has had her fair share of angry motorists honking unkindly. In defense of my hobby, I have translated a few phrases of car speech:

One quick honk at a light: “Hey buddy, light’s green, no big deal, just gotta get to work.”

One quick honk and a wave: “Don’t know you, but you’re on the sidewalk and there is nothing good on the radio.”

One long honk, pause, a quick honk, and one last lay on the horn: “You did not just pull out in front of me! @#$%^”

Several small spurts of the horn: “Nice to be out on the open road!”

Two slightly prolonged beeps: “Thanks, I was getting bored in my semi truck.”

One long honk, pressing the breaks, and sticking your body halfway out of the car: “Hey, I know you! What’s up [insert friend's name]!”.

One continuous honk until your horn fades: “Can’t you see my car right were you are backing up?! Use your mirrors! Use your mirrors!”

It is also a good time to honk in rhythm to music on a long road trip. Especially when you find a song that is in tune with your horn. Tim, remember that one time? What was that song?

I’m writing a book

mlbeck — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 18:50:16 +0000

I realized today that my sixth graders write more than me. I give my students writing assignments all the time. Some don’t like to write. I tell them I don’t care, because they need to write so they can express themselves.

“I don’t want to express myself,” they say.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, “so write your paper.”

The fact that I am a hypocrite about writing bothers me because I consider myself a writer. I don’t mean, “Hey, everyone, I’m a writer.” I’m not saying, necessarily, that I’m a good writer, or an authority on writing. I’ve never made any money writing. I just think everyone has a way of expressing themselves and for me its with words on paper. So I am frustrated because if I am not writing, that means I’m probably not expressing myself. Which is important because when you express yourself that means you are processing and learning and engaging in life. So, in response to this feeling, I started writing a book, a children’s novel. Ideas have been floating around in my head for a while now, I just haven’t done the work of putting them on paper. I have no idea if I will ever finish the book, let alone if it will get published. The point is, I want to engage in life and do something with these thoughts in my head.

Here’s Mud in Your Eye, 2008!

mlbeck — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 17:44:02 +0000

2008 was a good year. Here are a few things I celebrated:

Married the most beautiful women in the world, and had all my family and friends there to watch. Saw a moose in Alaska (three in the wild and one downtown Anchorage). Took a road trip to Mississippi (and kept it a secret). Kept a journal for the first time. Kayaked the headwaters of the Chesapeake Bay, and worked at a summer camp in Maryland. Tried crabcakes and liked them. Got a job a Bed and Breakfast. Started reading Scripture again. Got to work at a middle school. Built a fire pit. Learned to cook my mother’s white chicken chili, was taught how to make omelets, and let in on the secret of the Cartwright potato pancakes. Purchased a Trek and road my bicycle to work (even in zero degree weather and in freezing rain).

Here are a few goals for 2009 and beyond:

2009: Learn to play the harmonica for baby Beck. Have baby Beck. Find a mentor. Visit Gambier, Ohio were I proposed to Jami. Hike Grandma Gatewood’s trail for the 44th Annual Winter Hike at Hocking Hills. See Over the Rhine in concert. Teach Scripture. Make some new friends at the College Inn. Get more involved at Exit 59 church.

Next 3 years: Plant a church with Tim. Get a teaching license. Visit my family in Texas. Use our new tent in Rocky Mountain National Park. Rescue a dog. Have a few more baby Becks. Live closer to family.

7 years: Write a book. Learn Greek.

12 years: Get debt free. Start a small business for Jami (coffee shop, bakery, or B&B).

40 years: Plant small vineyard and make wine. Thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. Build a house with a fire place, library with high shelves and a rolling latter, and room for Jami to make stain glass windows in.

Cheers to life, and three cheers to life’s Creator.