My Granddaddy

“I was holding out till you got here.”

That’s what the ashen, shriveled man that I call my Granddaddy said when we walked into his hospice room.

“Don’t cry,” he told my mom, who was already now in tears. “Everyone has to go someday.”

This wasn’t the kind of honesty I wanted. I wanted him to tell us that he was fine, and that he would be back on his feet in a few days. I knew he wouldn’t get better, I knew that he would be dead in a few days, but I wanted to pretend for just a few minutes.

My Granddaddy has been one of the few constant things in my life. At every stage of my life he’s been there, exactly the same: playing dominoes and Rook, eating boiled peanuts, squeezing my hand in his vice-like grip that could bring me to my knees- even after my body building days. From preschool to senior high, every trip to see him was the same.

My Granddaddy never got any older, as he was already bald and wrinkled from my earliest memory. He only got a little thinner each year.

My Granddaddy used to send us twenty five dollars every month, starting when we were just kids and continued until just a few months ago, when he had to quit his job. And every month, we, as good grandkids (who didn’t want to get grounded), wrote him a thank you letter. Every month, as long as I can remember. It’s hard to comprehend that I’ll never write him another thank-you letter.

My Granddaddy is a Christian (for that is never past tense) and is now with his Savior, Jesus Christ, the Son of God. And this fundamental belief affected every aspect of his life. I remember that once my brothers and I were doing yard work for him when David decided to quit early and watch cartoons. But at the end of the day, Granddaddy paid us all the same- citing the biblical parable of similar events. It wasn’t exactly fair, but neither is grace for that matter.

The Bridge

About a week ago I had the privilage and great pleasure to attend The Bridge, a young church that is active in engaging the culture in Tempe, Arizona. For those of you who share my taste in literature, you might recognize The Bridge as one of the churches featured in the book Emerging Churches.

This is where I must make an appeal to my more traditional brethen to not write me off as a heretic. The Bridge is, in fact, an SBC church, with theology that is in step with the Baptist Faith and Message, and planted with CP funding. So if you are a member of an SBC church and tithe, you are in fact supporting at least one "emerging" church- whatever that really means. On a completely unrelated side note, suprisingly enough, The Bridge was actually founded by the lead singer of Stellar Kart.

Back to the important part.

Pastor Norwood gave a well crafted and convicting message about the revolutionary nature of Christ's teaching- pointing out that Jesus instructed the Demoniac and the widow who touched his cloak to return to their friends and family after they were healed. God provided the oppurtunity for them to return to society.

Because they do not own their own building, the Bridge meets at many locations throughout the week. On Sundays they meet on the patio of bar. The worship band is very loud, and before and after the service a dj spins some of the finest european dance/techno music- it's pretty cool.

Having service out in the open air has its pro's and con's- one being that even after the sun goes down it's still in the mid 90's in PHX. But on the upside, the pulsing techno music and edging alt rock tends to draw a crowd of passerbys, who are very surprised to find they stumbled upon a church.

I can't think of a better use of CP dollars.

Well, this Thursday my entire family is flying out to see my Granddaddy one last time and to be with him as he passes. We are not even sure if he'll still be alive when we get there. I had a lady at Kopi~O tell me today if I had enough faith I could command the demon of cancer to come out of him, to which I responded very genteely that I believed God was in control and that his perfect will would be accomplished whether my Granddaddy lives and falls asleep (which for the believer is the beginning of true life).

Ironically, Sweet T is flying into Phoenix this week from Alabama to visit Allison. Strangely ironic.

Well I'm back from cool, breezy Point Loma and I'm very exhausted. The story of what happened at Zona Yuth Kamp this year is much too long and important to try to attempt to tell in one blog entry. So over the next week or so I plan to write a series of reflections on the week, the people I met and got to know, and, most importantly, how God revealed himself. Hopefully I'll get my pictures developed soon.

Zona Yuth

Okay, I have exactly 5 minutes to write post.

It's day three of Zona Yuth Kamp and everything is pretty much "off the hook"- whatever that means. I'm teaching one of the seventh grade small groups, which is very cool, and am also helping out with the mission track, which takes students into downtown San Diego to do some hands on,down and dirty ministry. Today these youth from Southern Baptist churches across the state of Arizona are helping the Sierra Club do "Urban Canyon Renewal". Pretty cool stuff.

Anyway, I'll write more later, probably once I'm home.

Roadtrip!!

Roadtrip!!

Haircut: The Outcome

To those of who were worried that my beautiful locks of hair would be subject to poor styling, you can rest assured that there is a merciful and loving God who answers prayer. The haircut I recieved at Wal-Mart (from a most young and charming stylist I might add)was far more than adequate, and actually met the same standard that I have come to expect from my past stylists (notably Jen Maurer, Chris Sellars, and Kristina Pelhank.)

I'm sure it comes as quite a relief to my readers that "Boyce's Best Hair" is still intact, and yes John, I'm still counting on it to bring me true love.

Haircut

Well, I'm getting my haircut... not a lot mind you...more or less like last time. The only problem is that last time I checked Chris Sellars isn't in Arizona, and I'm pretty nervous about going to an actual barbershop. *gulp* I'll let you know how it turns out.

Zona Yuth Kamp is coming up really soon, with each approaching day exponentially increasing in anticipation. I love teaching the Bible, and if I'm going to be teaching the Bible anyway, heck, it might as well be to 7th graders. The fact that this camp, sponsored by the Arizona Southern Baptist Convention, is held at the campus of Point Loma Nazerine University in beautiful San Diego, right on the ocean... well that's just a perk.

Well, I'm glad I'm someone's hero

I actually do have a pair of tights and a cape (long story). Maybe I should pull them out and start saving the day.

Also, in a shocking boost of internet popularity, I also was recently mentioned in Toto's Blog... though none of it, of course, is true (okay, maybe some of it).

I saw "The Devil Wears Prada" last night with my friends Tad Klein and Darrick Dowdy. In the middle of the movie Darrick proclaimed in a very loud voice "This is the worst movie I've ever seen!" and the entire theater erupted into laughter (probably because they agreed with him). There were redeeming moments however, such as my favorite Azure Ray song "Sleep" appearing in the soundtrack.

The Lion's Mouth is now up at purevolume!

Fireworks

I love fireworks. Luckily for me, my town happens to have an amazing Fourth of July celebration (which was ironically held on the first of July). Now it may not be Thunder Over Louisville, but it is none the less an epic display of neon color and combustion, with a finale so explosive that it made my eyes hurt just watching it.

But what made this weekend especially special was the pre-fireworks concert at Kopi-O, which featured some of the very best amateur Indie/Folk/Christian musical artists from across the state- including Tad Klien, Amber Hunter, Graham Karl, and myself. Amber sang Peter's part on "Sparrows" and "The Lion's Mouth" and it sounded fantastic. I only wish Peter could have come down from Idaho and sang a duet.

I have a sin to confess. I am one hundred percent jealous of everyone, including my brother, who has had the oppurtunity to go on a prolonged trip, intern at a church, be a staffer at a youth camp, et cetera.

Now I realize that all Christians are called to be missional in all circumstances, and in fact the bi-vocational and "tent-maker" ministry models are perhaps the most biblical, but quite frankly it's hard to remember to be missional when working a 40-50 hour work schedule.

Despite my gross incompentence, and my dozens of missed opurtunities, there have been a few successes.

Recently, I had the misfortune of being forced to work a Sunday. However since my legalistic nature demanded that I would attempt to try to feel better about missing church, I brought my Bible (which I am in the habit of doing anyway) to read when business was slow. One patron, upon spotting my opened Bible on a table, mentioned that he used to be very active in a good, Bible believing church, but recently had allowed his attendence to diminished. From no cause of my own doing, he left resolved to return to church and once again pursue his relationship with God.

Previously, at my other job, I had a pleasant conversation with my co-worker Alex, who is the foster son of the owners. He mentioned that he hated going to church (his foster family is Mormon) and was very upset that he had to have his long hair chopped off. I mentioned that the Bible endorses no particular hair stlye (as I, myself, have recieved persecution for my slightly longer than average locks) and off-handily mentioned that Samson, a judge of Israel, had very long hair. Alex responded by saying "I'm sorry, I don't konw who that is." I proceeded to paraphrase the entire story of Samson- right down to the grusome end.