She...

Torn beneath the layers
of smiles and sunshine
A darkness, a cloud
of pain... Dancing, lingering
In her eyes
A sadness reflected from
A life past lived
A love unrequited
A heart half broken

While life and God and hope
are anthems strummed on
The instrument of her heart,
Her mind replays the angst
Of former days
A record skipping, repeating
Lyrics that harmonize
pleasure and pain

So I smile and laugh
And listen
Hoping to meet
The girl behind the eyes

To know the story
Beneath the cover

To feel the wind
Beneath the rain

Thrift Store Destiny

I’ve always enjoyed the thrift store. The smell isn’t always wonderful, the workers are usually um… different at best. Weird at worst. But the feeling of walking into a thrift store, especially one that I’ve never been to before, is exhilarating. When I lived in Atlanta working at an inner city church, I had a ritual on my off day. I would wake up around 10 o’clock, shower and dress, then go to Church’s Chicken and have a cheap delicious fried chicken lunch. Then I would get into my vehicle and do some thriftin’. We lived on the south side of Atlanta, right behind the federal penitentiary for those familiar with the landscape of the ATL. I had a route of 4 or 5 thrift stores I would go to - the Value Village was a personal favorite of mine – so I would begin my trek through the various neighborhoods of Atlanta in a quest to find the perfect store on the perfect day.

When I walked into those stores, that familiar musty smell would fill my nostrils. It's the smell that you wouldn't want as your cologne, but you don't mind because it brings back a certain nostalgia, like the leather of an old baseball glove or the paint and wood of Dad's old workshop. You always had your typical customers there on any given day… The kids rummaging through the toys while the mother kept an eye on them as she piled her cart with clothes and shoes. The old women who frequented the shops as much as I did, always scouring the aisles for the newer items that came in from the truck that week. The indie kids with their tight jeans and band t-shirts with hair in their face looking for something different and funny they could impress their friends with later. And then there was me, the 6 foot 3 giant wandering around trying not to run into anybody. There was an etiquette in thrift store shopping… if you are looking at the same rack of clothes as someone else, you have to stare intently at the clothes you are looking at as you approach the other person. Then, just as you are about to run into them, either you or them have to take a step back and allow the other to pass in front of you. If you step back, you allow the other person to check out the merchandise you’re looking at before you do. It becomes a game of chicken – the first one who flinches allows the other the opportunity to snatch something you haven’t checked out yet. It’s an intense game…. Not for the weak at heart.

The first place I would go in the wonderland of value was the t-shirt aisles. The Value Village usual had an exceptional crop of shirts. Now, understand that I currently own about 500 t-shirts – 2 dressers full in my room and several boxes in the garage that I cycle through about every 6 months. T-shirts for me are like personal billboards. You can express how you feel about life, society, love, or anything else without saying a word. Finding a shirt that is perfect for a specific occasion is especially exciting. I’ll give you an example. About 5 years ago I bought a shirt in Atlanta. It was a long sleeve t-shirt with the phrase “Mets Suck” on it. Now, I don’t have anything against the Mets. I’m a Cincinnati Reds fan and have never liked or disliked the famous Big Apple team. I just thought it was interesting that someone out there had enough distaste for the Mets that they took the time to create this shirt and wear it. Then, at some point, they went through their clothes, stumbled upon it, and decided they had no more use for it, so they took it to the local thrift store because someone else would probably get some good wear out of it. The problem with the shirt, however, is as a youth pastor, this isn’t a shirt I can typically wear on a day to day basis because the word “suck” usually has a negative and dirty connotation to it. So I rarely wore it, usually just as an undershirt. But this past year, as is tradition amongst a couple of my friends, we went to the Reds Opening Day. This year was a particularly cold year for a baseball game, but we decided to keep the tradition alive and attended the game. Me and my friends are pretty avid fans of our beloved Redlegs… so much so that one particular game I wore a red dress with a “C” spray painted on the front. I know… how awesome am I? But this particular year, the stars aligned in the 7th quadrant and the moon and sun were in congruent with Orion’s belt, and the Reds were playing the New York Mets for Opening Day. As I sifted through my shirts looking for a Reds jersey or the old red dress to wear to the game, the skies parted as I found the glorious “Mets Suck” shirt. For 5 years that shirt had waited for this day, knowing that from the day I purchased it that it was here on this earth for such a time as this. I put it on and looked in the mirror as a single tear melted from my eye, down my cheek, and made a small unnoticeable stain on the shirt that would once again remind me that there is a God in heaven, and he loves us. As I entered the gates of Great American Ballpark and made my way to our seats, I was overwhelmed with comments and high fives as people truly appreciated and honored my shirt. It was a journey that had begun 5 years earlier, and for one day… I was king.

It’s stories like these that keep me going back to the thrift store. To continue the search for the perfect shirt for the perfect occasion. See, my problem is that I hate wearing the same thing as someone else. It has only happened on a few occasions, but those scenarios are terrifying for me. What I noticed in high school was that everyone did their Christmas shopping on Black Friday in November or during the sales of early December. Moms would go to the mall and shop at Old Navy or American Eagle and buy the cool, hip new trends and give it to their children on Christmas morning, and those kids would be so excited, because they would be able to wear their new threads to school and impress their friends with how stylish and awesome they were… the girls would swoon and the guys would fume with jealousy as everyone would admire my new Abercrombie pullover, my new Aeropostale polo. But the problem was that all these moms would shop at the same stores and get the same awesome clothes for their kids, so the first day back from Christmas break, you have 20 kids wearing the same shirt. And that, for me, is one of my biggest fears. To look the same as everyone else. This past year I went a 2 day prayer meeting service for our denomination at Cornerstone Church of God. All the pastors were there, decked out in their suits and slicked hair, rubbing elbows with the bigwigs, trying to impress everyone with their style and snazziness. I wore a suit jacket too… with my Pink Floyd t-shirt underneath. Now, I don’t LOVE Pink Floyd. There are those out there who do, and I commend you for that. I like Pink Floyd, and listen to them from time to time as the mood dictates, but I don’t like them enough to consider myself a fan. Yet, I wore the shirt there to make a statement: One, I’m not gonna put on a tie and cufflinks to impress anyone at these functions. If God can love me in my pajamas, He surely doesn’t need me to bust out my daddy’s suit to impress the hotshots in the church. Two, it’s hilarious to see people’s reaction. Some people literally stared at me, wondering who on earth would wear my outfit to such a function. It reminds me of when we attended “Teen Talent,” where different youth groups competed against each other in different categories to see who had the best dramas, choirs, and other various talents. I love my kids to death, but I was pretty sure we weren’t going to win. And, a competition to discover who artistically portrays the Gospel the best seems kinda foolish to me. So I had someone make a shirt for me with a picture of a couple guys from my youth group that said “My Youth Group can beat up your Youth Group.” Because at the time, if there was a competition in fighting, I really think my guys coulda taken the gold. But the reactions were priceless… Some youth pastors made some snide comments to me, one said he didn’t think we actually could beat up his youth group. Which makes me wonder if a Christian Fight Club would be a good tool for evangelism in the future. But I digress…

I guess I can be a little bit of a non-conformist when it comes to the church. But for me, I look at it like I look at thrift stores. Some people want cool, flashy clothes that will impress people, thus allowing them to be accepted and perhaps even admired by their peers. And in churches, we want those perfect people who are well spoken and have good jobs that can give heartily in tithes and offering. If the people look good, they make our church look good. I can’t think that way though. Give me the castaways. Give me the people who others have stopped believing in. Give me the ones that no one else wants. Give me the ones who have troubled pasts, who’ve been to jail, who are homeless, who have given up on life. Those are the ones that make church interesting. Because when God moves in their lives, the evidence isn’t just internal, it’s external. Just like my “Mets Suck” shirt, I like to think that everyone has that perfect destiny, that perfect moment where everything works together and they realize they’ve had a purpose all along. I found that shirt for 2 dollars at the thrift store, but when I wore it to that game, that shirt became priceless. Throughout the Bible, God used the castaways, the vagrants, the ill reputed, to accomplish His will. And that gives me hope. It’s not about the price that man puts on us that makes us valuable, it’s about the price that God saw worthy to spend… His only Son. That makes us all valuable in His eyes.

So next time you're out shopping or just bored, stop by your local thrift store. Take the time to soak in the atmosphere, meet some of the regulars, and maybe you might stumble upon that perfect article of clothing that fulfills destiny…

I am not a fan of winter. Growing up in Southern Ohio, we did not have as bad of weather as our Northeastern brethren, but I still became accustom to snow days and snow tires, winterizing a boat, shoveling snow, limbs falling and landing on vehicles I owned, etc. And after doing some careful psychological and theological evaluation and meditation on the subject, I have come to a conclusion… Winter is like dating a high maintenance woman.

Now, I am a different and special breed of person. I am 28 and single, which used to terrify me when I was younger. I looked at people in their 30’s who were companionless and wondered what was wrong with them. But usually it was obvious – morbid obesity, lack of social skill or etiquette, halitosis or body odor struggles, and a myriad of other qualities that seemed to affect the single crowd around the age I am rapidly approaching. Now that I am entering that realm, I have to ask myself if one of the problems I described is applicable to me. I hope not, but I’ll be applying a little more deodorant and hitting the treadmill a little more just in case. My problem, however, seems to be how I evaluate the opposite sex due to the fact that I am terrified of the high maintenance female.

The diva, the princess, however you want to label them, we all have encountered them. The girl that won’t drink water from the tap because of all the germs, or won’t drink the cheap Ice Mountain or Great Value water because she prefers the “taste” of Fiji water. The woman that sends her food back at a restaurant because it doesn’t taste as good as it did the last time she was there. The girl who doesn’t like your friends, the girl who gets mad at you for watching sports, the girl who spends more money on hair, nails and makeup in a month than she does on rent. I have dated several girls like this, and it can be exhausting. They always seem to require more than what you can give, so you have to work that much harder to keep them. In the end, it never seems to be worth it. That is one reason I am still single, because I believe that every woman has a little spoiled princess in them, and I don’t want to have to deal with that.

Winter is like that high maintenance princess. You have to make do more for winter than any other month. First of all, I hate jackets. It’s an extra article of clothing you wear from your house to your car then from your car to your destination. Then, for the next however long you are there, you are stuck carrying this thing around – whether it be the mall, school, a restaurant, a friends house and other places where the jacket isn’t needed to maintain warmth. And I always forget it or forget where I leave it… It is just more of a hassle than not wearing one and being cold for a couple of minutes.

Not only that, but all the things you have to do to your car for winter. Snow tires. Constantly washing the salt off of the body so it won’t rust. Scraping the ice and snow off of the windshield. Shoveling the driveway so you can get out. Going 20 miles an hour slower than the speed limit so you don’t lose control from the ice in the road and be introduced to the side rail or the light pole. (I have knocked down a light pole before. Not pleasant.)

Then there’s your house. You gotta make sure the heat is working, the windows are sealed good enough, the roof doesn’t leak. You have to salt your steps so you don’t slip and break your tailbone, chop wood for the fireplace, make sure the water pipes don’t freeze and bust. So many different tasks and measures you have to do to yourself, your vehicle, and your residence just to get through a season you don’t really like in the first place. This is why winter frustrates me. You have to do so much, and be miserable the whole time your doing it because it’s so stinkin’ cold outside.

Looking deeper, however, winter doesn’t force us to do these things. We can ignore the menial tasks that are required and hopefully not have to deal with the consequences. We can choose not to salt the steps and risk the broken buttbone, we can drive as fast as we want on a patch of ice and hope that I’m not magically whisked into the exciting world of “oncoming traffic.” Winter reminds us year after year to learn from our mistakes from years past, areas where we were negligent, and prepare for this coming winter with those things in mind. And, in hindsight, I believe that’s a good thing for us to do as people. Look back at our past and see the areas we’ve messed up, see the times we have strayed from our purpose, remember the places where we lost faith and hope. Then, we must get ourselves ready when the opportunity arises for those situations to happen again. When we are prepared, those problems don’t effect us like they had before, and we are better for it.

And I guess high maintenance isn’t so bad either. I think that sometimes I can classify people as “high maintenance” just because they know what they want and aren’t willing to take second best. Some can obviously take it too far, but the determining factor should be if we are willing to sacrifice our comfort for someone else’s, especially the ones we love. Sometimes, people just want assurance that the person that they invest so much time and emotion into reciprocates the love that they feel inside. And sometimes that requires us as men to perform elaborate gestures to remind her how important she is to us. Even when it takes time out of our day or even if it requires us to change. That is one area I was never good at, but I feel like I’m getting better. And maybe if I embrace winter a little more, I will learn to appreciate the ones God has put in my life – especially the great girls I let slip through my fingers because I branded them “high maintenance” because I was too lazy and selfish to change my schedule for them.

It reminds me of my favorite scene in “The Breakup” with Vince Vaughn.

Johnny O: You know what? It's her fault she got hurt. You shouldn't even feel bad about it. She should have expected it from you. You're a fun guy, okay? Everybody likes you. You're the quickest guy I know. Anytime we go out, I have a blast. Alright? But, everybody who knows you knows you're gonna do what you want to do. And if it's not what the other person wants to do, well, that's their problem.

Gary: That's ********.

Johnny O: It's not ********.

Gary: There's plenty of times I do **** that I don't want to do. That's ridiculous. No.

Johnny O: Like when?

Gary: That's ******** to say about me.

Johnny O: When have we ever done something you didn't want to do?

Gary: You know, I don't know, off the top of my head. I don't keep score...

Johnny O: When's the last time we went to a Sox game? The Sox. Not when they're playing the Cubs, either. We always do what you want to do and she always did what you wanted to do. It's who you are. Everybody thinks that you're their friend, okay? But the fact of the matter is that there's not one person that I know that you trust enough to let close enough that they could hurt you. And her big problem is that you really liked her. I mean, she is the one girl you really liked. And no matter what she did and how hard she tried, you were never gonna let your guard down. That poor girl never stood a chance.

I’ve had a similar epiphany from a friend in Chattanooga. It was painful, but necessary in my development as a person.

So perhaps winter is more important than I originally thought, but I will still look forward to spring… even though it always rains in the spring, and there’s all that pollen that makes your allergies go nuts, and that pollen gets all over your car… you know, spring is a high maintenance woman too. You can’t have nothin’ nice.