I began the day at the UNF Aquatic Center. My swim reminded me once again that I am not in peak condition…and the mother and daughter with whom I shared my lane also reminded me of that fact. Later, I and one of my roommates fought to get our laundry done…if it wasn’t the lack of empty machines, it was the broken card reader or the search for quarters…but in the end we finished two loads.

Around two o’clock we headed to San Marco to meet up with some friends who had left earlier. Our adventures in the laundry room had waylaid us but we didn’t miss much besides overly grand houses by the river. Our time in San Marco revolved primarily around the San Marco Bookstore. There was a beautiful collection of books there, from different decades and centuries. I even wandered upon a book from the mystery series staring Judy Bolton. I remember checking out those books from the Baptist church my family attended in Alabama years ago.

I desperately wanted to grab up dozens of books, but the price of each book I found averaged around twenty dollars and as a college student, that’s a ridiculous splurge. The day winded down fast and ended back at UNF in our dorm room around nine. A good friend of ours headed back to Orlando…and everyone else split to run errands and get a bite to eat. That left me here in the dorm…a very quiet dorm.

Silence has grown eerie again. But the sky was so blue today.

I have returned to the campus of the University of North Florida. I am enjoying each moment, whether relaxed or stressed. The very fact that I am back among people and maintaining some sort of purpose is really uplifting. The classes I am attending are going well…even the upper level Spanish classes I am taking. I understand my teachers and while I am not acing every assignment, I am not failing them either.

The time outside of class has proven the most interesting though. I was able to see the partnership of two campus ministries and in the beginning it appeared fine…not even that. It appeared amazing. The groups merged well and new friends were found. I found refreshment and acceptance as well, from people I began to consider siblings in our faith. For about a week I was convinced that the anomaly of the Acts church was quite possible on our small campus.

However, time progresses and the true nature of each person are eventually revealed. It is not that I am looking for perfection. That is an unreal and naïve hope. But I am looking for the “fruit of the spirit.” That is usually a pretty good signal of a community’s health and walk with the Lord. I am also looking for grace and for peace. I am not finding them. In small ways, discord has already risen among a few.

Perhaps it comes from the different visions of the groups. One is consumed by a call to prayer, the other by the need for the knowledge of the Word among students and a need for discipleship. These do not oppose, they merely take different paths to a similar goal. The kingdom of heaven on earth.

The problems could also be the narrow minded view of certain leaders. They have been called to prayer and they interpret a private call publicly, placing pressure on others to join them is this, “the best way.” I can deal with conflict. The community I am apart of is no stranger to it. But recently, another issue emerged and I am not sure where I stand.

I was recently informed that prayer is neutral ground. This was by the leader of the partner group. I am still not sure how to respond to this. The statement implies we are at war as ministries…that we lack any other common ground. That there has to be an “us” and “them.”

What about unity as ONE body, with ONE spirit, ONE God…what about the pursuits of God’s heart: forgiveness, people, justice, right living, peace, compassion, reconciliation…the imitation of Christ? I know these are pursued in differing manners, but that is no cause for division, rather a call to discourse, understanding, and humility.

This very idea of neutral ground and the demand to choose a side is causing frustration for new students who have found community among both groups. I am not sure what to do. Do I confront the leader and his ideology…with grace and peace? Do I remain quiet? Do I wait? What course of action will result in mutual respect, brotherly love, and a unified vision of the Kingdom of Heaven brought to earth?

This would be a downside of youth…the lack of experience and wisdom that is too often suffered.

I find that I really enjoy using markers as media. The end result may not appear as fine art but I enjoy the process and the finale. I also like using the finished product to change the front of my planner and sketchbook. For the bible though, I made a collage with photographs, old drawings, and magazine cutouts…and duct tape.

In less than two weeks I will be back in Jacksonville, Florida. Sadly, I fail to truly appreciate Savannah until my time here is almost over. But this past Saturday I had an opportunity to explore some fun parts in this city with my younger sisters.

We headed down to Whitaker and 40^th to the Starland Farmer’s Market. It takes places Saturday mornings from about nine to noon. The vendors and artists who make appearances vary by weekend. Sometimes there are big weeks and than other weekends the participants are a little sparse. But it is fun nonetheless and worth visiting. It smells of local creativity, fresh vegetables, and fertilizer. Seriously, there was a man selling fertilizer out of his truck. There is an underlying theme of “going green” at this event with a small booth where more information was made available.

Before exploring the market and surrounding area, my sisters and I stopped by Back in the Day Bakery. It’s right off Bull Street and the market is right behind it. As their website puts it the shop is an “independent artisan bakery, coffeehouse and sandwich shop with free wireless internet access.” It is an awesome place to grab a snack or meal…and they have a cupcake schedule. I can vouch for the cupcakes. They’re amazing.

My sisters and I made a time of it all and went further down some back alleys. I can’t suggest this as a safe pastime in Savannah, or anywhere for that matter. We were careful however, and in the end stumbled upon some fun graffiti.

I am watching the opening ceremony for the 2008 Olympics right now.

Of course it already happened earlier this morning and sadly, we only get to see it hours later. (I did learn that NBC is broadcasting live on the internet.) I wish I could be there in person about as much as I want to be in South Africa in 2010 for the World Cup. I don’t even care so much for the games as I do for the attitude of unity that accompanies these events. It is mind-blowing and humbling to watch these nations gather. There are so many beautiful people!

However, a small part of me cringes as I watch the people waving and cheering. The visual effects and craftsmanship of the events and the architecture of the stadium are spectacular…but I feel like they are good distractions. Why? China doesn’t even recognize Taiwan…they violently put down protests by Tibetan monks…Christians face terrible persecution from their government. But those pictures and stories are not displayed on the big screens or in the dances.

These countries gather and everyone, yes, everyone, speaks of peace, unity, environmentalism…gathering as the “world.” It sounds good. And it will only ever “sound” good because we can’t see it because it isn’t put into action.

So, the Olympics are fun to watch…and maybe they can be considered a shadow of good things that can happen…but they are by no means an accurate reading of the state of affairs in our world.

My father is a comical man. His mind works fast and while he is speaking about one topic he can be miles away on a rabbit trail built from multiple barely connected ideas.  I find myself trailing in his footsteps and it is a dangerous thing. When you are in the middle of an intense conversation about someone’s life, it is not a compassionate idea to suddenly ask if the doors were locked before you left or if soft-bristle toothbrushes are better than hard bristles. But my father does this. So do I and my tongue has bled many times as I strained against letting a thought slip that would have no apparent connection to the current discussion. My father does not share the same sense of tact.

Anyhow, I was cleaning off a dish in the kitchen when he walked in to announce there was a musical artist whose work he really enjoyed.

“I think his name is David Bugle or something.” He motions, napkin in one hand, smiling the whole time. “He has a great voice. Really smooth. And he sings a lot of Frank Sinatra stuff…I’ve never been a huge fan of Sinatra, but this guy…”

I stop him short. “Are you talking about Michael Bublé!?”

His jaw drops. “Yeah! Wow, yeah, that’s the name! How did you know that?”

I give a short explanation but then ask, slightly bewildered, “David Bugle? Really? That’s not even close? Where did you get David Bugle from?”

My dad laughed and proceeded to recount how Bublé’s voice was so smooth and the he would love to have an album by Bublé…and then his train of thought jumped tracks and he followed a subject to which I only half-listened.

My mother is just as bad if not worse. About a year ago she volunteered at our church to help out on Wednesday nights in the high school ministry.  If you have ever been to a church high school service then you can imagine the number of crazy games a youth pastor will create to maintain the attention of his young charges. This newest game my mother was privileged to watch involved gargling Sprite while humming a popular song.

“I didn’t know most of the songs,” she told my sisters and me later. “But some of them were just terrible. I’m not sure why they would let kids sing that in church. One of the songs was I Let My Hips Do the Talking or something…it was terrible!”

My sisters and I sat in silence for a second. Then the youngest piped up, “Mom, do you mean My Hips Don’t Lie?”

“Oh, maybe that was it.”

My parents have created long and/or strange new titles for songs, movies…pretty much anything that can be named. However, if you talk about any music from the 60s and 70s then my dad will know the exact band. My mother is the same with movies and television shows. But with anything created after the early 90s my parents sort of shrug and forget the name immediately.

If I ever have kids, I shall be thrilled to do the same. And then I will chide them for not knowing of Postal Service, Timberland, Gnarls Barkley, or any other number of musicians I will have remembered. I will probably laugh and go on about the song that just aired on the old hits radio saying, “Low…I remember that song about apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur. Hah, that came out when I was your age…good times.”

And then suddenly the latest Madonna song will come on.

We all know she will still be around.

My weekend has been wonderful so far with my two sisters. Friday was the day for berry picking at this wonderful farm near Fort Stewart off I-95. It ended with us having a box full of berries and then making it home right before the storm broke. I also found some old sheet music with finger exercises for piano players. I can not say I play…only dabble. Saturday was a beach day at Tybee Island and while it started out a little gloomy, it ended with wild blue skies, pounding waves and minor sunburns.

Gracia y paz.

Savannah is an unusual city. While she maintains and cultivates her rich history she is still looking forward with open arms to new dreams and developments. What can you expect? The city was founded at the very beginning of Georgia’s existence, but her modern population consists primarily of military and students who by choice or vocation do not remain in one area long. The winds of change and “enlightenment” blow fierce here. That is the Savannah marketed to its myriad of tourists.

On the other hand, the Savannah I see is built of an equal amount of eccentricity but with much less class. I know this because I work at a branch of the county’s public library system in the downtown area. I am sure that the very mention of library makes a person yawn and think briefly of old ladies in horrid floral patterns with their index finger permanently glued to their thin lips. I beg to disagree. The librarians are a unique brand of people instilled with many quirks.

I actually work behind the scenes with the graphic design and public relations division of this publicly funded operation. I work with some great people and while not every day is a slice of heaven it still is far from “The Devil Wears Prada.” But for a public library, there is a good portion of drama occurring daily. Some incidents are light-hearted and others beg a second look at the state of the downtown area.

For example, today held the joy of two separate events. Apparently, our latest patron is an admirer of shock-value, i.e. a flasher. He runs in, exposes, and then makes an incredibly quick escape. The other incident consisted of a man performing indecent acts in the children’s department. Past happenings include gang related disturbances and patrons banned for improper use of internet access. You would not believe half the things that occur in the children’s department alone.

But the biggest concern for some of the staff today was whether the beta fish in my office area was named Wanda or Templeton. It is a pretty fish adorned by a peach orange body and silver tipped blood and purple fins. I am sure it has to be the third fish occupying that tank since I was here two summers ago. Overall, it was a funny argument even if the participants took it a little too seriously…

Maybe I am overreacting, but it is a sad thing to watch cultural achievements like libraries go wasted among a good portion of the populace. What does it mean when most people use the internet for porn? Or when some have no concept of decency, especially around young children? When young men with great potential throw their lots in with gangs? Or when the park area next door is home to congregations of the homeless?

I am not even sure how I can respond…at least there is now taped to the tank a bright yellow index card that reads Templeton in dark maroon letters.

The opportunity to be in El Salvador is one that I will always cherish. It was exciting as an introduction to missionary life, but also refreshing for me as an artist. I mean, who would not like filling a sketch book with memories from a foreign country?

The last sketch displayed is of a bag of Pollo Campero. We had this for take-out one day…and it reminded me of KFC. However, the coleslaw really was not coleslaw, and I can say that because I have lived a good portion of my life in the south…and I know what real slaw is like. But our guide, Ramon, said that when we headed back to the states, we would see tons of families with these bags, taking them home.

He was right. I do not know why, but apparently Pollo Campero is a huge hit and people love it…enough so to carry it across borders.

I recently tried to share my excitement surrounding the Spanish win of Euro 2008 with my wonderful younger sister. Sadly, the attempt stopped short the moment she learned of…or actually saw a picture of Sergio Ramos, who she has claimed as her “new boyfriend.” The conversation was successful in that she is now aware of another soccer player aside from David Beckham. It was a failure in that, well…you get the picture.

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On another note, I went to the gym at the neighborhood club yesterday. The experience was a cruel reminder that I am not athletic. I also realized that my last time in a gym was about three years ago. Apparently, each machine I went to had been used previously by a bone-crunching heavy weight because the settings were really high. The small pin that is used to select the amount of weight was at the bottom of the stack at a number like seventeen. I would take a moment at each machine to gasp, chuckle, and then shamefully place the pin at a lower setting. Like two.

But it is all good, because I plan to work out some at home before revealing my newly sculpted form during my next gym visit. Perhaps I will lift a second coffee mug each day…and I will use both hands. Then I will move up to cans of chopped pineapple.

Honestly though, I find it sad that I feel this pressure to look good before I go to the gym.

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And another note from the first two previous notes…my first post was about confession, and I realized that I should probably confess something. I was unsure about this particular admission because it often provides plenty of material for ridicule and laughter. Nonetheless, often in life one is called to make a stand. So:

I really like public radio.

But it is unfair of me to leave you with that last sentence unexplained…and it will be to your benefit to consider my position…seriously. My reasons are as follows:

- This American Life // Hosted by Ira Glass, each episode of this series focuses on a theme and then several stories are told relating to that theme. A recent episode focused on the Ten Commandments and stories were told of people working to follow those rules. It is a good show because the themes and stories ask thought-provoking questions.

- WYNC’s Radio Lab // This show is truly a piece of art. Why? Because like “This American Life,” each episode follows a certain theme; however, one of the two hosts, Jad Abumrad, has a career in music composition, so each episode is held together by musical interchanges, engaging sound-effects, and conversational rhythms. Maybe I am building it up to much…but it is a great show and the personalities of Jad and co-host Robert Krulwich provide enough contrast to remain interesting but not annoyingly dramatic.

- Sound Opinions // Hosted by Jim DeRogatis, of the Chicago Sun-Times, and Greg Kot, of the Chicago Tribune, this show takes a critical look into the music realm. Jim and Greg are both recognized music critics and they provide intelligent and opinionated looks into different genres, albums, headlines, etc. These guys know their stuff.

- Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me! // This “oddly informative news quiz” is hosted by Peter Sagal and scorekeeper Carl Kasell. Each week they have different panel members, from Mo Rocca to Paula Poundstone and/or Charlie Pierce answer different questions about news from the previous week. It is a very witty and often hilarious radio show. There is also a great section called “Not My Job” where guests are asked questions about things they know nothing about…last week’s guest was Jonathon Poneman, founder of Sub Pop Records.

All of these shows are available as podcasts, so check iTunes. I should get paid for this…but those are my reasons. I am not a fan of the dreary classical music or sleepy radio hosts that are far too often on-air…but I do like the presentations that NPR produces. They are so much better than the annoying and rather crude morning shows and DJs that every local station likes to employ.

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My last note…I should probably get back to painting.