What it means to fall on Jesus

I love flying. Since I was six years old,I've been fascinated with things that soar through the atmostphere. I've flown in massive military cargo planes, small economy jets, tiny high performance gliders. I love the feeling of acceleration as a plane takes off down the runway and is literally sucked into the sky. Despite the fact that I know WHY a plane full of a hundred people and thousands of pounds of cargo is able to overcome the forces of gravity and soar through the atmosphere, it never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes it seems like being a Christian is like stepping onto a plane. You know where it's going, you know it's worked for other people before, and you know the pilot has gone through years of training to do this job. No matter all these facts though, there's still an element of faith. Faith that the wings will stay attached to the plane, that the engines won't give out, that the very aerodynamic forces that keep the plane aloft won't mysteriously cease to exist.

But there's an even deeper form of faith. I didn't understand what it was until last summer, when I and several of my best friends not only got on a plane, but left it midflight. I still didn't understand it 'til days later, when I thought more about what had happened. I'm not saying that me jumping out of an airplane made me a better Christian. I'm saying that it helped me understand just a little more of what Christ wants from us.

When I jumped out of that airplane I had only known my instructor for about an hour. I didn't know how many times he had jumped, if he was mentally stable, I didn't even know his last name. But I trusted him with my life. Why? I don't know. I was so excited about getting to jump that I didn't think about that 'til afterwards. But thinking about it, I realized that having a relationship with Christ is kind of like going on a tandem jump. When we trust Christ completely, we don't have to know how to do everything he ask us to do. We don't have to understand why the parachute keeps us from plummeting to our deaths. We don't have to know how to operate the cords that steer it down. We don't even have to know where the landing zone is. All we have to do is hold on to Him, and jump. He will do the rest. That's what we do when we become a Christian.

Why do I write this? I keep thinking about what we as Christians do so often. I don't know how many times I've heard someone say "well I need a Bible degree before I can go into ministry", or "after I get out of school, I can start serving God". We think that we need a piece of paper, some flimsy certificate, to qualify us to be a servant for Christ. I'm not saying education is bad. I say it's not enough. If we put our trust in our own earthly knowledge, even earthly knowledge about heavenly things, we'll only be getting on the plane. But if we put our trust in Christ's awesome power to save, and in the Holy spirit's guidance, and the Father's love, we will experience the thrill of jumping OUT of the plane. The thrill of losing control, abandoning safety, and falling through the air with the wind on your face. And only when you're at a complete loss to do anything for yourself can you experience the feeling of having Christ catch you.

I think that God calls us to do great things. And so often, we reply "God, I don't know enough yet!" But He doesn't care. Don't waste your energy on the future, it will never come. All God wants us to do is to trust Him here, and now.

It's dusk right now, so I wrote this.

I like making pretty pictures. Motion pictures that is. It's hard to tell someone who's never experienced it what it's like to stare through a viewfinder and see your lighting, composition, and dynamics all come together into a beautiful harmony that tells a story without the need for words. I love being behind a camera. That said, here's a picture of a fish.

"Sitting, Waiting, Wishing" doesn't get you anywhere

It's obviously been a while since there's been a post about the SR500. Mostly because at the moment there isn't an SR500. Just a frame and a bunch of parts. It's almost overwhelming looking at everything that needs to be done, knowing my only workspace is in the middle of the Texas heat and humidity. If I could just get past the first step of sandblasting and painting the frame, I'm pretty sure that the rest would come together pretty easily. Anyway, here's a picture of what it should look like when it's done. I'm hoping this might be motivation to get to work...

Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely

I found out firsthand this past week that the Suzuki GSX-R 1000 is fast. Very fast. In fact, I don't think the word 'fast' can really do it justice, because it's not just top speed that makes the GSX-R 1000 a thing of beauty.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm no expert on sport bikes by any means whatsoever. However, I have been riding motorcycles (mostly dirt bikes) since I was about nine, and I know a demon when I see one. So why am I writing this? Well, I went to Austin...

After hanging with Ruth and Jesse for a few days, kayaking on Lady Bird lake, swimming at Emma Long Beach, and just enjoying the relaxed Austin atmosphere, I think something got to my head and I wasn't thinking straight.
I went over to my oldest brother's place on Saturday, planning to just hang out and have a good time. I got there and he apparently already had plans to try and get me on the speed demon sitting in his garage. I was pretty nervous since the only bike I had ever really ridden on the street was my Yamaha 225 Serow, aptly named after a Mongolian mountain goat. It's a good off-road bike, but not exactly thrilling on pavement. After a few minutes of trying to talk him out of it I realized it was hopeless and agreed to take the bike out around the block a couple times. As soon as I got a taste of the power at my disposal, I quickly realized the 30mph roads of suburbia were not going to be enough. I made a quick pass by Josh's house again to let him know I where I was going before heading out onto Southwest Parkway. With that much open road ahead of me and six gears to play with, I had a time of it behaving. A bike with that much raw power can't help but go fast; it almost has a will of its own. Any rider that claims something is the bike's fault, however, doesn't have any business riding one. The bike still only did as much as I told it to. So I struggled to keep from launching it into orbit and made it back to Josh's house without committing any moving violations of Texas law.While Josh has always seemed to have a strange desire for me to wreck every single one of his vehicles, the last thing I expected was for him to offer to loan me the bike for a couple weeks. But he did. And while I was trying to refuse, the next last thing I expected was for Ruth to encourage me to accept, which she did, and I did. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn't. Anyway, instead of driving home in the 2000 Century Buick like I had planned, Monday morning found me sitting on a purring Gixxer 1000, oh so ready for the 150 mile ride ahead. It occurred to me that my parents might be somewhat miffed that I neglected to ask for their blessing on my trip, but I hoped my mom would understand that I was merely following her advice "better to ask forgiveness than permission".

As expected, I did get a bit of a...scolding, for not consulting them in my decision. Screaming down 1488 the next Saturday, though, just behind my dad's Honda Interceptor, I figured things were probably back to normal. Or maybe better than normal...

ugh...

Whew! I'll tell you what, some of those bolts can be a real pain. I got the bike stripped down to almost nothing but the frame, not counting of course the twenty pounds of grease and grime so closely attached, I didn't have the heart to seperate them. Well, maybe I'm just too lazy. Coming inside and writing this post took a lot less energy than firing up the power sprayer and hosing down the frame.Anyway, at this point the SR500 is almost unrecognizable as a motorcycle, and I'm starting to wonder if I'll be able to remember how to put it back together. I may have to break down and actually read some instructions online. Blech.
I'm really starting to enjoy having a dedicated space to work in. Big improvement from the driveway in front of the garage. There's something to be said for working in the shade with all your tools easily accessible. Having my homemade iPod dock playing Frank Sinatra and Norah Jones doesn't hurt. Music is just about the best thing God ever thought up. So far it's shaping up to be a great night. Motorcycles, music, and now I think it's time for some ice cream and a good book.

Resurrecting a Memory

So I've been working over the past few weeks trying to get my dad's metal construction building in order, throwing out the useless junk and organizing the less useless junk into some semblance of order. I finally got everything just about how I wanted it last Thursday, so my cousin Noah and I decided to pull out an old Yamaha SR500 I'd tinkered with before I left for college in 2008. It'd been over a year since I had cleaned the carburetor and at least six months since I last started it, so I had no expectations that we'd get it running. Engine starting fluid works miracles. About fifty unsuccessful kicks and half a can of starting fluid later, the thing roared to life. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. Of course, the fuel mixture was way off and it wouldn't idle for more than five seconds without a lot help from the choke, but my hopes were high.

I wasn't going to put a bike that looked as bad as this one did on the road, though, and I figured with the amount of rust and grease I was dealing with I'd probably have to go with completely taking the whole thing apart. I've never really done much mechanical work beyond cleaning carburetors, changing oil, or replacing brake fluid, so I figured this would be an opportunity for me to learn something new. It hasn't been that much of a challenge, but so far I've only been taking things off. My next step is to finish stripping it down, then sand and repaint the frame.