A Nerd's Lament

I won't reprise the common theme that "nerd" is the new "cool". In fact, in classic mid-'90's kid-sitcom form, a lot of nerds have turned their newfound fame into real jerkitude (see: Zuck and company, start-up chic). A lot of nerds are making a lot of money; more of them are creating viral phenomena; even more are coding their way to a brighter tomorrow. 

But back to the revolution a la late-'90's kid-sitcom/movie. Consider: invariably, a group of friends (usually social rejects aka: nerds) laments its exclusion from cool kid trends, parties, etc. All of a sudden, one friend gets an apparent social rocket-boost in the form of an invitation to sit with the cool kids at lunch, go to the party, or date a jock. By the middle of the movie, it's clear to everyone but the protagonist that the "cool kids" are the real antagonists! The friends plead for a return to regular boring nerdisms, but the protagonist is intoxicated by his/her newfound "friends" and status. By the end, used up and abused by heartless jocks and cheerleaders and others from the higher social strata, the nerdy protagonist returns to his/her group of loving friends. Order is restored in high fashion as the nerds claim victory.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), today's nerds grew up with those shows. But as corporate structure moves in to take over the creative and even technical processes of the world's greatest experiments, they are sinking millions and/or billions of dollars into these companies. With the money comes obligations. Even the knights of nerdhood, the gaming industry, has been infiltrated with a bottom-line mentality. Great games are disappearing or switching to subscription models. Virtual "social" games are being cloned and spun-off and selling imaginary currency and goods and upgrades. The greatest gamers used to be able to snipe from a few hundred yards, learn leveling systems and class combinations to create balanced characters, or crush cases of Mountain Dew on an all-night Diablo II dungeon crawl; their devotion to gaming and their skill determined their dominance. Now, the biggest suckers take the trophies, spending hundreds of dollars on sub-par games and expansions and forfeiting $14.95 a month.

Oh, and don't forget that obscure fashion choices and what I can only describe as "weird" is "trendy" now, so nerds or faux-nerds have to constantly change things and re-hash what it means to be chic. Authentic or organic or any other nerdy, trendy adjective comes with a hefty price tag, and nerds are so high on their skills that they take advantage of the fact that there isn't a price standard for tech/creative work and charge ridiculous amounts of money for any kind of work to feed a growing, evolving taste for trends.

So who are the suckers? You'd think the suckers are the ones sinking money into companies with no guarantee and little hope that they won't flame out or sell for little to no profit in a couple of years. You would think the suckers are the hipsters and really annoying faux-nerds trying to keep up with the trends. And, really, a lot of nerds are snickering in derision at the "cool kids" trying to keep up with the "social outcasts". But I think the suckers are the nerds. Reading candid interviews and early statements and all kinds of things that come out of the nerd elite, one could only conclude that they are mostly jerks. Looking at a gaming industry that used to produce real quality work, complete with rich storylines, unique combat systems, and challenging gameplay, one might only find a few shining exceptions to the devolution of games into "gamification" schemes. Examining the current state of the nerd, I'd say the suckers are the nerds.

I just wonder if...I just hope that the nerds will eventually realize it, rise above it, and come together with the chorus of  nerds lying in wait for a glorious mid-to-late-'90's coup de grace for this tyranny of trendiness.

Forgive the rant. In other Nerd News, THIS GUY has some incredible and thought-provoking articles on lessons learned from Star Trek and Star Wars, including Five Leadership Lessons from Jean-Luc Picard and Five Leadership Mistakes of the Galactic Empire. Go ahead, nerds: salivate. Go ahead, Wife: roll your eyes.

My Son Is Not a Princess

For the longest time, Brodie (my three-year-old son) would get confused on gender pronouns. He would refer to females as "him" or "he" and sometimes referred to himself as a "princess" after seeing a Mickey Mouse episode featuring the theme. When our daughter, Emily, was born, he sometimes got confused about why Emily wore dresses or little outfits in softer colors while he wore t-shirts and shorts in bold reds and blues. He was especially confused about why he was "handsome" rather than "pretty".

Lately I've been noticing an uptick on the internet and in digital print about "gender nonconformity" and other forms of gender identity issues. Around election season it is no surprise to see either side ratchet up their marriage definition arguments (marriage equality or the destruction of traditional family values according to your political persuasion). For years we've been hearing the extremes on both sides, shouting each other down with matching vitriol. As an aside, it has always been amusing for me to see liberals condemn hatred and promote understanding while spewing hatred and blanketing Christians with the label "bigot"; it has been equally amusing to see some traditional Christians spew hatred toward gay-rights advocates while eschewing soundbites like "Hate the sin, love the sinner". These are expected debates in today's cultural climate; adults must make their own decisions and build the lives they want to live.

In the Netherlands (and the U.S., too) children as young as 5 are
undergoing gender reassignment procedures.

But children are not yet able to make those decisions. Parents of children who insist as toddlers they they are of the opposite gender are allowing them to take medications to put off puberty and even, as young as 5 years of age, to have gender reassignment surgery (that's a SEX CHANGE, for those of you who don't speak the great language of political correctness). I'm sorry if it's offensive, but a 2-year-old has no idea what gender means-- he or she will rely on YOU, the parents, to teach him or her that he or she is a HE or a SHE. My son relies on me to encourage him to play rough and develop mannerisms; he relies on me to toss a ball with him now and then and he relies on me (and the other male influences in his life) to teach him what it is to be a little boy. He relies on us to take him to monster truck rallies and other ridiculous events. He even relies on us to buy his clothing and dress him in cute little-boy outfits. Even if Brodie insists that he is a girl or a princess, I remind him of his gender and move on; I don't make it a habit to have deep, searching conversations with my toddler about the meaning of male and female or the ability of individuals to identify in whatever way they choose.

Even as our children mature physically, they are not yet ready to make major life decisions. They're not even old enough to make responsible sexual decisions! Want to argue? Flip through the channels and land on MTV. Walk through your local high school and listen for the conversation in the hallways. They may be physically mature enough to engage in sexual activity, but they are not emotionally or mentally mature enough to consider sexual relationships' lifelong effect or consequences. Children who are forced to make these decisions by parents who allow or encourage them to are often scarred, jaded, or otherwise effected by the experience. They buy in more easily to the image of "tweens" and "teens" that commercial culture has developed for them.

As our culture moves more and more in one direction (cultural acceptance/an open and free society or moral degradation and cultural destruction according, again, to your socio-political persuasion), I'm afraid that more and more parents will begin or continue to encourage their children to "explore" gender-variance. As for me and my house, we will keep Brodie's and Emily's lifelong well-being and happiness secure by refusing to compromise our values and the gender and identity to which they were born for some short-term happiness provided by a little boy frolicking in a dress or playing house with some dolls. When they experience puberty and begin to understand and experience their bodies differently, we will teach them the appropriate times and circumstances to act on the urges and emotions that come with sexual maturation. As they become young adults, we will rely on our investment in our children to inform them as to their self-worth and identity and hope that they develop in spite of the cultural siren call.

Have an opinion or concern about what you see for our children's future? Leave it in the comments.

Reflecting on Africa: Bringing it Home

There are certain things you just can't bring home. The bananas and oranges we had in West Africa were the best I've tasted. Great deals abounded in artisan markets on cool-but-questionable merchandise. Three specific individuals were guys I would love to open my home to; I would call them brothers.

Unfortunately, none of these sentiments is strong enough to override Customs and Border Protection.

Thanks to the Internet, I can keep in touch with our contact in the region. We e-mail back and forth in French; what I can't pick up or infer the good folks at Google Translate work out for me. When another team leaves later this year, I hope to send back a letter and some encouragement to my good friend a quarter-globe away. While these connections are nowhere close to my desire to see my dear friend again, they suffice to keep us in touch and in prayer for each other. I couldn't bring him home.

Plenty of unique souvenirs came home. Even better: memories and friendships.

There is one huge thing, though, that I did bring home with me (aside from souvenirs):

Appreciation

There are so many things in life that you simply don't know should be appreciated. "Taken for granted" is a complete and utter understatement. Running water, heat and air, rarely-interrupted electricity, freedom to meet whoever and wherever we want, and commercial establishments to meet our every need all exist because of societal, technological, and economic development. But where we're born and who we're born to are totally outside of human control. By virtue of my birthplace, I am guaranteed an opportunity to make my life whatever I want it to be. Because of who my parents are, I was given an education not just in readin', writin', and 'rithmatic but also in how to treat others and how to view adversity. My country and my family are imperfect entities; they are easily-forgotten blessings.

Aside from an appreciation of the luxuries with which I have been blessed (for no good reason), I came home with an appreciation for the total power of God and His love for us. God illustrated both of these by revealing to our brothers in West Africa things they could not have known without his influence. As we were standing on the roof of our host's dwelling, we visited with a man who we'll call Makhtar. Makhtar had come to Christ two years prior, but had never had consistent access to the Bible and only learned more about his nascent faith through visiting missions teams that came perhaps twice or three times per year. God had been using Makhtar to evangelize in his village and a nearby city and he began to share with us the success he had. "It's like I'm throwing seeds," he said. "Some people do not listen. Some people have hard hearts. Some people choke it out. But some are hearing and accepting. So it will start to grow in their hearts." If that sounds familiar to you, it's because Jesus used the exact same metaphor in a parable that this man had never read and had likely never heard. As we continued through the week, a man began to join us for evening meals and to hear the Word who would not normally have been in the village. By the end of the week, he came to Christ and accepted Him into his heart. What courage! But it doesn't end there. As we were leaving, an influential member of the community confronted this new believer. "You cannot accept this belief," he warned. Undeterred, the believer, barely two days into his new faith, responded: "Now I know the truth; I cannot deny it."

Finally, I came home with an appreciation of the brothers I found on the trip. The Africans I met had incredible tales of faith and perseverance; I am inspired and challenged by their example. Earlier in the post I mentioned I couldn't bring them home, but I did manage to bring home some new brothers. They weren't smuggled in shipping crates or suit cases (a strategy we considered). In fact, they weren't even African. I won't say there was an instant connection between all of the guys on the trip aside from our commitment to the mission we were sent on. But I can say that a couple of acquaintances from high school became dear friends through the experience. Since we returned, we've started (and finished) a Bible study, attended a men's conference (more on that later) and encouraged each other in the faith. This new network was important for me. God started the engine in a man's walk with Christ while we were in West Africa; he challenged me to change the oil in my own. 

Sure, I brought back souvenirs from Africa. Much more importantly, I brought back a spirit of gratitude and some tools and friends to continue the work God kick-started in me while I was there.

What have you brought out of an experience that you didn't expect? Are you committed to taking your experiences to your local community? Share in the comments.

Reflecting on Africa: Painting the Cracks

"What are you going over there for?" was a question I got a lot before we left for Africa. As you can tell by my last post, there's a really complex answer. Most folks were just curious about what we would be doing while we were in West Africa. The short answer: Painting.

Sanding the patchwork cement out of the cracks made for dusty prep-work.
Add that to the straight gasoline with which the West Africans mixed their paint,
and the whole place becomes one big fuming cloud.

This was the cause of a little bit of a cultural misstep between our team and the village. I remember throughout my youth taking side-jobs or doing favors painting either the inside or outside of a house. It wasn't complicated work: you go get some paint, a brush, and a roller, and, bada-bing bada-boom, you're a painter. In West Africa, the painting is left to, well, painters. You might learn the trade from your father, who is also a painter. But you don't just saunter in and start slinging paint. So when we revealed that we were a funeral director, a heavy equipment contractor, a few students, and an internet sales guy, it was as good as a disqualification. Luckily, a professional painter was brought in to do most of the painting.

That left us working through the medical clinic sanding old (and sometimes sloppy) patch jobs, applying fresh concrete to the new cracks. The brown parts you see in the picture above are huge cracks and structural infirmities that arise from the building having no (or an insufficient) foundation. Because the clinic is built essentially on packed sand, it shifts often and strains the walls, which eventually crack. We did a lot of sanding, but not a whole lot of painting. Sometimes, it was downright comical how many times the Africans would send us back to sand or re-patch or re-sand the re-patch probably just to keep us out of the way of all that painting.

So why did we go? If our purpose was to make repairs and paint but we didn't do a whole lot of either, we've kind of defeated the purpose, right?

God used us above and beyond the presumed purpose of our trip.

Our "soccer team" showed the kids love and attention daily.
Also, that we are fierce (see: Pettigrew, Benjamin).

Every day when we went to and came from work, little kids would run after us, shouting (in their heart-language) "White man! White man!" They were SO excited just to see us. They would surround the clinic as we worked, and the braver ones would venture in. Between soccer matches and teaching the kids to dance the Macarena, it's a wonder we got any work done at all! Without getting too specific, we had several other miraculous opportunities to share the Gospel with adults, but it's the love that we showed the children (it is illegal to witness directly to them) that I think was a major purpose for this trip.

The fact is, the cracks we repaired and the paint we slung will be totally irrelevant in less than two years' time. The sand will move, the building will shift, and the walls will crack again. The wind will come and fine granules of West African sand will wear on the paint. But the evidence of our mission will live on in the hearts of hundreds of little kids. Later in life, they may encounter a negative view of Christianity from people who have never met followers of Esa (the Arabic name for Jesus), but their memories will be from a makeshift soccer pitch in the heat of the day. Of white men who played and danced with them. Of Esa-followers who paid attention to them in a culture that largely disregards its children.

The sands will shift. The walls will crack. The paint will fade. But the good work of Christ, the love we shared with those kids, will endure forever.

Reflecting on Africa: The Baobab

In case you missed it, five young men, Dr. Jack Porter, and I went to West Africa not too long ago. I have so much to say about it that I've decided to break the blogs into a series of reflections. Today, I'll begin the saga with a look back.

African lore reports that the baobab tree was once the most beautiful in the world,
bearing delicious fruit. But the baobab grew too proud so God plucked it up, turned
the baobab upside down, and stuck it back in the ground, revealing just the roots
where beauty used to be.

When I was in high school, I was certain I had everything figured out. While I'm sure that's an uncommon experience for teenagers (see: all pop culture, ever), I had it bad. I had been given a gift with words and an inquisitive brain...and developed a HUGE ego. My success didn't help the matter: I was selected over and over for leadership positions and seminars. I got to go to the World Leadership Congress and Boys Nation, where I met President George W. Bush, Senator Barack Obama, and several other dignitaries. With all of this worldly experience, I had long decided that my path was through undergraduate studies to law school to a career in international law. I prepared myself early, following politics and learning what I could from interning or working part-time for law firms. I began to learn French, the commerce and colonial language for much of West Africa. It was my dream to transform (single-handed, of course) the continent from barely-developing countries into an empowered people, protected by strong courts and well-constructed Governments.

I was pretty high on myself, but such a big head lends itself to becoming top-heavy. Through a series of rebellious and frankly stupid decisions, I ruined my academic career and impregnated my girlfriend. It didn't stop with high school, either. A window of grace opened up, providing me with a full scholarship to Henderson State University, where I ended my first semester with a GPA barely above 1.5. So long, law school. So long, Africa. I had been plucked up, turned upside-down, and planted head-first back in the ground.

Finally, under the influence of that same girlfriend (who almost two years ago became my wife) and by the grace of God, I broke down, straightened up, and (with a few more bumps along the road) submitted to following the will of my Savior. Last May my son, my wife, and I welcomed our daughter, Emily, into the world. For those of you doing the math, that's 10 months after we were married, thank you very much. In December I finished my B.A. in Political Science. When we decided that law school was not a practical path for our family to take, it was honestly heartbreaking. How would I make a difference to people without access to the courts? After college, though, I've found my calling helping people through my work as a Funeral Director at Caruth-Hale.

Not too long ago, a friend let me know that the church was looking for young men to go to Africa for 10 days. The trip would be subsidized so that we could afford to go. Isn't it the perfect picture of His grace that, even through so much rebellion, even in a still-imperfect package, he would provide a way for me to go and build a Kingdom in Africa? In so doing, He was building a Kingdom in me.

Be on the lookout for more segments. Next up: "Reflections on Africa: Painting the Cracks"