I did it.

I freaking did it. 31 days, 31 blogs.

I’ll admit, some came easily. The ideas kind of folded me into themselves and it was all I could do to write fast enough to stay with the current. Other days were calm waters; no wind, no waves. I’m really proud of some of the posts – and some of them were written with one eye closed totally drunk with sleep.

I’ve talked about it before, but writing is the best way I know how to sort my self out. Maybe psychologists and counselors should have their patients write – about anything, consistently for a week straight. My guess is that they’d come back a week later with a journal full of understanding and never need to spend any more time on the couch. It’s a funny dynamic but I never know what I truly think until I write it down. I might have some ideas about an issue or some amorphous understanding of a concept, but in writing it down the image takes shape, the scales fall off and I can see where I truly stand in myself. Until it becomes black words on a white page, I can’t take any ownership of it.

Blogging every day is a strange thing. It’s not as though I’ve got a true “theme” or hobby to write about. I’m not reporting on anything, so what comes out are just ideas that have bounced between my skin long enough to materialize into groups of words and spaces.  Writing a blog every day means that I spend quite awhile in my own head; It demands a lot of introspection is what I’m saying. But self-inspection is a really good thing, It’s good to reach into the river sometimes and see what kind of mud we’re made of.

But it’s tough, too. The deadline comes quicker than it should and most nights find me in a hasty fit of last-minute edits and revisions and fanatically praying for better words. Then, they come or they don’t  and I hit publish anyway. Writing is a high-maintainence lover and I never know where our relationship stands.

But the best part about posting every day is not the writing itself. It isn’t the genesis of an idea and it isn’t the rhythm it brought into my life, though those things are definitely good. It’s the fact that I could chisel away at some kind of idea until it became cogent enough for me to stand beside, and someone would read it. The stuff of community. I would write and you would read and we became equal partners in the same conversation. And I’m so glad for the times that any of those words resonated with you.

So… what now?

What now is I keep writing. And so do you. Every day, as much as we can because the fight we’re in requires regular engagement. With school and work and obligations that demand so much of our hearts, it’s imperative that we take time to sort ourselves out. I’m going to be writing and posting (at least) 3 times a week -  Monday, Wednesday and Friday starting this week. In truth, I’m a little (a lot) scared that you won’t keep reading – maybe you read my blog only because you’re secretly praying for my failure, or maybe you find some value here, but I’m a little worried that my posting three times a week is four times too few.

So I’m praying about it and I’ll keep hoping that better words are coming. Or maybe I’ll trust Him and know that they will.

Thank you for sharing this Chapter with me. What do we do next?

 

Please understand this not being a cop-out blog. I wrote a full post for tonight, but couldn’t get this article out of my heart, besides – this is better in all of the right ways.

I don’t know much about Bob Goff – he was introduced in Don  Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and the story of his life and his family is just absolutely beautiful. It’s the kind of life I want to forge for my family, the kind of story I hope I’m invited into.

The link is here. Go ahead and read it, I’ll wait.

I think the most beautiful part of Bob Goff’s story is how God is using his life now – a family man, a lawyer as a bastion of hope for otherwise hopeless people. He’s not a career missionary, he’s not a pastor, he’s not an author (I think he’s working on a book) – he’s a construction lawyer who uses his day job as “fundraising” for his story.

It’s so easy to fall into in the idea of “next” solving our problems. Believing that the next girlfriend, the next job, the next degree – the next experience will somehow bring you closer to the place you’ve been “called to” represents a pretty narrow-scope of God – as if He exists in the “next” rather than the “now”.

And here’s Bob Goff, a guy using his now so other people will have a next.

EDIT: The site doesn’t work for some people, I’ve copied and pasted the article below:

Bob Goff leans forward — elbow on one knee, hand cupped under his chin — as he explains his latest goodwill effort to a visitor.
With the attentive posture and an excited tone, Goff causes his guest to lean in as well, two men ready to hatch a plan.
It’s a common sight surrounding any conversation with the charismatic 51-year-old San Diego attorney, whose enthusiasm for helping others is infectious.
“He’s a profoundly generous man,” said Jamie Gates, director of the Center for Justice and Reconciliation at Point Loma Nazarene University. “He’s generous in spirit, generous in life and generous in pointing others to do the right kind of things.
“He’s very whimsical, very hopeful and really does believe that anything is possible.”
Goff is a construction defect attorney and part-time professor by trade, but his passion is delivering justice to the voiceless children of war-torn Uganda. He refers to his efforts halfway around the world as “capers,” impractical, yet irresistible missions.
Six years ago, Goff launched the nonprofit organization Restore International, which helps free wrongly imprisoned children in Uganda and combats child trafficking in India.
He uses his tools as an experienced attorney to try cases and prosecute warlords, getting Ugandan judges to open courtrooms that had been shuttered by countless years of unrest.
“Instead of having intellectually interesting conversations or learning about what’s happening in Uganda — that’s what stalkers do; they learn things about people, but they don’t know them,” Goff said. “So what if we stop stalking these issues and what if we get some skin in the game, and we just do something.

Attorney Bob Goff Photo: J. Kat Wornowicz

“I suppose if I had experience in another field, I would bring that, but it’s kind of like a pickup basketball game. You bring your shot. If you’ve got a hook shot, you bring it; if you aren’t a shooter, you pass it.”
His “shot” is the basic concept of justice and making sure it applies to Ugandan children, many of whom have been imprisoned for years without setting foot in a courtroom.
He simply began by approaching judges in Uganda and asking them to hear cases in the northern part of the country, offering to provide for their protection. The African jurists had avoided northern Uganda for decades because of the region’s instability and the fear of getting shot or abducted.
In their first trial, Goff and Restore International volunteers tried 72 cases, managing to acquit all but one child. They since have helped send hundreds of kids home for good.
“Bob Goff is the kind of person we all wish we could be,” Dean Nelson, director of the journalism program at Point Loma Nazarene, wrote in an e-mail. “He practices law at a high level, and yet he sees a bigger purpose to his life.
“He began focusing on something much more than construction defects — he wanted to help address human defects.”
Goff is a founding partner in the Washington state law firm of Goff & DeWalt. He’s also an adjunct professor at Point Loma Nazarene, where he teaches a class in business law, and he gives a course on nonprofit law at Pepperdine University.
“When I’m practicing law, then I’m game on,” Goff said. “But as to this idea of philanthropy and caring, it’s not about writing a check. It’s just getting to the ‘do’ part of faith.
“What if we make this a place where we’re really serious about practicing law and the things we’re doing in construction, but we’re really serious about making a difference in Uganda?”
He refers to his law practice as “fundraising” and relishes taking on opponents in court, knowing the attorneys’ fees will be going to support Restore International.
Goff, who travels regularly between his Washington office and San Diego, purposely maintains a low-key office above a Laundromat in Point Loma. A follower of the teachings of Jesus, Goff said his faith keeps him from boasting.
He travels to Uganda every 100 days, spending between 7-10 days during each visit. While there, he talks to judges, tries cases and visits the school he helped found, Restore Academy.
The school in northern Uganda has an enrollment of 230 students, all of whom are internally displaced persons — refugees within their own country.
“It’s humbling to be partners [with him] in teaching other students what their lives should be about,” Gates said. “He has considerable resources in all ways — friendships, finances and influences. He could be using those for a lot of different causes and interests, like his own, but he doesn’t. He pursues cases for the least of these, like trafficking victims.”
Goff also has a way of turning conventional wisdom on its head. For example, instead of offering a sponsorship program for children in Uganda, Goff has his Ugandan children helping underprivileged youth in Portland, Wash. The kids are raising funds by harvesting food in a 50-acre garden they maintain in Northern Uganda.
“We want to teach our kids in Uganda leadership,” said Goff, who calls it “looking through the other end of the telescope.”
“I know one thing about God, He’s nuts about kids,” he continued. “If we’re helping kids, we’re in the right ZIP code.”
Additionally, Goff has purchased the Uganda law library, was selected as a diplomat by the Ugandan government and, three years ago, organized a meeting of all Ugandan judges and got former U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft to attend.
“It started this wonderful chain reaction within the judiciary,” Goff said. “It deepened these friendships with the judges.”
The judicial summit spurred an internship program in which five Ugandan high court judges will soon come to California to work with the law students of Pepperdine Law School.
“It’s changed everything,” Goff said of his work in Uganda. “It’s altered, permanently, my view of the role of law and lawyers. I’m an infomercial for law school. When I talk to these young people, I go, ‘Your life will rock.’ If you’re a nontypical lawyer, you could use all this creativity, strategy, focus, and just say, ‘Let’s go make a difference.’
“The law is the language of diplomacy; it’s the language of business; it’s the language of commerce. So why not use that in a whimsical way to say, ‘What if we hatch a caper?’”
Most importantly, Nelson points out, Goff gets results.
“(He) took stock of his life and saw that it could be more, and that his impact could be global,” Nelson wrote. “His priorities are focused on improving the lives of the powerless, and on reflecting the life of Jesus.”

 

I’ve never read an Anne Rice book, but want to now more than ever.

Today (it’s blowing up all kinds of news) she officially and publicly “quit Christianity” – that is, she’s relinquished the title of “Christian.” I’ll be honest, I read at first and balked. “Why give up the title?” I thought. Her explanation:

“For those who care, and I understand if you don’t: Today I quit being a Christian. I’m out. I remain committed to Christ as always but not to being “Christian” or to being part of Christianity. It’s simply impossible for me to “belong” to this quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous group. For ten years, I’ve tried. I’ve failed. I’m an outsider. My conscience will allow nothing else.”

I’ve been thinking about it all day – but still haven’t come up with something like an opinion (what’s that matter anyways?) but it’s been a good kind of introspection.

Who invented Christianity? The easy answer is Jesus, but it’s not true. It’s a concept we, who have lived in the years following Christ who have identified, labeled – branded the term as someone who “follows Christ”, literally translated, “little-Christs.” Which is a good thing, it’s a point of pride, an honor to be known as someone who follows the way of Christ, who I consider to be the son of God.

In truth, sometimes I feel enraptured by the identification offered by Christianity. I love the idea of it. I’ll be honest, sometimes I love the formula of it. The crisp mornings and top-40 worship songs and toothy pastors. I love post-church lunches and the overwhelming optimism that surrounds Sunday mornings. And it’s easy to get soaked in that feeling, addicted to it. It’s easy to forget about Jesus, or at least, it’s easy to think that he looks a lot like me.

I’m not calling for denunciation of Christianity, but – maybe she’s on to something. It’s dangerous to draw our identity from our group instead of our God. If I call myself a Christian, I’m then measured against not only the historical record of Christianity – not necessarily Christ, but also the subjective evaluation of the person you’re being introduced to. I’ve never killed anyone in the name of God, I’d never colonize unclaimed territory because I felt the compelling call of Christ.

But Christians have, and by association, we share in that infamy. Maybe Anne Rice, by pulling away from the label is now “free” to follow God independent of any labels, unswayed by any group-think, socially allowed to be a follower of Christ, rather than a Christian. She follows up her resignation letter with:

…. I quit being a Christian. I’m out. In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life. In the name of Christ, I quit Christianity and being Christian. Amen.

It’s scary stuff, and I think she makes a compelling case. But I’m not ready to quit. I think there’s enough room in our future the kind of revival that redeems our past.

 

Non fiction is always someone else’s story. The good stuff is captivating, compelling, honest, but never our own. By nature, it is identifiably other. Its someone else’s poetry we read in front of the class.

But whose are the stories that resonate so deep inside us? Is it the stories of accountants and by-the-book parents? Do we get lost in the deep metaphor of thriving strip malls?

To be sure, these things can be good. I love accountants and I love buying lumber and burritos in the same square mile. But they’re stories of stories. Franchised faith.

Non-fiction.

Its not totally our fault. School compels us to live non-fiction lives – with case studies for proof. “Go to this school,” they say, “And end up like this.” And we do go and learn about brazen adventurers and martyrs and geniuses and the devoted.

We read novels, stories, fiction and want desperately to live a brave part in our own epic.

“THAT’S life” we think, as we study for another test, prepared by another teacher living someone else’s story.

 

John Eldredge talks much about the wiring of a man, about our built-in longing for the validation of our capability. “Do I have what it takes?” is the rhythm of a man’s heart, and from our youth it beats on inside us – a deep question in need of a true answer.

But most of us never hear it, so we answer ourselves. Romantic conquests become a kind of response, “You have what it takes” she says. Jobs and status become another kind of answer, “This legal tender represents capability.” And on we crawl, engaged in a real battle with plastic guns and toy knives, looking to fight an enemy most of us don’t even  know exists.

And we get older and call the question “answered” but we chase Eve all over Eden and try to earn as much money as possible – hoping that one or both will supply enough affirmation to quiet the echoing.

“Do I really have what it takes?” The call continues.

And answering the question is risky.

I don’t risk many things. I never have. The college I went to, the girls I’ve dated, the jobs I’ve taken, the comfortable faith I’ve adopted. All sources of solid, reliable affirmation.  Please understand, I’ve been lucky in each department, and God’s brilliantly weaved those stories into some kind of beautiful narrative, but still – I haven’t risked much.

Risk is for other people, I reason. Other people with less to lose. Other people with perfect families and abundant opportunities. People without student loans and people without plans. It’s not for me, though, I live on the other side of the street, a different neighborhood altogether.

If you’re anything like me, more nights than you care to admit are spent wondering “what if?” – What if we did risk? What if we truly leaned in the direction of our dreaming? Literally, what’s the worst that could happen? What if we did? What’s to lose? I’m not talking about quitting your job or finding another husband and I’m certainly not talking about some kind of physical risk (though, there’s some merit there) but the real kind of risk. The kind that costs something, the tough conversations, the revelations, the deep transparency that I’m truly afraid of.

But, how?

To be honest, I’ve no idea. I guess that’s why I’m asking you. Where do we start? How do we risk in the direction of our dreams? Is it worth it?

What do we have to lose? Do you have what it takes? Do I?

 

I know this one isn’t a secret, but it feels so lost on so many interviewees that I’m starting to believe that some clandestine sect interested in elitist gain is withholding this information, lest we all become successful. While this issue will not necessarily secure a position, it could, if unanswered, cost you the opportunity. Personally, It would take a strong act of God for me to recommend the hiring of someone who failed this on issue.

Learn about the company.


That’s it. Sounds easy. It is.

If you’re applying for a job in a reasonably established company, they will have information made public somewhere on the interwebs.

What’s surprising though, is how few people actually take advantage of the resource (which is actually probably why it’s such an egregious offense). The Internet is free. If you don’t have it, go to the library, there will undoubtedly be a smiling older woman who would love nothing more than to help you stop slacking.

In my recent experience, probably 1/5 candidates have any knowledge of the company they’re engaging, and even fewer can answer shallow-at-best questions about the industry in general. True, some companies hide their information better than others, but it’s out there – if you look.

If you’re totally without inclination, have a look at the company from some of these angles:

- About Us/Contact Us – Seriously. This one is pretty softball. Start here, read everything, memorize key names.

- Products/Services – It’s absolutely amazing (by amazing, I mean decidedly un-amazing) how many people we interview have almost no idea what we do. Also, trying to infer company details from the company name is usually not enough.
“Uh, you guys generally make motors, right? – Right.

- Competition/Reputation - Once you’ve identified what the company does, have a look at what other, similar companies do. Pro Tip: if the competition is better, it’s best not to bring this up.

- Blog/Social Media – Whether it’s run by a middle-manager with a paunch or a newly-newly minted college graduate with a URL for a middle name, most businesses have some kind of social media presence. This is a brilliant way to get a feel for company culture as well as raw opinion from sources other than copy-edited web content.

Given the instant, free access we have to the Internet, we’re all without excuse for not having some answer to the question. Actually, I think this is exactly why it’s so important.

If you can’t answer “what do you know about us?” Don’t bother asking what we think about you.

 

Continuing the “how to get a job” series – or really, “what I’ve learned by interviewing a bunch of people”series, what you wear, matters.

Last post was about being human, showing your quirk and personality as a valuable way to demonstrate  humanity. Continuing that path, it’s important to be human, but there’s danger in forgetting who you are, where you are, and why you’re there.

My work is hiring for a pretty good job, and we typically draw from a great network of talent, but you’d be surprised at the way people look during their interview.

I’m not judging style, or physicality. Actually, just to make sure I’m fully above board (and covering my butt) I place a “check” in the “candidate appearance” box on our interview evaluation forms (it calls for a 1-10 rating)

So it’s not about style, and it’s certainly not about attractiveness.

It’s about effort. It’s about demonstrating that the job is important and (maybe mostly) it’s about respect.

Most of the time, the interviewer is your potential superior. Should you get the job you’ve applied for, they will at some point ask/expect something from you. Nothing says “I care more about my agenda than yours” than wearing the same sweet outfit you wore to the club last week. Also, (channeling voice of the great Scott Durham) pull your pants up.

No worthwhile job wants you to sacrifice your passions and sell yourself over to the workplace. Jobs need passion now more than ever. But your interviewers need to see that the job is at least important enough to deserve a button-up and tie. On this topic, I’ll say little else. Dress approppriately:

Dudes: Slacks, Tie

Girls: Whatver you have to do so that it doesnt’ look like you are a) Straight promiscuous or b) Totally ungrateful.

The old maxim is “dress for the job you want.” If you’re still at the interviewing stage of the game, lets change this to  “dress because you need the job.”

 

How To Get a Job

This will turn into a series of posts, so I’ll start here with some cursory information.

I’ve had the invaluable opportunity over the last few years to interview a few dozen people so understand, I’m speaking from some experience.

I also realize I’m in the minority here, I love interviews. I love being interviewed more than I like doing the interviewing. But, for most (sane) people, interviews are pretty much a guaranteed way to lose a night’s sleep to worry, an afternoon to nerves and a later afternoon to regret at all the things you could’ve/should’ve said.

Here’s a few ways to make sure all of the nervousness, worry and insecurity pays off.

Be human.

When you break it down into its simplest parts, all interviews consist of you (human) talking to potential bosses (other humans). But, almost everyone I’ve interviewed in the past year has approached interview questions as though they were an excel formula. They might as well be speaking binary code.

The humans interviewing you are doing so because there’s no systematic way to outsource your job. Effectively, they haven’t found a way yet to replace you with a computer. So, understanding that, why do so many applicants give cold, mechanic, robotic answers to standard questions.

They want humans. They want personalities. Withholding your personality probably flies in the face of most interview advice, but think critically – be yourself and understand that any interview in which you aren’t comfortable being yourself is likely leading to a job you’d hate.

Part two tomorrow: “Seriously, are you wearing that?”

 

Writing from the safety of some furtive lookout, I watch the war. Though I’m safe, perched in a kind lookout high in a swaying tree I hear the battle below me; feel the word’s echoes. There’s some lines of action mounting, throwing charges at the accusation. Apathy and empathy at arms.

Ego and transparency, on some distant hill fighting their own distant war.

Maybe writing is important if only to watch as the war between the “what-if” and the “what-now” unfolds itself onto the drama of some pages. It’s here where I sort things out, where I’m cleverer than I was hours ago. Where I’m better than I should be but always as strong as I am.

 

I love Twitter. I love the community of it, I love the fact that it’s about what you produce, rather than what you consume. I think it’s approximately 250% better than Facebook. I love it because it’s tough to fake it. Gone are the ambiguously angular MySpace mirror shots, and thank God you can’t Photoshop your Tweets. It’s content driven, it’s value driven.

But the best part of Twitter (or even blogs) is also the most dangerous. The accessibility, relative freedom and community built into Twitter and blogging platforms generates a brilliant and supportive network of acquaintances who can be instantly communicated with. And, because you’re limited to 140 characters, it’s pretty instant for the reader too. Our thoughts (our hearts) are folded into the fetal position and crammed into the trunk of a speeding Buick – Soprano style, and it’s awesome.

But I think the gratification we get from posting something we’re particularly proud of and instantly sharing it with our network can, if left unchecked, set unreasonable expectations for our art.

To an (arguably) lesser extent, Blogs are the same way. You write, I read. I comment and we’re all made happy because:

1) You got to write. (labor)

 2) I got to read.  (release)

3) I responded. (engagement)

 4) You were made aware of the impact of your writing.  (gratification)

Writing everyday this month has been one of the best things I’ve ever done (no hyperbole). And some of the conversations I’ve been involved in are absolutely invaluable. I’m truly, completely honored that, given the thousands (millions) of better blogs out there, you chose to stop by and read these words. Seriously, thank you.

So please understand, I’m a HUGE fan of Twitter and blogs. I find profound value in reading and participating in each community.

I read tweets all day from my brilliant friends. Honestly, there’s BOOKS in there. There’s films, screenplays, inventions, theological proofs. There’s enterprises and businesses and messages and sermons packed neatly into a hasty catharsis, and released into the wild. Literally, I have friends who can stuff more meaning into 140 characters than I could into 140 pages.  I’m lucky to know some radiant people. It’s heartbreaking to see us chisel a thought into a masterpiece only to release only it to the raised-eyebrows of impressed friends.

Community support is good, so good. And I’m not saying that we shouldn’t keep encouraging each other – we should. I’m not going to stop.

But what I’m scared of is leaving it there. What if the poem never gets written? The business never started? The dream never taken?  The life never lived. The danger is in allowing pithy pontification and a few labored lines to serve as a substitute for real transformative action.  Real, substantial healing.

What I’m not asking you to do is stop tweeting, I’m asking you to start writing.

I’m saying we should stop talking. I’m saying we should start living.

© 2012 Sean Durham Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha