1More History Lesson

One of the things I love best about this country is freedom of speech, freedom to be politically incorrect, freedom to write things, I dunno, like this...

The Star Spangled Banner

Oh, say! can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming;
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:
Oh, say! does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In fully glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution!
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust":
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

1More Skill - Faith After The Fall

Pastoring, Post-Collapse

[*caveat: I am a Christian, but I believe this information can be useful to those from any number of backgrounds or beliefs. The bottom line: put others before yourself.]

Like most preppers, I hope for the best while preparing for the worst. However, I operate with the sick feeling inside that the ‘worst’ is inevitable. So while honing my gardening and rifleman skills, I began to wonder what these activities would look like after the ‘worst’ happens. And being a pastor, I wondered what my pastoral role would look like in a post-collapse situation. Would there still be a church? Would it matter? Upon praying and researching these questions I came upon a simple, yet startling, revelation: we are all ministers, and the role of ministry may be the most overlooked prep in the life of the survivalist.


We are all pastors, and the bible says so. [1 Peter 2:9; Ephesians 3:10-12] So what is the job description of a pastor? Well, the bible tells us that, too. Strengthen the weak. Heal the sick. Bind the wounded. [Ezekiel 34:4] Now, some are called and gifted in ministry in different ways and at different levels, so I’m not disavowing the usefulness of a ‘proper’ education for these callings, but I think many believers sell themselves short when it comes to their role in ministry. God can use you powerfully (yes, YOU) right where you are.


The Need For Pastoral Care

In researching the role of a pastor in a worst-case scenario, I interviewed someone who had lived through one. I called my friend who just returned from a forward operating base in Afghanistan where he served as a combat engineer and asked what peoples’ greatest emotional, mental and spiritual needs are in such a situation. I asked how one could prepare to pastor those needs before the needs arise. He surprised me with his answers.

“It’s nothing you can prepare for. I trained for years and was still completely unprepared for the first five minutes of combat. When you first realize that someone is trying to kill you it’s just utter disbelief. You either get mad and shoot back, or you crumble. My commanding officer, who I had great respect for, dove under cover, curled into the fetal position and cried. You can’t prepare for stuff like that.”

“Then how DO you deal with it?” I asked.

“God will give you what you need when you need it, and you either receive it or you don’t.”

“So is the role of a pastor even needed in situations like that, or are we just all flying on instinct?”

“Because of what I went though over there, because of things like PTSD, I’m on more anti-psychotics than you can shake a stick at. If things really go south, people like me are going to need people like you to keep us sane.”

One of my main roles as a pastor has been helping people deal with stress and mental trauma. I refer people to specialized psychological care when appropriate, but in the worst-case scenario YOU may be IT. My friend brought up several good points that I’d like to condense for the ease of your applying them to your preparation philosophy:

1) You cannot prepare for the mental/emotional trauma of such extreme situations.

2) God WILL give you what you need when you need it, if you are open to it.

3) Medications will not always be available to maintain mental stability, and an alternative will be necessary.

While we may not be able to anticipate the shock of what may come, we can still prepare to care for people during and after a crisis. After all, no plan survives first contact with the enemy, but that doesn’t mean you don’t plan. For example, the simple sudden lack of anti-depressants/anti-psychotics alone would necessitate the presence of a caring pastor or counselor. Add to that the fractured reality of people trying to kill you and you can imagine what an important prep this is, and one that is NOT on most of our lists. So, what are the nuts and bolts of BEING a pastor, especially in a post-collapse situation?


Availability

In a nutshell, show up. A pastor must:

1) Discern what the need is.

2) Be willing to go where the need is.

3) Allow God to equip you to fulfill the need.

Prayer is essential for all of these things to happen. Our bible heroes like Moses and Gideon weren’t born brave, skilled and ready to serve God. They were called, and then there were some serious conversations with God which aided them in their tasks. Prayer not only helps you listen to God, but equips you to listen to those you are serving. Left to your own limited skills, you may miss something important about your charge that needs to be addressed. This is how ordinary schmucks like us get to do great things in God’s Kingdom, even if we’ve never seen the inside of a seminary: we simply ask for His help, and He gives it to us. Again, prayer is ESSENTIAL.


Evangelism

We must be always aware of peoples’ needs, the FIRST of which is their need for God. One of the issues we have with evangelism in the modern American church is that most people are so well cared for they don’t recognize their need for God. I served for three years at a church in a very well-to-do area and the people who were most open to God drove twelve year old Buicks, not brand new Lexuses. After the balloon goes up, everyone will be in crisis. They may be more open to the hope which God offers them if they are overcome with hopeless situations. And if there is no local church to serve people in need, we must remember the old truth that most modern Christians have forgotten: the church is not a building, but WE are the church. WE are the hands and feet of God on earth. Which brings me to outreach.


Outreach

One thing the modern church must not forget, even NOW, is to meet the practical needs of people. While we are charged with offering the good news of Christ, we must remember the pastor’s job description, which addresses the spiritual AND practical needs of individuals. A great way to make God’s love real for someone is to meet a practical need. I have seen people break down and sob when simply handed a bottle of ice water while their car was stuck in traffic on a hot day. Outreach is not difficult, and you don’t need to travel to a third world country to touch someone with God’s love in a way that impacts them tangibly.


Conclusion

Some pastoral situations are truly best handled by an experienced individual with specialized education. But the main thing I’d like for you to take away from this is that GOD HAS WHAT YOU NEED, IN EVERY SITUATION. Don’t let inexperience or lack of education prevent you from making yourself available to those in need, now AND after things get toasty. Be it wise counsel, an open ear, an encouraging word, or even a water bottle given in love, you DO have something important to offer. The job description of a pastor may not be on the recruiting roster of every survival retreat, but it is in God’s survival manual.

1More Homesteading Update - Fuzzy Slippers

The last time Charleston saw this much snow the Berlin wall had just come down.

It appears our family relocated to the Lowcountry with not much more than each other to build our new sustainable life of independence just before a season of record rain, cold and snow.

Gold medal.

We put the kids to bed last night, sat down with books and drinks and were quietly enjoying the snowfall. Out the front window, our 100-watt earth killer on the porch cast a more beautiful glow on the accumulation beneath the trees in the national forest than any number of Al Gore's GE flourescents could dream of. Then, it went out.

My thoughts immediately went to the kids. A double wide in the woods isn't much better than a cardboard box downtown when the power goes, and we're just a couple years shy of the off-grid 10KW solar rig. Moreover, it certainly didn't make for an axiety-free mental gear shift having just settled in to chapter five of One Second After.

So, the kids. It's ten o'clock and I need to keep them warm for the next, gulp, ten hours or so. After that we can pile in the car and bug out if need be. I hooked a space heater up to my commercial 12V battery, but the Sam's Club inverter couldn't handle the current. Fire it is. What a blessing that we moved into a dwelling constructed against the better advice of not putting fire places in mobile homes. We had some dry logs under plastic outside, but I'd neglected to replenish the kindling. Looking around desperately for anything DRY and INDOORS that could serve as kindling (rolled newspaper? old easter baskets? the cat?) I decided it was time to go outside. We live in a swamp that has seen the most rain it's seen since 1941, and the snow wasn't helping, but if I could find some downed branches I had enough paper to get them dried out. But that still meant I had to go outside. Did I mention we live in a swamp?

So I traded the fuzzy slippers for my water proof work boots and an AR-15 (the closest thing with a flashlight on it...really) and headed into the woods. To add injury to injury I broke the middle finger on my right hand two days ago, so most of the wood gathering was truly a single-handed operation. But after a few sloshy trips through the mud and leaves I had enough kindling for the night.

Then it hit me.

I'm in the middle of 590,000 acres of national forest at night. I'm in the freezing cold. I'm in a region unused to and unequipped for snow and currently suffering blackout. I'm gathering firewood for my family in my pajamas with a broken finger and a military pattern battle rifle strapped to my back. I'm precisely where I need to be.

After we moved here in August, we had six of the hardest months of our life together. There were challenges that we were certain we wouldn't make it through. But we did. We wondered if the the things we were facing were God's way of telling us we'd made a mistake moving our family here. We wondered if the new life we were trying to create was spitting us out and telling us to go home. Then it hit us. We are home.

We could have seen the snow as just another hardship. It made the firewood soggy. It made the house cold. It made the driveway soup. But it was beautiful and that's how we'll remember it. We received it like a gift. Sometimes a gesture of welcome is only distinguished from one of rejection by the response of the recipient.

1More Series - Freedom Pt 4

Today I think I'll conclude my series on freedom. I'll by no means wrap up the personal sovereignty thread that will undoubtedly weave through this blog in the future, but life is settling down for us now and it's time to stop philosophizing and put rubber to road. But while our heads are still in the stars...

Last week I talked about a couple of near-death experiences I had in the music industry. There were many adventures on the road in tight clothing chasing dangling carrots. In a nutshell, there was one simple question that I asked myself which kept me from signing my name to legal documents:

"What can these people do for me that I can't do for myself?"

The answer? Not much. They can buy you a hell of a dinner, to be sure. But after the smoke clears, what you want is a good looking and sounding record and a team to promote that record. None of these things are out of the reach of the average creative person with, I'll relent, copious amounts of elbow greese. I walked away from my musical career having learned many things, but as concerns freedom, I learned that the more you depend on others for something you can do yourself, the less free you are.

And you guessed right, I did become a bit of a control freak. In fact, I learned some more hard lessons in my subsequent career recovering from this over-correction. I was a worship pastor of a large suburban church, coaching between 20-60 volunteer leaders for various projects. It was only when I again began to trust people to share my work that my dapartment became fruitful and my family enjoyed more of my presence at home. But as I assigned more and more tasks to the people around me, I understood that I was not giving in to the dependence that I was almost victim to in the music industry. Though I had to ultimately answer for mistakes made by my subordinates, I could at any time rescind the authority I'd abdicated. And here lies the lesson I learned:

The difference between dependence and delegation is in where the authority lies.

And I really don't have much more than that to end with. No stories of my childhood, no poetic imagery to dress up what I've been talking about. The important things to remember about freedom are quite simple, and it's important in all situations to be aware of who has the authority. This awareness will only come when we are unemotional, and perhaps a bit well-informed. Guilt and ignorance are easy traveling companions on the road to slavery.

Okay, you got me, one story. My wife was working with some children a couple years ago and she asked them where spaghetti comes from. They grew quiet, obviously thinking hard. One boy spoke up and cautiously said, "Krogers".

And that's really why I do this. I had once bought into the American dream where debt is expected of you and spaghetti comes from Kroger. When I lost that ministry job, I was very grateful that I had paid off our debt and was growing our own food in the back yard. Had I still been dependent on credit cards and Kroger I'm not sure what we would have done...but I'm not the only one around here who's realizing the dangers of dependence and hopefully some of you can learn some stuff here. Plus, have you had home-made spaghetti with a salad from your back yard? Freedom tastes good.

1More Series - Freedom Pt 3

In one of my many former lives I was a professional musician. I toured 14 cities east of the Mississippi playing homespun songs in dirty clubs filled with the most interesting people I'd ever met. And I had the time of my life. At some point, I decided I wanted to be a rock star. I spent a year and a half traveling to Nashville, working with a manager and flirting with A&R, lawyers, producers and other people who drive Jags and Lexuses. Truth be told, I barely made it out alive. My manager turned into a mentor and lifelong friend, but the rest of the experience left a lot of scars.

One particular WWJD moment comes to mind.

I was getting ready for a showcase in Nashville and all the bands were in the bathroom squeezing into spandex Diezels and carefully torn t-shirts. So help me God, I was straightening my hair. This was back when I HAD hair but, truly, there was so much dye and product in it NO WONDER God repossessed it. At any rate, my pure intentions for a career of creative expression that would bring hope to millions had turned into a clumsy, flacid thrust toward the arms of affirmation. So I quit. Good thing, too. My band was actually doing well and had we signed a recording contract I probably would have ended up $300,000 in debt with a needle in my arm and a shelved product. One of the finest phrases my lips have ever crafted is, "If Atlantic wants me then they'll have to deal with an artist that doesn't tour. My family needs me." If I had signed a contract, I wouldn't have had the sack (or legal right) to say such a thing. But the point of my story actually blooms in the middle of this blessed debacle, so let's rewind a little.

Before Atlantic, before the spandex, around the time of the manager.

Working in Nashville, I had been sculpting myself into what I thought the labels wanted. I had been doing everything I was supposed to be doing. I was on the phone, in the gym, or on the stage constantly. Things were really going somewhere...and I was miserable. I ended up having a falling out with the manager I had been working with. I had no clue who I was anymore, but I was growing uncomfortable with the direction of the development and my manager couldn't shop a nervous and unfinished round peg into the square holes of a 'zero development' record industry. So I stopped going to Nashville. I was dropped by my manager and my booking agent. All I had to show for it was an EP of a voice I didn't recognize and a rolodex full of people waiting for me to get my shit together.

So I regrouped.

I was determined to make this thing work, but I wanted to do it on my own terms. Unfortunately, my own terms meant that I had about 60 bucks to work with. The band I had formed while working in Nashville stayed with me. Turns out they actually believed in me. And they helped me get my voice back. We became a real team, got a proper band name, and took the path of the indie rocker. The drummer invested in a cheap laptop and scored us some cracked recording software (which we later purchased, so stop the finger wagging). With an SM57 and some dear friends we began recording in basements and bathrooms. We spent several months staying up nights experimenting with guitar tones and getting the snare head detuned just so. One of my favorite moments was recording guitars in a condemned cathedral. I had to track in pitch dark because the cops would come if they saw lights through the stained glass in the abandoned room. But the SOUND. Wow. I'll never forget it. And after it was all over, we had a record. We had the record we wanted. We had the record I'd been trying to make all along.

Yeah, we went on the road with it and got ourselves on radio and TV and in magazines. And then came the spandex and hair gel in the Nashville bathroom that sounded code blue for my career. But it was the earlier experience of breaking free and doing things MY way that gave me the strength to say 'no' again. Because I'd refused to compromise once before and been okay, I knew I would be okay again...and I was.

So what's all this have to do with freedom? Well, ring up some famous people who are $300k in debt with a needle in their arm and a shelved record and ask them if they would have done anything differently. Ask them if signing their name on a piece of paper at some point in the journey changed anything for them. Ask them if they'd do it again. Ask them if that one moment where they granted permission made each moment thereafter less and less free. Ask them if they still straighten their and wear spandex to please their masters. Ask them if they have a choice.

1More Thought - On Christmas

There's something about this time of year.

According to several scholars, Jesus was born in October...around the time of harvest. So, if the season many celebrate as his birthday wasn't really his birthday, why is there still some sort of magic that permeates the air? Why do I hear twinkling music in my head when I see the first flakes of December? Why am I just a little bit nicer to strangers? Why do I feel like a child again?

There's something about this time of year.

Maybe it's that we, as humans, are powerful. When we call upon something, it comes to be. So whether you're Constantine at the Council of Nicea or a beggar on the street, when you call upon love...it shows up. Humans MADE this time of year in the name of love. And so love dwells in it. Wow. Did we do that?

There's something about this time of year.

So next time you're fighting over a parking space, remember how powerful you are. You can choose what you bring to this season, and thereby choose what this season is all about. Judge a little less. Give a little more. Hug a child. Be kinder to yourself. Play in the snow.

There's something about this time of year.

Matthew 25 (helps local community)

World Vision (helps global community)

Salvation Army (helps)

Freedom Pt 2

When I was a boy my neighborhood would have yard sales every weekend during the summer. Once in a while my mom would let me put my very own table out near the sidewalk and watch over it all by myself. I would haggle with the neighborhood kids over scratched up GI Joes and headless He-Men. I was a collector, too, and so could be found the odd pile of baseball cards, comic books, and even rocks. One time I set out some old postage stamps that I'd been getting bored with. I didn't even put a price on them, but I imagined they couldn't be worth more than a couple of Boba Fetts.

Rob was one of the shadier kids in the neighborhood, and often made my life hell. So I was really excited when he offered me a whole dollar for the stamps. He took the stamps without so much as a casual fat joke or other half-hearted insult. As he walked away I was feeling pretty good and I thought of the four packs of Garbage Pail Kids I could now buy.

About a half hour later Rob came back down the sidewalk with his older buddy, Mark, another shady kid who wasn't as mean as Rob. He was quiet, though, and I think I was more scared of Mark BECAUSE he was quiet. The two boys approached my table with wild faces, obviously very excited to tell me something. Rob was holding the stamps and he blurted out, "My dad looked these stamps up in a book and he said they're worth a lot of money!"

"Really?" I said. "I guess I have had them for a long time. I don't even remember where I got them."

"Yeah, they're old. My dad said they're worth about a hundred dollars!" My heart sank. I was no longer thinking about the Garbage Pail Kids I was going to get. I was thinking about the GI Joe aircraft carrier that I COULD'VE got with that hundred bucks. Mark must've seen my expression change, and he seized an opportunity.

"Hey, Rob. I bet he would trade you all the rest of the stuff on his table if you gave him back the stamps." Rob slowly turned to look at him as if Mark had just said he'd found his dad's dirty magazines.

"I never thought of that. I guess if he really wants them back." He turned to look at me and shrugged, waiting for me to make a move. I did want them back. I wanted them back so much it burned. I couldn't stand that I'd let one of the biggest bullies in the neighborhood get away with MY stamps for a lousy BUCK. YES, I wanted them back! There's no way all the stuff on my table was worth a hundred bucks and he was giving me a chance to get my stamps back out of his filthy clutches. I wanted to yell, 'Aha, now I've got you! I'm gonna get back what's mine and for once you won't have the power over me!' But I didn't say a word. I just tensed my lips together, held out my hand, and nodded. Rob laid the stamps in my hand and then he and Mark loaded up their arms with action figures, squirt guns, and even a clock radio.

As they walked away I watched them exchange curious expressions of satisfaction and after they were out of earshot I saw them banter excitedly. I looked down at the tiny pieces of paper in my hand and I knew it. I knew in my heart that these stamps weren't really worth a hundred bucks. I knew I'd been duped. What happened that day was never talked about again, but every time I saw Mark and Rob they had a twinkle in their eye and just the start of a malevolent grin.

Some of you might be wondering what this story has to do with freedom. We often think of freedom as something that is taken from us, something that we are forced to give up by an oppressive government, or even an oppressive or abusive relationship. Rarely do we think of freedom as something that we would ever willingly give away, later to realize that we've been duped. These bullies could have easily beaten me up and taken everything I had. But by manipulating me, they took so much more. How much more satisfying it must have been for them when I GAVE them what they wanted. Not only did they have my stuff, but they had CONTROL over me. Leaving me with the stamps was not just a tactical leverage for their scheme, but also a rather poetic way to remind me that I had received precisely what I'd asked for.

The key word here is permission. Yes, there are times when freedom is taken from us. But those situations are historically preceded by countless incidents, sometimes generations' worth, where freedom is given away willingly. Pay close attention whenever you're in a position to grant permission. The next time you're asked to sign something, read the fine print again. Don't worry about being polite, the person standing in front of you WILL wait. The next time you're about to say, 'yes', think long and hard before you open your mouth. It's okay to have an uncomfortable silence; there are far too few of them, anyway. And especially remember this: the next time you have a chance to speak up for yourself, speak up. Ask a question. Say what you're feeling. Be very careful of just silently nodding, your hand held out to accept your reward.