2003 MLB PREDICTIONS

OK, this entry has nothing to do with me being an urban Christian and everything to do with me being a baseball fanatic. Yes, a baseball fan that was born after 1970! We still do exist. Anyway, with the season just a day away, I'm going to go out on a limb and make some predictions. (I'm doing this so I can look back in October and see how much of an idiot I was.) So without further ado . . .

AL West: Oakland A's
AL Central: Minnesota Twins
AL East: Boston Red Sox
AL wild card: New York Yankees

AL MVP: Alex Rodriguez, Texas Rangers
AL batting champ: Ichiro Suzuki, Seattle Mariners
AL HR champ: Alex Rodriguez, Texas Rangers
AL RBI champ: Manny Ramirez, Boston Red Sox

AL Cy Young: Tim Hudson, Oakland Athletics
AL wins: Tim Hudson, Oakland Athletics
AL ERA: Barry Zito, Oakland Athletics
AL strikeouts: Pedro Martinez, Boston Red Sox

NL West: San Francisco Giants
NL Central: Chicago Cubs
NL East: Philadelphia Phillies
NL wild card: Atlanta Braves

NL MVP: Pat Burrell, Philadelphia Phillies
NL batting champ: Todd Helton, Colorado Rockies
NL HR champ: Sammy Sosa, Chicago Cubs
NL RBI champ: Pat Burrell, Philadelphia Phillies

NL Cy Young: Roy Oswalt, Houston Astros
NL wins: Kevin Millwood, Philadelphia Phillies
NL ERA: Roy Oswalt, Houston Astros
NL strikeouts: Kerry Wood, Chicago Cubs

AL Division Series: A's over Yanks, Red Sox over Twins
NL Division Series: Phillies over Giants, Braves over Cubs
League Championships: A's over Red Sox, Phillies over Braves
World Series: A's over Phillies in 6

WHEN FACED WITH OVERWHELMING NEED

Like most suburbanites, I grew up living the sheltered life. To be sure, our family had its share of dysfunctionalities, but by and large, the world was good and it was easy to believe in the goodness of people and the fairness of life. My parents were still together, and they loved each other and their kids. My school was academically rigorous, structurally sound, and full of teachers and students that meant well and did good. My home was a quiet, safe, and clean place to sleep, study, and play, my neighborhood free from structural damage, abandoned houses, and sketchy people.

Now that I'm an adult, and I live in an urban environment, and am in general more clued into local and global affairs, that sheltered life, far from being the norm, represents for me this odd vortex of space and time that seems so out of place in my current worldview. Issues such as divorce, abuse, and war are no longer theoretical debate topics, but real-life issues that affect me and my friends. It is not a guarantee any more that my house won't be broken into, or that the children at the schools in my neighborhood will be sheltered from guns and drugs. I am more aware of political corruption, in City Hall downtown as well as dozens of governments worldwide.

I don't live in the 'burbs anymore, and I'm not a kid anymore. And life has lost some of that playful innocence that it once had. My wife and I, in our respective jobs, are faced with the collateral damage of parental neglect, drug abuse, and neighborhood violence. The more we care, the more it hurts; it is tempting, then, to not care at all.

I do not glamourize my childhood or the suburbs, nor do I demonize my current life or the city. But I do long for heaven, where everyone and everything is as a perfect and loving and just God would have it to be.

What to do til then? Some choices, all of which my heart has considered and given into in my twelve years in Philadelphia:

* Get out. Escape to a place where, granted there are none that are free from pain, but where there is less. Where you can count on public schools and sewer systems and local municipalities.

* Protect yourself. Accept that there are no safe places, devoid of the hurt that comes from being human. Don't stick your neck out to care for anyone. Guard your emotions vigilantly, and look out for number one. After all, that's a full-time occupation; who has time or spare emotional energy to look out for others?

* Recklessly care for others. Realize that life here on earth isn't lasting, but that it is prep for an eternal kingdom. Pour yourself out for others, seek justice vigorously, weep bitterly with those who suffer. Go to God for replenishment, and then put your heart on your sleeve and bleed for others.

So what have I chosen? It is a daily struggle, and on any given day I might choose one or more of the three options above. I feel that God is growing in me a desire for justice to be done, a dissatisfaction until it has been done. I resist this pull at times, for it is a commitment that is awfully steep and that requires a courage that I often don't have. I am learning how to care enough for others that it brings me to tears, but too often I am unwilling to care that much, or at all.

I am also trying to figure out how to take care of myself. I do not believe it is the Christian life to look out for number one, and to filter all of life through that kind of selfish perspective. No matter what noble things I do, if I am still the center of my existence, that means God is not. But while the Bible is clear that we are to regard others more highly than ourselves, I do not believe it is the Christian life to not regard ourselves at all. Constantly seeking to serve others can become its own idolatry, and so can tending to one's own heart exclusively. Better than both is to tend to one's own heart in a way that puts on a godly mindset, which is to serve and love others.

This is not intellectual wrestling for me. Daily, I must manage an overwhelming amount of deficits, pains, and injustices, in my own heart as well as in the world around me. I must make choices and priorities about how much to care, if at all, about how much of my heart to give to others and to situations. I can decide to flee or to stay, to guard my life or to pour it out for others.

Today, I read in my morning devotions where Peter calls Jesus the Messiah, and Jesus explains to Him what that means: that He will suffer and die, and that those who follow Him must daily take up their cross and lose their lives themselves. Whether we live in the city or the 'burbs, in relative comfort or in acute distress, let us not forget the daily decision we must make: to follow Jesus or to look out for number one.

SPORTS-RELATED SUPERSTITIONS

A friend of mine returned from a long business trip and remarked that the Sixers always seem to do well when he's out of town. One of my co-workers is a huge Lakers fan, and let me have it for talking smack about them in an email I'd sent to her last week: "Since you said your little thing about Shaq and Kobe, they've lost two straight." And don't get me started on my own superstitions, which border on the absurd and deranged.

Why do we care so much about our teams? Why do we think that our rooting could possibly have an effect on the success and failure of professional athletes who are thousands of miles away? Is this healthy? Non-fans wonder how it is we could waste our time and focus our attention on things that, ultimately, mean nothing. I know that sporting events mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. But on another level, they mean everything. There is a winning team and a losing team, heroes and goats. Both teams play by rules. There is drama and justice and heartbreak and ecstasy.

That's why I love sports. Not to say there isn't corruption, or bad calls, or unfairness. But sports are how we want life to be. Maybe we're rooting for more than our team when we we're doing our rooting.

NEVER IN A HURRY

I've been reading Luke in my morning devotions. Having just finished Mark, I was eager to dive into another gospel account, and one that, while perhaps lacking in the action orientation of Mark, had going for it Luke's historian perspective (i.e. precise and sequential).

For the first few days, though, I missed the action. Luke's stories, while told in chronological order, didn't seem to have the dramatic juxtapositions of Mark's account. Today, though, I got to the story of Jairus and the bleeding woman, a great juxtaposition if there ever was one.

Like Mark, Luke tells of a religious leader, Jairus, who falls at Jesus' feet and begs him to see his ailing daughter. As the crowd excitedly follows Jesus, I imagine it like a movie scene, with dramatic music announcing that something great is about to happen. The throngs can't get enough of this excitement, or of this Jesus, and hang onto Him, knowing that wherever He goes, amazing things are about to happen.

In the midst of this pulsating crowd, a woman slithers her way to the middle, and touches the hem of Jesus' garment. Immediately, she is healed of a mysterious and debilitating blood flow, which she had battled for twelve years and which (I believe) made her ceremonially unclean. She was actually breaking the religious law to be out in public like this, let alone grasping at the clothing of the greatest of religious leaders.

Jesus stops in His tracks, and asks (to those around him) a ridiculous question: "Who touched Me?" Peter, in so many words, says, "Um, Jesus . . . like everyone is touching You right now." The woman cowers in fear. She has been discovered. She is out in the open, where she isn't supposed to be. She has angered Jesus. She has interrupted an urgent emergency call for the healing of a dying girl.

And Jesus treats her so tenderly. She is allowed to tell her whole story, and Jesus sends her away with a word of blessing. It is, for me, one of the more moving accounts of the tenderness of God towards those of us who are unclean, bleeding, and desperate.

As if on cue, a messenger arrives to say they are too late to save the girl. What must Jairus have thought at that moment? I know I would've been furious at this desperate woman for stalling Jesus. Perhaps Jesus anticipated this; he says, "Don't worry; just believe." He arrives at the bed of the sick girl, proclaiming she's not dead, to which the mourners burst into laughter. But Jesus raises her from the dead, and returns her to Jairus. No need to hurry, when you're with Jesus; even death cannot stop Him.

I have never met anyone who was so wonderful a combination of tenderness and authority. I must have Him.

THE EASIEST INTERRACIAL RELATIONSHIP

I am Asian and my wife is Caucasian, and, as I advised an Asian male friend of mine who is entering into a romantic relationship with a Caucasian woman, this is the easiest of interracial relationships. Of all the combinations -- white, Asian, black, and Hispanic -- I believe that an Asian male and a Caucasian female is the easiest.

Let me state my case. To begin with, unfortunately, there are too many in our country who are still horrified or uneasy when it comes to white/black and white/Hispanic relationships. I think that's a shame, but the fact remains that external views make such relationships difficult. Such couples that I know are probably the coolest people around, but they would probably agree that there is outside pressure.

White male and Asian female (or ethnic white female, for that matter) has an imbalance to it. The white male is doubly privileged, as a white and as a male, and no matter how enlightened he is, he's not going to fully understand what it means to not be white and to not be male. The white female and the Asian male, however, are better balanced. The unique difficulties of being a female in a male-dominated society are equivalent to the unique difficulties of being an Asian in a white-dominated society.

I believe that most enlightened couples in general understand that each person comes from a different perspective and a different upbringing. That's what makes life, and relationships, so interesting. So thoughtful people take the time to listen and to learn, especially interracial couples, whose differences are more immediately evident. And having the kind of balance that a white female and an Asian male have makes that interplay happen on equal, rather than unequal terms. I can say that there have been just as many times that I have called on Amy for being lazy about her white privilege as she has called me for being lazy about my male privilege. So we even out, rather than one person assuming the world revolves around him or her, and the other person is constantly the one asking quesdtions or challenging assumptions.

I don't mean to blow this issue out of proportion, as if all whites are racist and all males are sexist. But wouldn't you agree that all people view their lives and the world around them based on the perspective of their race and gender? If you answered no, that's probably because you are a beneficiary of majority privilege. can assert themselves and be considered bold; women who assert themselves are considered "bitchy," or (ironically) "masculine." Whites are never asked to represent their entire racial group like Asians are when they are asked at a press conference, "Would you share the Asian perspective on this business issue? (Since you are the lone Asian on the panel.)" Whites and males are free to say that their hiring, admitting, and promoting is based on merit; minorities and women know otherwise.

Let's face it: race and gender flavors everything about life. Including relationships. And in my opinion, Asian men and white women have it the easiest of all interracial couples.

SIGN ME UP FOR THAT HOUSE THAT NEVER NEEDS REPAIRS

Amy and I have been homeowners for three years now, and for three years I've been fighting a losing battle with our house. I am a firm believer in the "ounce of prevention" method of homeownership. So I check things fastidiously, and justify expensive repair and maintenance work as cutting off an ever more costly fix further on down the road.

But it is a never-ending battle. Our house is 83 years old, and while they built things to last back then, that doesn't mean things don't fall apart. Interior walls are hard to paint because even the smallest amounts of water damage and warping, multiplied by decades, makes for a bumpy surface. Outside trim needs a new coat, lest it rust and disintegrate. Water is my mortal enemy, and the shield we call our roof has sprung a few leaks. I am never ahead of my house; I am ever behind in the race to maintain everything.

I believe Amy and I will live here a long time, and so I worry over it; if I thought we'd be here today, gone tomorrow, it wouldn't matter to me as much that everything is properly maintained and that major problems are cut off at the pass. In fact, this fundamental difference between renters and owners is the basis for a lot of good community development policy. Owners care more, about their houses and their neighborhoods, than renters. More caring, though, means more worrying, fretting, and cursing.

(Here comes the cheesy sermon analogy.) It means more to me now that God is preparing a house for us in heaven. An eternal dwelling, that will never rot, and that is built to perfect specs. My earthly house, as wonderful as it is, has been a source of much sinfulness on my part: impatience, frustration, cursing, drivenness, despair. May it also be a reminder that my real long-term home is not here on earth.

LANGUAGE AND CULTURE

Reading an old prayer letter of mine from Summer 1994, when I went to Eastern Europe and tried to learn Russian, reminded me of a favorite joke of mine: "What do you call someone who speaks two languages: bilingual. What do you call someone who speaks three languages: trilingual. What do you call someone who speaks one language: American."

Even though there has been a huge push for foreign language requirements in high school and college in the past 10-15 years, we Americans can't hold a candle to the rest of the world as far as our linguistic flexibility. Because of our political and technological prowess, it's all too easy to expect the rest of the world to learn our language. Indeed, the rest of the world is.

But it's more than just the pervasiveness of the English language. For Hungarians are more likely to know German and/or French, in addition to English, than the typical American. When we Americans visit foreign countries, we expect to be able to speak English and be understood, dammit. And woe be to the intelligent foreigner studying in the states, who is looked down upon as dumb just because she speaks with an accent and can't quite understand everything that's being said.

I don't buy into the media's hyping of the world's growing anti-American sentiment; that is a polar viewpoint of a much more clouded global opinion. I will say, though, that language and culture are inextricably linked, and so it doesn't represent us Americans well when we are so lazy and conceited when it comes to speaking English. (And to think that no less a man than Benjamin Franklin himself once proposed that German be the official language of the newly formed United States of America, in order to further distance us from the British.)

REASON #587 THAT CITY LIVING IS SUPERIOR

I just finished Crabgrass Frontier, an excellent overview of the suburbanization of America. Fascinating chapters on the role of public transportation, cars, and government policy in making America a suburban nation. I could go on and on about this book, but let me summarize by saying that the author, Kenneth Jackson, would argue that the many "causes" of suburbanization are actually "effects," the main cause being America's fascination for wide open spaces and personal autonomy. Call it our frontier mentality.

This might sound stupid, but the book taught me yet another reason city living is superior to suburban living. What most Americans want more than anything else is a stand-alone house. Not connected to any other structure, front and back lawns, and a sense of personal space. In our quest for such a habitation, we'll move further and further away from our urban cores, to land that is cheaper and more plentiful.

And here's where city living is superior. I'm kicking myself that this hadn't occured to me before. A house that is stand-alone has to deal with the elements -- heat during the summer and cold during the winter -- on all four sides, plus the roof. A twin, like the one we live in, shares a side with another house. A rowhouse, like so many on our street and in Philadelphia, shares two sides. An apartment might not have any sides subject to the elements! So a stand-alone house is extremely poor at energy efficiency.

And yet we Americans seem willing to pay this cost. It is analagous to our relationship with oil. I hate when people complain about high prices at the pump. To begin with, we Americans pay so little for petrol, compared to the rest of the world, which taxes the heck out of the pump to fund public transportation. Furthermore, I feel like we already decided we were willing to pay the extra for gas when we all went out and bought SUV's. It seems odd to me that we would complain about a 20% increase in the cost of gas, when 1) we still pay 40% less than the rest of the world, and 2) we drive a car that uses 40% more gas than a more energy-efficient model. Makes no sense to me.

GETTING IT DONE VERSUS DOING IT WELL

My wife and I got into a fight last weekend over the painting of our bedroom. Since I work from home this year, I was able to devote a bunch of time last week to getting the walls ready: chipping, sanding, cleaning, priming, undercoating. The last coat involves a fairly complicated technique, since we're going for a textured look. So I saved that part for the weekend, when Amy could help me.

We did half the room Saturday, and so I was looking forward to doing the other half Sunday, and moving back into the room. I hate the unsettled feeling of sleeping in the living room, dressers and clothes all scattered across the house. To be honest, my whole mantra on this paint job is to get it done. Not at the sacrifice of quality, of course, but to me, it's just one more thing to check off on the massive to-do list.

To Amy, though, this is important. This is the bedroom, this is her house. It has to look right. So Sunday, we got started on a section of the wall, and it didn't quite look right. She said we had to undo it. Last thing I wanted to hear. We had a big blowout, and the paint job has been postponed. I seethed inside; having already resolved in my heart that the walls would be completed by the end of the weekend, this delay was hard for me to take. But she's right: it should look right, no matter how long it takes.

Today, in my morning devotions, I read the section in Luke where Jesus compares those who hear His word and do it to those who take the time to build a foundation in the rock for their houses, while those who hear His word and don't do it are like those who build on the ground. When the floods come, the first group's houses are sturdy, and the second group's are completely ruined. It is a signficant passage for me personally, as it was the first I ever led as a Bible study leader in college. So I remember the lesson well -- not that I always practice it as well as I ought.

The paint fight Amy and I had reminds me of this passage. Sure, we could've pressed on that day, and gotten the walls painted. And it's not like a flood would come and wipe it all away. But if it didn't look just right, we both would've regretted it. Better to take our time and do it right. And better, most importantly, to take the time to hear the words of Jesus and to do them, than anything else.

SUPPORTIVE BUT QUEASY

Although it puts me in the minority, I am in the pro-war camp. I am not a hawk; I am a reluctant believer in a just war. But I am convinced that we have made the right decision tonight. I loath the concept of a preemptive strike, but I don't think this is one, given that its instigation has taken place over a twelve-year period. I believe in coalitions, but I do not think that the lack of friends in your corner should keep you from fighting a fight that you think you need to fight. And I still don't understand why another resolution is needed to enforce a previous resolution; do these resolutions have so few teeth that after you violate one, everyone gets together to haggle over another resolution to decide what to do with you?

All that being said, I don't think there are many, even in the pro-war camp, that can consider today a happy today. A necessary day, sure. A day we can be proud to be Americans, certainly. But the thought of blood being shed, networks disabled, and facilities bombed makes me feel uneasy. Like I said, I am a reluctant supporter of what I believe is a necessary fight. But perhaps my stomach is weak for the consequences of war.

KEEPING UP WITH A CHANGING NEIGHBORHOOD

Me and most of the youth workers from our church met with our interim pastor this evening, to fill him in more on the youth ministry to date, and to get his help in deciding what to do next. Our conversation raised many challenges and concerns that I feel we as a church as a whole will need to deal with.

Our church has been around for 137 years, and as far as I know, it has always represented the immediate neighborhood, which has always been fairly diverse. West Philadelphia as a whole is now predominantly African-American and predominantly low- to moderate-income. University City, in which our church is located and which is surrounded by the rest of West Philadelphia, has always been a place for graduate students from all over the world, as well as recent immigrants, predominantly from West Africa and the Middle East. Such diversity is reflected in the faces you see walking around here, as well as in the many excellent ethnic restaurants nearby.

The neighborhood also used to include a lot of faculty and administration, but in the 1980's and early 1990's, a rash of crime drove almost all of them out. PENN has sought to bring them back, through a mortgage incentive program and a new K-8 school. My wife and I qualified for the mortgage incentive program, as Amy used to be a nurse at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. And if we have kids, we'll be able to send them to this new school. So we're quite happy with PENN's activities, as are most residents of University City.

But due in part to these and other initiatives, the neighborhood is gentrifying in an accelerated fashion. And that has a profound effect on a church that draws from its immediate surroundings. At many outstanding, predominantly black churches in the inner city, the reverse has happened: a neighborhood deteriorated economically and so while the church stayed, its members moved out, and commute back in for Sunday morning service.

In our case, the neighborhood is getting a lot richer, and thus our member base is increasingly diverse, making it difficult to offer specific ministries that are "one size fits all." What does our Sunday morning worship service look like, for example, when there are PENN intellectuals as well as low-income single mothers in the pews? How does a youth ministry do Sunday School and Friday night youth meetings for a group that includes those whose fathers are college professors as well as those who are fatherless?

In the past, diversity was our strength; we did a little bit of everything, everyone kind of got along, and it all spoke to the universality of the gospel message. In the future, I can only hope we can retain and even increase that diversity -- racial, socio-economic, spiritual -- without it stretching our resources and vision to the breaking point.

A TRIP TO CAMDEN

I had a business meeting in Camden this morning. I crossed the river via PATCO, a rail line that I picked up at 8th Street on the Philadelphia side of the Schuylkill River, and rode across the Ben Franklin Bridge to Ferry Station in downtown Camden. My colleague, the incubator manager at Rutgers Camden, picked me up and gave me an impressive tour of Camden and of development projects being initiated by university, government, and private sector. I would've paid money for a tour like this, fascinating and insightful as it was, but my companion was happy to oblige his time and expertise.

Lots of exciting things going on. The university, expanding in student body population and in programmatic offerings, is buying up abandoned properties and renovating them into academic buildings and student dormitories. The city of Camden is prettying up the areas near its tourist destinations, such as the aquarium and concert hall, and has recently added a light rail that can take you all the way to Trenton for $1.50 (although that's a starter price that's bound to go up, once people get used to using this mode of public transportation). A private developer that is prominent in Philadelphia is renovating historic structures in Camden into luxury lofts, one of which is already 100% leased even though renovations are nowhere near completed; two more empty shells await construction, should the first tower do well.

It will be interesting to see if there is tension over allocation of resources between downtown and the neighborhoods, a contentious tug-of-war that Philadelphia is currently in the middle of. Former mayor Ed Rendell, now the governor of Pennsylvania, was often accused of neglecting Philly's neighborhoods in his focus on big downtown projects; many say that his successor, John Street, is guilt of the opposite. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn't understand how one benefits the other, but when you're talking about where dollars go, there's going to be some grumbling.

I left Camden and my meeting glad for having visited, and eager to keep in touch with my colleague, to get the latest scoop on the ambitious plans. But, stepping back above ground at 8th Street in downtown Philadelphia, I was glad to be back in my city.

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY FOR FIVE MONTHS

It is 63 degrees outside and every single window in my house is open right now. I've been waiting for this day for five months.

It has been brutally cold this winter on the East Coast. For five months, the windows in my house have been closed. Not only so, but I have vigilantly sought to seal every sliver of leakage between indoor and outdoor, through caulking and weatherstripping, foam and tape. Every time I have cursed the gas bill, tightened my scarf around my neck, or marveled at how impossibly difficult it is to heat this old leaky houses, I have looked ahead to the day when I could open every single window, air out the stuffiness from the house, and enjoy a pleasant breeze.

That day is today. Especially because we have been painting our bedroom, it is a welcome feeling (and smell) to open windows all over the place, and let the winds pass through our home.

With the windows open, not only do the winds and smells of outside come in, but so do the sounds. The new windows we installed a couple years back to lower our energy costs are also great at insulating noise. Car horns and screeches are muffled, and late-night obnoxious talkers are silenced. But today, the sounds of the street come in. Latin music blares next door. Cars pass by the house, humming; there's no need for honking or screeching, after all, for everyone is happy and no one is in a hurry to get back inside. Soon enough, I'm sure, a barbecue will fire up, adding crowd noise and wafts of hickory smoke to our house.

I've waited five months for today.

DR. JACK'S TAKE ON WAR

I haven't seen one person besides George Bush and Tony Blair that wants to go to war with Iraq. And while that may mean that there is clear consensus and that Messrs. Bush and Blair are wacko, that may also mean that we’re all engaging in massive "groupthink." Christians, blacks, the media, college students . . .everywhere I turn, there is a sound denouncing of war with Iraq. Call me contrarian, but when everyone is shouting the same thing, I start to get skeptical.

Especially when the shouting has some serious flaws to it. If I were to believe the anti-war crowd (i.e. everybody), you'd think pro-war people were against peace; or that going to war with Iraq meant bombing innocent civilians, and that a better alternative would be to give food rations to those poor, starving Iraqis; or that if Bush and Saddam could just "get along," the world would be a better place. If I'm going to be on the side of these anti-war folks, I'd better have better arguments than those false ones to stand on.

Rather than being shouted into submission by the protesting masses, I'll let Dr. Jack help me decide on whether or not I think we should go to war with Iraq. Who's Dr. Jack? For you hoops buffs, Dr. Jack Ramsey is the former head coach of the Portland Trailblazers, who now writes a column for ESPN.com. His writing style is to analyze match-ups within each game. For example, let's compare the shooting guards head-to-head, or decide which team has the edge in intangibles, bench, or coaching.

So here's my best Dr. Jack impersonation on the proposed war on Iraq. For the purposes of this study, the following categories are in alphabetical order and will be given equal weight. The question here is: between war and waiting, which is the better option?

"Coalition of the willing"
The question here is, basically, is it wise for the US to go to war with Iraq without the support of the UN's Security Council? Here I must balance the importance of coalition-building with the need to do the right thing regardless of who else is with you. War is severe enough that you want to make sure you have some consensus worldwide. On the other hand, our modern world is full of overlapping alliances that may make it difficult for individual nations to publicly say, "I'm with you (US) and against them (Iraq)." Call me American in the worst way, but if I think something is the right thing to do, I will do it, no matter that no one is with me. EDGE: WAR

Domestic economy
There are two issues here: 1) Is war or waiting better for the economy? 2) Does the benefit of war justify the cost? For the past three years, we've been in a veritable freefall, from which no one has been immune. And yet it is in recessions that great leaders are made and great companies are formed. Quit waiting on the sidelines, people; war or no war, recession or no recession, let's go out and innovate! So I'll leave the short-term and long-term effect of a war with Iraq to the economists, and tackle Question #2. I lean a little more Republican than Democrat as far as whether the government or the private sector should be responsible for economic growth, but I disagree with most of Bush’s tax cuts. I just think it's irresponsible for a government to reduce its revenues and increase its expenses a la Reagan. I also think that most of Bush's tax plans sacrifice money later for money now; how convenient for him. It's hard to put a price on the benefits of war, but it’s also hard to justify shelling out $100-$200 billion on the military side when the government seems intent on making itself as small as possible on the domestic side. EDGE: WAIT.

Iraqi people
Military technology has gotten much "smarter" since the Scuds of Gulf War I. I don't envision many civilian casualties in the US's quest to get Saddam out. As for post-war work, this is where it gets tricky. Some Iraqi people would welcome US attackers as their liberators; others, fed by propaganda and starved by US sanctions, would curse them; and still others will stay awfully quiet, lest they be accused of treachery by either side. I agree with Bush that the Iraqi people have it in them to be as democratic as Germany and Japan, but I also think this situation, being mixed up with the mess that is the Middle East, will be much more complicated. Doesn't mean it’s not worth doing; it just means a longer and bigger commitment. And Bush is into big plans. Bottom line for the Iraqi people, as far as I'm concerned, is Saddam needs to go. And war is the quickest, most efficient way to do that. EDGE: WAR.

Middle East
Talk about tangled alliances. Oil, religion, and power all mixed up together, fueled by several centuries of hatred and "eye for eye" vengeance. Is there hope for peace in the Middle East? The world hates that we throw our weight around all over the world, and then decides that we're the only one that can mediate between two aggrieved parties. Again, Bush's think-big strategy works here: we're going to be involved in this part of the world, so why not think big? He loses points for the perception -- which I think is more false than true, but perception sometimes carries the day -- that this is a war against Islam. Nobody except the Great Negotiator himself, B. Clinton -- and even then, the peace accord kept violence away for all of eighteen months -- can expect more than a draw out of the situation in the Middle East. The difference with Iraq is that Saddam is a madman. He gots to go. EDGE: WAR.

Oil
Again, perception sometimes carries the day. Bush is too tight with the oil crowd to be free from accusations that this war is all about oil. Again, unfair: prices are high because of basic supply and demand. Supply is low because producers are keeping barrels off to the side, waiting for war. Demand is high because of an unusually cold winter in America and Europe. That makes for high prices. Will war with Iraq be a benefit to domestic oilmen? Maybe, but not enough to justify war. Still, Bush hasn't done enough to dispel the easy skepticism that he’s got oil on the brain as he thinks about Iraq. EDGE: WAIT.

"Preemptive strike"
Bush has softened here: when he first introduced the phrase a few months ago, he got into big trouble, and rightly so. Mostly because he opened a loophole for the North Koreas of the world to arm themselves, justifying it by saying they were protecting themselves from other "preemptive strikes." Since then, Bush has backpedaled, but some are still trying to slap this awful label on him. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn’t disarmament by force the logical consequence set up twelve years ago if Saddam didn’t disarm on his own? What else would be the consequence for Saddam not disarming, even further arming? "OK, Saddam, you broke the rules, and now . . . a slap on the wrist. You better not do this again!" As long as military efforts are surgical and targeted, I don't see any "preemptive strike" here. EDGE: WAR.

Saddam Hussein
Is he evil enough to justify a costly and bloody war? My opinion of yes is tempered by the fact that 1) no world leader is without his or her flaws, 2) media reports of brutality are hard to verify, and 3) just because someone looks and rules different from us doesn't make them wrong. Nevertheless, I think the inspectors would even admit that this guy is not to be trusted. As open and shut as this category might seem, I struggled with it. I think of the difference between Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. Martin lived a life of non-violence, arguing (correctly, I believe) that to use violence against violence would only justify violence, and that therefore violence must be met with peaceful resistance. Malcolm, who represented the poor urban Northern black to Martin’s middle-class rural Southern black, thought such a policy was ridiculous. If a man's house is on fire, Malcolm argued, should he be calm and peaceful? Malcolm resonated with a disenfranchised and put-down poor black community. Back to Saddam. Everybody wants peace. But what if threats to peace refuse to play by the rules of peace? Everything about Saddam's track record indicates that the more we give him room to play by the rules, the more deceitful and evil he is. I personally think his time is up. EDGE: WAR.

US image worldwide
This is a sensitive one for me, because I'm proud to be an American, and yet I am often ashamed of the hubris by which we throw ourselves around in the world. If we are the most powerful nation in the world (and we are), we need not be ashamed to say so and act so. But we must not then decide that everything revolves around us, has to go through us, and must go according to our wishes. Power, in Christian terms, is to be secured and exercised with an attitude of humility, servanthood, and edification. I don't think this is incompatible with T. Roosevelt’s famous adage, "Speak softly and carry a big stick." Is the US the policeman of the world? I think it would be irresponsibile, given our power, wealth, and prestige to not play such a role. Those that oppose the US’s war on Iraq because they feel the need to check against an American Juggernaut (ahem, France) have every right to think that, but ultimately the world needs a policeman who will defend freedom. If the US can do so without over-extending its national ego and budget, I'm for that. But the perception that says otherwise is held by too many countries, and is backed up by too many US mistakes, for me to be too optimistic. EDGE: WAIT.

War on terrorism
Some are afraid that announcing war on Iraq will launch more terrorist attacks on home soil. I think otherwise. Al Qaeda et al take years to formulate attacks. If they were ready now, they would have acted already; if they are not ready, all they need is more time and the attitude that the world takes its time punishing terrorist nations. Besides, I think the Iraq/Osama connection is overplayed. They hate each other ideologically too much to join forces simply to vanquish a common enemy. Will war in Iraq distract us from other fronts, like Al Qaeda or North Korea? Put it this way: if you’re surrounded by bullies, attacking one of them isn’t a great solution. But neither is sitting around in the middle of them. Nobody wins in a terrorist-filled world. EDGE: PUSH.

So there you have it: War 5, Waiting 3, with 1 tie. Feel free to disagree. In fact, please tell me I'm wrong.

REAL WORK

I'm pretty sure treadmills, rowing machines, and Nautilus equipment didn't exist 200 years ago. They didn't need to; people got plenty of exercise in their existing daily routine of farming the land, washing clothes, and walking everywhere. Nowadays, most of America is tethered to a desk, a monitor, and a mouse for 8, 9, 10 hours a day. Then we drive to the gym, where we can walk without going anywhere and lift heavy objects.

I don't know that I would've survived 200 years ago. This week, I've spent about 15-20 hours doing manual labor. It's been mostly painting, with a little moving a friend out of his house. And I am physically beat. I'm so sore the muscles in my fingers are sore. This evening, as my friend and I were moving his washer out of his basement, I nearly dropped the thing on top of him. That's called bonking. And that's less than half a work week for your typical manual laborer.

In three centuries, our country has gone from agriculture to industrial to technological. And in three days, I've gone to aches and pains, and to a new appreciation for those who do manual labor for a living.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CATS AND DOGS

Our church had a missions conference this past weekend, hosted by John Marsh of UnveilinGlory Ministries. The running theme of his talks was the difference between "cat" Christians and "dog" Christians. As he put it: "The dog says, 'You love me, you feed me, you take care of me . . . you must be God!' The cat says, 'You love me, you feed me, you take care of me . . . I must be God!'"

Sounds silly, but how easily we are like the cat. Even and especially when we think we are totally committed to God, is it not often on our terms? We make plans and then ask God to bless them. We call on His name when we are sick or in financial distress. We seek for our churches and ministries to grow in quality and quantity. What could be more noble than such things?

And yet, as our speaker put it, in doing such things we can so easily swap theology with "Me-ology." This whole life thing is about God, not us. His glory, not ours. His plans, not ours. Bringing our plans to God is good, but not when we haven't taken the time to listen for His plans for us. Calling on His name for our daily needs is good, but not when God as Provider is replaced by God as Santa Claus. Wanting our Christian work to increase is good, but not if it is for our glory.

With material comfort and relative freedom of worship, we have been lulled into a watered-down faith that I believe is no faith at all. "Cat" Christianity would seem to be the best of both worlds: allegiance to the Christian faith, with all the perks the world has to offer. But the Bible makes it clear that one cannot serve two masters. And Jesus leaves nothing for guessing when he says that many who think they're "in" will find out that He never knew them (Matthew 7:21-23).

It's time for us to repent of our "me-first" faith, in which we conveniently fit God into our plans, our lifestyles, and our agendas. A more abundant life is waiting for us, should we choose to die to self and live for Christ. That last phrase rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? I've said it so many times. But how many times have I lived it? How many times have I lived for myself, even in doing things "for Jesus" or "because of Jesus" -- as if I were being noble in including Him in my life -- rather than subordinating myself in pursuit of taking part in His life. For God to condescend to interact with, work through, and love us: that is truly noble.

ABSOLUTELY WRONG

I just got back from a prayer gathering for a family from our church that is in a Muslim country surveying options for long-term missions work. The mom emailed us to say they had attended a play last week where a man was beating his wife. The crowd cheered the man on. She was disturbed by the evil that pervaded this aspect of the culture.

Now I personally believe that we Americans are misinformed about Muslim culture. In our arrogance, we don't take the time to learn more, choosing instead to make presumptions and cast scorn. But clearly there are things that are absolutely wrong. Whether or not the crowd's response was indicative of Muslim values, there was something evil in their cheering.

In my desire to be as culturally sensitive as is appropriate, sometimes I forget that God is in charge everywhere, and His moral law is absolute. As Christians, we have permission -- in fact, it is our mandate -- to enter into someone else's culture and tell them that something they do is absolutely wrong.

To be certain, we must be gracious, for our methods are as much message as our message. And we must address our own hypocrisy, for we too as a culture are flawed. But may I not water down the absolute nature of good and evil, but rather stand firmly on it in my life and in my words.

WHERE IS MY TIME GOING?

I am on sabbatical from going into the office and punching in the 8, 9, 10 hours I used to do every day, five days a week, fifty weeks a year. Amy and I don't have any kids, just each other. And yet, somehow, I am completely busy and I never see my wife. How is this possible?

Let me recreate today's activities, hour by hour:

4-5a Amy get up and gets ready for work, Lee sleeps
5-6a Amy drives to work and starts her work day, Lee sleeps
6a-6p Amy is at work
6-7a Lee tries to get up and fails repeatedly
7-8a Lee finally gets up, showers, has his morning devotions, and grabs a quick bite
8-8:30a Lee rides the subway downtown
8:30-10:30a Lee sits in on the Philadelphia Children's Alliance's board meeting (I'm thinking about sitting on this board)
10:30-11a Lee rides the subway back to West Philadelphia
11-12p Lee has a cardiology appointment (I had a funny echo in December, but today, doc says I'm OK)
12-1p Lee walks home, has lunch
1-3:30p Lee is on the phone with Internet retailers that have double-charged him for purchases (darn them!)
3:30-6:30p Lee catches up on email, mail, and phone calls to potential clients for consulting business
6-7p Amy drives home
6:30-8:30p Lee attends missions conference meeting at church
7-8p Amy has dinner, watches TV
8p Amy goes to bed
8:30p-9p Lee walks home, changes into PJ's, takes out garbage
9p-10p Lee prays with his accountability partner, Glenn
10p-10:30p Lee eats dinner (finally!) with Glenn, who also hasn't had dinner yet

Which brings us to the present. Let me repeat that I am not going to work, and I am not taking care of kids. I plan to do both in the future; how the heck am I going to have the time to do all of this? I realize I have a problem with overpacking my schedule. I realize that if I say yes to something, I have to say no to something else. But I am incredulous that a day could go by like today -- a day that I didn't put in 8, 9, 10 hours in the office, a day that I didn't have any babies to feed or kids to rush off to soccer practice -- where I wake up at 7am and don't eat dinner til 10pm.

God, help me to get what I need to get done, done, and help me to clean some things off my plate, and help me to know the difference between the two.

TAKING SAFETY FOR GRANTED

One of the deep scars on the American psyche, post-9/11, is this loss of the sense of security. An attack on American soil has cost us forever the assumption that we are safe in our own country. The sniper attacks in the DC area only reinforced this loss. And our current "code orange" situation has everyone on edge.

In many of the circles that Amy and I run, people are unsympathetic to "all the fuss over 9/11." It's not that people are callous; no one would disagree that what happened eighteen months ago is a tragedy of unspeakable proportions. It's just that many of the people in our lives have never been able to take safety for granted. It is difficult to hear complaints about not feeling safe anymore; after all, that's been their life story.

Many of the kids in my youth program live in neighborhoods and go to schools that are turfed with guns and drugs. Most of my kids are black, and have to deal with "living with black," the feeling of being targeted by police, politicians, and racists. It is no guarantee to make it through the next week without being directly affected by violence and death and tragedy. The kids in Amy's program have been abused and neglected; to them, safety is a foreign concept. Whether the threats are real or imagined, there is always a sense of impending danger. Life, to the girls Amy works with, is a series of traumatic events, crises, and violations.

I do not wish to imply that middle-class Americans are wrong for feeling that this new sense of insecurity is unjustified and unfair. Indeed, it is right to want and to demand safety for oneself and one's loved ones. I guess I share others' lack of sympathy, though, when people act as if their situation is unique. In fact, most of the world lives in a state of constant fear, whether it be at the hands of unpredictable natural disasters, oppressive regimes, or military bloodshed. And for many of the people in my life and Amy's, such a life is status quo. Unfortunately, because we are fallen and live in a fallen world, no one can take safety for granted.

THE LORD'S PRAYER

Given that Jesus taught His disciples the prayer that we now know as "the Lord's Prayer" as an alternative to "meaningless repetition" (Matthew 6:8), I find it a little humorous and a little sad that the Lord's Prayer is the prayer that is most often meaninglessly repeated. I find myself, whenever we pray it in church, which is every Sunday, trying extra hard to grasp the meaning of each phrase. Fortunately, I've heard some great sermons on it, so even if briefly, I'm able to steal away from the monotonous recitation of everyone around me and meditate on some aspect of this great prayer.

This week, during our session meeting, we concluded a time of prayer with a recitation of the Lord's Prayer. Here we go again, I thought to myself. I tried to block out the voices of those crammed up against me to the left and right, and enter into my little world of focus, where I could sit on one or more of these choice phrases. And then it occured to me that when Jesus taught His disciples to pray this prayer, it wasn't really meant to be this individual thing, but rather a group thing. My attitude of "everyone else around me reciting it is distracting me from praying" was totally off-base. It's not prayer to pray, but ours -- as Christians, as churches, and as a church leadership team.

Sure, I might not have been meaninglessly repeating the prayer, but I was doing something just as bad, if not worse: snobbily distancing myself from my Christian brother to my left, and my Christian sister to my right, in a self-centered attempt to pray the prayer by myself and for myself. I was being just like the religious leaders that droned on and on in prayer to exalt themselves. Jesus had us types in mind when He taught His disciples to pray differently. Clearly, I've got a lot more to learn from Him.

TRIBUTE TO NAFES

In my leadership class today, the narcotics department of Philadelphia police gave a sobering presentation on the devastating effects of drug addiction. We were taken, by graphic photos, stark stats, and stirring testimonies, to places of absolute ruin, violence, and loss. A mom shared about losing her 15-year-old daughter to a heroin overdose. The presenter told story after story of friends getting high together, one person OD'ing, and the others, for fear of getting in trouble, dumping the body in a park rather than call the police or rush to the hospital. There was a slide show of collapsed veins, heads shot through in drug-related violence, and pretty teens whose appearances deteriorated to the point of non-recognition in the space of a few years of an addiction.

One of the pictures they showed in this one-hour presentation was of Nafes Johnson, who was killed in the middle of a drug-related crossfire a few years ago while he was driving kids from his church youth group home after a meeting. He was 20 when he was killed. No one should die at that age, especially not someone as talented and as good-hearted as Nafes. He was a minister and an entrepreneur. And he was my friend.

I had met him during his participation in another youth entrepreneurship program in Philadelphia. I kept in touch with him, as he grew as a business person and as a young adult. He attended one of our business camps, and received a Young Entrepreneur of the Year awards at one of our end-of-year banquets. Then, he graduated from high school, and began to work full-time for this other youth entrepreneurship program. Since our two programs collaborated on a lot of initiatives, Nafes and I would see each other at various functions. I made an effort to keep in touch with him, in hopes of serving as a positive role model and coach in his life, but in my mind, I felt I had much more to learn from him than he from me.

One day, I was near his office, and something entered my mind to stop by and see him. It was an ordinary work day. We had no event coming up, nothing specific we needed to talk about. But I visited anyway, just to say hi. He appreciated the gesture. And I appreciated the fact that we had enough of a relationship that I didn't need a reason to see him, that it was enough to simply say, "I just wanted to see you." We spoke for a few minutes, and then I was on my way. For some reason, as I walked back to my office, I felt a sense of satisfaction for having seen him, like it was important that I do that.

That was the last time I saw Nafes alive. The story broke over the weekend. I heard the name first, and then I saw the picture to confirm that it was indeed the Nafes Johnson that I knew. It is true for all young people that they don't deserve to die so young, that it is a terrible shame. But Nafes really was special. It is a travesty that drugs, which are no respecter of persons, would take from our community such a promising young leader as Nafes Johnson.

Then, as now, I hated the existence of things like narcotics and addiction and guns. They are a dark stain that has caused our city much expense, grief, and, and loss. And, today in my leadership class, I was reminded that they took away someone who I considered a friend to me and a beacon to our community. Nafes, I'm sorry that the world is so corrupt that it would take your life at such a young age over an argument over drugs and money. I can't wait to see you again in heaven, where such injustices do not exist.

THE SUNRISE FROM ON HIGH

I just started reading Luke in my morning devotions. This morning, I got to a verse I hadn't read before: "Because of the tender mercy of our God, with which the Sunrise from on high will visit us . . . " (Luke 1:78). But the imagery is not new to me. It's from an image in Malachi 4:2 of the Sun of Righteousness rising up with healing in its wings. I've always liked that image of Jesus, and how wonderful to have it brought to my attention this morning, as I am up early before the dawn.

I recall an early morning during my college years when I biked from my dorm to Lemon Hill in Fairmount Park to watch the sun rise. The air was brisk, the ground damp with dew. I unrolled a square of tarp, sat facing east, and waited for light. The other place I like to watch the sun rise is Hunter's Point in San Jose, California. The Silicon Valley really is a valley, and it is gorgeous to stand on mountains on one side and watch the sun peek out from the mountains on the other side, with the intricate network of cities and streets in between.

But that day in Lemon Hill, no mountains. The sun instead pierced the horizon, providing enough light to see a vast swath of blighted North Philadelphia. I marveled out how old and run-down it looked. I thought of my friend, who grew up in North Philadelphia, and who used to escape the oppression of violence and decay of the street level by going up to the roof of his dad's church. It is called the Badlands, and that morning on Lemon Hill, it symbolized all the badness of Philadelphia; of all cities. I literally saw, at a glance, hundreds of blocks, each with their own stories of ruin and brokenness. It quite overwhelmed me, to take this all in at once.

At then, just minutes after the sun had made a line in the horizon, it rose higher, high enough to illumine the city. For a span of a few minutes, the intricacy of the neighborhoods and the rowhouses and the streets was lost in a blaze of brightness and glory. I could no longer make out anything but light. For awhile, I even had to avert my eyes. Just as the depth of need and depravity had taken my breath away just minutes ago, so did the overpowering image of radiance make me gasp in awe and worship. Indeed, the Sunrise from on high had arrived. God, thank you for showing me then, and reminding me this morning, that Your glory is greater than all of the mess that we face in our cities.

MALCOLM OR MARTIN

I read James Cone's book, "Malcolm and Martin and America," about six months ago, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Opponents of affirmative action, for example, have lately been invoking Martin Luther King's "not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character" comment as supporting the assumption that King would've been against basing hiring or admissions on race. Michael Eric Dyson, on the cover of the PENN alumni magazine this month, speaks of an incendiary King that isn't so palatable to conservatives who prefer the bland, assimilationist version of the civil rights leader.

Indeed, according to Cone, Malcolm and Martin, while starting as polar opposites, moved to the middle in their later years. Malcolm represented the angry urban black of the north, Martin the integration-seeking rural black of the south. Martin, steeped in Christian theology and Gandhian principles, argued rightly that the response to violence was not more violence, but non-violence. Malcolm, not knowing any white people he could trust or back, argued rightly that when a man or race has been oppressed so terribly, he must act with vehemence and force.

Martin, of course, was more popular in the mainstream; Malcolm, relegated to the fringe, considered dangerous. But a funny thing happened along the way. Malcolm went to the Middle East and found white Muslims who he could be friends with. He loosened his belief that all whites were of the devil, and began to preach a more integrationist position. Martin, on the other hand, having conquered some civil rights injustices, realized just how entrenched others were. He became more fiery in his opposition of mainstream America's attitudes towards blacks and towards equality.

It is unfortunate that both their lives were cut short, as America would've greatly benefitted from the extra years and decades these men should've had to work out their positions and work towards social progress. I often wonder what Malcolm and Martin would be up to in this 21st century climate. And I often wonder which of the two I'd like more, be challenged by more, want to support more. I don't think either would be happy with the state of race relations in our country. I don't think either would say ours is a society where people are judged by the content of their character, rather than by the color of their skin.

EMPTY INCUBATOR

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. My primary care physician's office moved from the main hospital on the PENN campus to the seventh floor of a place called the Port of Technology. It's on the same street as The Enterprise Center, barely eight blocks away, but worlds apart. 40th Street in West Philadelphia is a "red line," with stark differences in road conditions, storefronts, and retail mix. On our side is bars, weed-infested empty lots, and cracked pavement. On the other side Market Street is called "Avenue of Technology," PENN builds multimillion-dollar facilities, and trendy restaurants and clothing stores reign.

Port of Technology was built in the late 1990's, at the peak of the dotcom mania. It was to be a state-of-the-art technology incubator, a jumping-off point for a new wave of dotcom's and fast-growing enterprises. Philly was to soar, like Austin, San Jose, and Charlotte, into the pantheon of "cool" places for hyper-smart, hyper-rich young entrepreneurs.

It didn't happen. The Port of Technology has been distressingly empty for several months now, and I guess they decided to get into the real estate business. I didn't think to look at the directory on the first floor on my way in, but it wouldn't surprise me if non-startups made up more than half the tenants in this glorious building. Being that I work for an incubator just down the street, and that our organization seeks to build a new commercial facility in the next 12-24 months, it pains me to see an empty incubator.

CALLING

I conducted a workshop at Tenth Presbyterian Church's urban missions conference this morning, on the subject of business and missions. Fortunately, I had a diverse and spirited group of attendees, and as a result we had a fascinating and meaningful discussion. Much of our time together focused on the subject of calling. Even as I challenged everyone to consider how to use their business skills to achieve Kingdom purposes (i.e. through non-profits and economic development work), many in the room also had important things to say and ask on the subject of being a leavening agent in their workforces (regardless of the mission of the business itself).

In both cases, I stressed the importance of humbling oneself before God, being accountable to a community of Christian supporters, and then trusting one's instinct of what it was that God would have them to do vocationally. Many in attendance marveled at just how many people have no clue of what their calling is. One person remarked that it is a subject that is unfortunately only discussed in the context of Christian ministry -- a pastor or missionary, for example -- and not in the context of the professional jobs that most people have. Another person shared about how he quit his job because he could not find any relevance to his organization's work, and when he challenged a co-worker to answer him about why this business existed, was given only a blank stare.

One of the points I was trying to make is that for many of us, the thing we give most of our time and energy to is our job and our organization. As Christians, we darn better take the time to decide whether or not that particular job and this particular organization is worth that time and energy. Our time on this earth is brief, and our energy finite; what a waste if we are giving most of it to something that doesn't mean something. Whether it is working vigorously for a company and cause that we believe in, or using the opportunity within a company to minister to those inside that company, I believe we are accountable to God and one another to redeem that time and energy.

The discernment of calling is, I believe, a lifelong pursuit: a journey, more than a destination. May we who have been blessed with higher educational opportunities and professional vocational choices surrender this aspect of our lives in its totality to the lordship of Jesus Christ. Thus may we be free to know that all of our time and energy is being utilized purposefully, for the advancement of the kingdom of God.