If He stayed dead.

Easter weekend always reminds me of just how absurd Christianity must sound to the outside world. This whole group of people believe this one man at this one point in history wasn't just a man—He was also God. Crazier still, we believe he was murdered at the hands of one of the most powerful civilizations, was buried, then rose again. Like. Stood up. Walked around. Ate some meals. If you're a Christian, you have to understand how absolutely bonkers that must sound.

Or maybe it doesn't sound so crazy any more. We live in a time of heart monitors and life support, and people who spend years in a coma only to wake up again. People have "died on the table" and been brought back to life. So what's the big deal if a man that was dead came back to life? What's so radical about resurrection?

I've been thinking about this question a lot today. This is the day, more than 2000 years ago, that Jesus was executed as a criminal. A rebel. He was whipped. Stripped naked. Cut. Beaten. Nailed to a piece of wood, and displayed like a piece of raw meat for the rest of the Jewish nation to look upon as an example of what would happen if you called yourself King. He died.

And what would have happened if he had stayed dead?

If He stayed dead, the Romans would have won.

If He stayed dead, the Jewish Pharisees would have felt thirty pieces of silver was money well spent to keep their power.

If He stayed dead, he lied.

If He stayed dead, the Disciples would have fled, knowing they'd been duped in the longest Con ever recorded.

If He stayed dead, the only hope we have is in the goodness of each other.

If He stayed dead, the only fear we have is of the evil in each other.

If He stayed dead, the only love we have is what we can manufacture.

If He stayed dead, the only pleasure we have is what we can hoard for ourselves.

If He stayed dead, joy in life is tied to our circumstances.

If He stayed dead, there is no reason to deny our base desires, because this life is all there is, there is nothing to come. Why not do what I want?

If He stayed dead, there is no bigger plan. We are on a deserted island in the middle of a vast Universe with no one coming to save us.

If He stayed dead, suffering wins.

If He stayed dead, so will we.

Hanging Up the Eagle

It was the Christmas my dad turned into a full bird. My mother and I were in a department store at the Garden State Plaza surrounded by bows, glitter, and faux firs decorated from tip to trunk with lights and glass-blown ornaments. I was eleven, a sixth grader with snaggly teeth, bangs and the patience of a newborn squirrel. But I knew my mission. "Something gaudy," my mother instructed. "It's got to be huge."

"I think we're in the right place," I replied, looking over the sea of drums, meaningless balls, gingerbread men, and fat Santas. I gave my bangs a puff of air with a protruding lower lip. "Does dad know you're doing this?"

"Of course not," she snapped. Turning another carousel of ornaments, my mother laughed. "He's going to hate it."

A Matter of Rank

In the Army, a full-bird grows within a cocoon of service and emerges with two-dimensional eagles pinned on its epaulets. A full-bird is a Colonel—an officer selected to climb to the ranks of the U.S. Army. When the good news came that previous summer, my mother popped a champagne bottle and invited the family to the promotion ceremony that overlooked the Hudson River. All that was done and over, and now it was Christmas and my mother was determined.

"This bird is putting you through college," my mother shouted from across the store. I shrank in embarrassment and rushed to her side.

"No one makes eagle ornaments, mom," I whispered. Why were we looking for an eagle ornament when my father wore two on his shoulders every day? There was no sign of an eagle. Not even a dove.

I didn't understand the importance of that ornament. I didn't understand that removing LTC from the doorstep and replacing it with COL was a feat that required an entire committee to select my father's name and pass over someone else's. I didn't know that if his name hadn't been chosen, it would have meant the end of his 23-year Army career. It would have meant leaving West Point, the cocoon of my own making. I couldn't contemplate that even though my father's career had been extended, there was still an expiration date, and that it was fast approaching.

I didn't understand that when he took the uniform off, the ornament and the memories and the man would be all we had left.

And then I saw it.

"Mom," I shouted across the store. "I found it!"

50,000 words.

I have to share something with you, mostly because I can't believe it has happened and I want to praise God. In the past three months, I've written 50,000 words.

50,000 words is something like 206 double-spaced pages.

50,000 words is something like half (or maybe two-thirds) of a manuscript.

50,000 words is a whole hell of a lot of effort and tears and loneliness and worry about whether or not what you're writing matters.

50,000 words has taken a whole lot of prayer and encouragement and kind eyes and cheerleading voices.

And 50,000 words is a reminder of the most encouraging truth of all. God is responsible for this idea coming to me in the first place. And He provides  the power, energy, creativity and support I need to get this done. And it will get done.

Because He is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

Believe it.

Shakespeare in the Park

Need something fun to do this weekend?

I have your answer.

I had never been to Nashville's Shakespeare in the Park festival before. But the weather yesterday was so very perfect that I couldn't imagine spending the evening anywhere but outdoors.

So, naturally, I packed a picnic basket:

• One Pink Panther and one Rosco from the Silly Goose
• One bottle of white wine from Woodland Wine Merchant
• Two steady stick wine glass holders
• One blanket
• Two Crazy Creek chairs

PINK PANTHER: house smoked beef brisket, gorgonzola, kale, carrot &  cabbage slaw, horseradish aioli, toasted hoagie.

Patrick and I arrived around 6:00 to eat our picnic and stake out a prime location. There is always an opening musical performance by a local musician that starts at 6:30. And the show starts at 7:30.

The cast performed A Midsummer Nights' Dream in a way that brings Shakespeare to life. Brad Brown plays Theseus with a perfect rendition of a Charleston accent. Savannah Frazier, as Helena, even incorporates her cell phone into each scene, in a way that makes it seem Shakespeare almost scripted it so.

The suggested donation is just $10, and what started as just a night to be outside, ended up being one of the best dates we've ever been on!

The show goes on every Thursday-Sunday until September 15th at Centennial Park.

Don't miss it!

--

For more, visit www.nashvilleshakes.org

From Two Cars to One: Can it be Done?

How many cars do you own? Statistically speaking, the answer is likely two. Patrick and I owned two. Until recently.

Listen, I'm not saying we'll never buy another car. But when a transmission goes out, and then it goes out again (after you paid to have it repaired), one car starts looking a lot more attractive than two.

For many people, two cars are necessary. If you're married, or living with roommates, chances are the people you live with work on opposite sides of town. Carpooling, as we once knew it, is all but dead.

But for Patrick and me, life with two cars isn't a necessity anymore—it is a luxury. Oftentimes, I use "my" car to run to the store, while Patrick stays at home to work. Then, in the afternoon, Patrick takes "his" car to the office, while I lock myself in my home office to write. We have two cars, but more often than not, we only need one. One sits in the driveway while the other is out on the road. Then vice versa.

So, when one of our cars went kaput this week (his)—we didn't exactly freak out.

In fact, the first thing out of my mouth wasn't "let's start shopping for cars." It was actually something I never would have imagined I would ever say. Ever.

"Maybe you should have my car, and I should get a bike."

I haven't bought a bike yet. (The one pictured above is my friend, Taylor's. Isn't it pretty?) Patrick's car is still in the shop. We're still deciding what to do with it once it's fixed. (And it will get fixed because that shiz is under warranty.)

But can we do it? How do you move from luxury to necessity? 

I think it will mean saying "no" more often. Already, I've had to backpedal (no pun intended) with a friend who invited me to hang out today. I forgot—Patrick took the car this afternoon.  It will mean communicating more clearly.  After all, no more "quick" runs to Target that Patrick won't know about until the end of the month, right? Right.

I think it will also mean buying a bicycle.

What do you think? Is it feasible? Do you live with one car or two? How do you do it?

And what kind of bike should I get?