Immersion Worship

Perhaps one of the more (if not most) obvious characteristics of Britain is that it is small. Much smaller than the USA. Just a mere fraction of the size, actually. Growing up here, I never really noticed it. But now that I live in a world of wide three lane boulevards, cars the size of small cruise ships, shopping malls that require local guides and an iron lung to traverse, and stretches of land so flat and so vast that you could sit on your porch and watch your dog run away for three days, it becomes an in-my-face fact when I suddenly immerse myself back in to the culture and topography of the place I grew up. Britain is small. Fact.

It’s not much larger than the state of California, actually, and when it comes to population, that could potentially be a cause of alarm. We have about 80 million people squeezed in to an island that spans just a bit more area than a state that struggles to hold 60 million. What’s even more amazing is that even with those numbers, England itself still manages to protect vast open spaces of undeveloped countryside. And one of the ways this is achieved is by building the cities like sardine tins.

London, for example, is an amazingly cramped city that, in reality, doesn’t cover all that much real estate, but feels like the biggest city on earth. Whereas Los Angeles has more freeways consisting of 7 or 8 lanes in each direction than I could count on all fingers and toes, London has just a handful of motorways that have 3 or, occasionally, 4 lanes in each direction. Single lane one-way streets take the place of those wide three lane boulevards. Intersections are replaced by the wonder that is the mini-roundabout, allowing a plethora of roads to all converge in the same place and keep traffic moving. And it’s not just roads; buildings are smaller, shops are smaller, the sidewalks are smaller, the buses are smaller (except for the British icon of the genial Double-Decker bus), and, to some degree, personal space is smaller. (As a side note, I’m beginning to see why the awkward silences exist when the British public face are forced to face each other on the London Underground).

So with all this size restriction, it amazes me how multicultural Britain is. One of the charms of California, for me, is the multiculturalism that exists, with strong representation from Central and South America and many Asian and Oriental countries. In fact I read somewhere that the white caucasian is now in the ethnic minority in California. But I’ve not noticed before how more multicultural England is, particularly London. It’s really quite fascinating.

I took the train down to London on Tuesday to have lunch with some friends, and afterwards I just wandered the streets of London for a while, admiring what is one of the most historic and beautiful cities on the planet, slowly being de-beautified by the building of large, obnoxious modern glass skyscrapers around another obnoxious modern glass skyscraper in the shape of a phallic symbol. During the wandering, I began to notice that all of Europe had apparently converged upon London in my absence, and I never got the memo.

Personally, I find that some country’s contrivances are so clever and so singular that everyone associates them with just that country. For example, Britain has it’s Double-Decker buses. Holland has it’s windmills. Paris has it’s sidewalk cafes. Completely identifiable attributes, you see. Yet the other side of this coin is that there are certain things that most countries can do without difficulty that others just can not.

For instance, the French can’t quite get the hang of queueing. They try very hard, but they just don’t quite manage it. If you’re ever in Paris, you’ll see single-file, well-ordered queues of people waiting at the bus stop, but as soon as the bus pulls up, the queue will disintegrate in to something that resembles a fire drill in a lunatic asylum, as everyone scrambles to be the first person to get on the bus, quite unaware that this completely defeats the entire purpose of queueing.

Us British, as another example, don’t understand the fundamentals of eating. This is evidenced by the instinct, for example, to eat a hamburger with a knife and fork, feeling rude and awkward and impolite eating with our hands, or turning the fork upside down and gingerly attempting to balance foodstuffs on the back of it. I lived in the UK for the first 24 years of my life, and having been somewhat Americanized over the last 6 years, I now must quench the instinct to approach strangers in restaurants and offer a tip that might prevent all those sprouts rolling around on the table like marbles.

These kind of national idiosyncrasies are found all around Europe. The Germans are confused by humour. The Swiss don’t know what it means to have fun. The Spanish see nothing at all ludicrous about eating dinner at midnight. The Italians should have never been let in on the invention of the automobile. These phenomenon are evident for all and sundry to witness in London.

I say this all with tongue firmly in cheek, of course, but its an effective illustration of how multicultural London and indeed much of Britain has become. There are some that welcome this and some that say it destroys the very thing that makes Britain British. I stand on the middle ground; there are some things that are so unmistakably British I would not want to see them destroyed; the British pound, the awkward silence on the Underground, the Union Jack, the stiff upper lip. But I also see that part of the beauty of humankind is found in our diversity. And that is something I think should be embraced and enjoyed.

Unless, of course, you’re a Scottish football (” fitbae’ “) fan. In that case, you celebrate anything that is Scottish, Irish, Welsh, German, or Argentinean, and maintain that “ye ken 1966 wis a flook if eva there wis yun”.

Scotland, I love you too.

Until next time…

The thing about living so far away from immediate family is that I’ve missed the last six years or so of the lives of my nieces and nephews. Ordinarily this might not be a big deal to many, and perhaps when I moved to the States six years ago, it wasn’t the highest priority on my life’s To Do list.

Last Saturday night, however, I spent a few hours in the company of one of my sisters, her husband, and her two daughters. I saw them all when I was here 6 weeks ago, but really quite briefly, and so my main memory of these two nieces are of when they were 8 and 5 years old. Now they are 14 and 11. And, frankly, it’s quite scary to see how little kids become little adults at such a young age and in such a short time.

Sarah, my sister, tells me that they get quite excited when they hear that Uncle James is coming round. This is awesome. It means I’m still cool. I’m the cool uncle. Cool Uncle James. Although I think perhaps part of that lies in the fact that I live in a place that they see on TV; particularly on MTV-generation shows like The OC and Laguna Beach. In fact I know that’s party true; the oldest of the two girls, Emily, seems to be in awe of Laguna Beach, or at least the idea of Laguna Beach. I won’t lie to her; it’s one beautiful place and I count myself lucky to live within spitting distance.

Sarah also tells me that the youngest of the two, Laura, reminds her of me when I was the same age. I can see the resemblance; she’s cheeky and quick witted and has a sense of humour that is really quite unique. Her and I seem to be on the same wavelength as far as the humour goes. Her sister was telling a story about how she had held a newt in her hand earlier that day, and Laura immediately said that if she had a pet newt, she would call it Isaac. I was the only one who got the joke immediately.

Laura plays football for a local team and with me being borderline obsessed with the sport, I’m going to watch her train on Thursday night before having dinner with the whole family. I’m really looking forward to that. She’s also learning to play the guitar, and the guitar she showed me only has five strings on it, so I’m going to restring it for her as well. There’s a remarkable sense of well being and connectedness that goes along with getting to know my nieces.

One of my other sisters, Miriam, also lives locally, and she has three girls. I saw her and her husband on Thursday evening, but the girls had already gone to bed. So today I am going shopping with them all. I really don’t know the first thing about these nieces, other than their names (which I get mixed up, because they all look alike), but I am really looking forward to getting to know them.

One week today we will be burying my mum, and while it is a sad occasion, there’s something in me that believes it will be a unifying occasion as well. The truth is that I’ve not got on great with my sisters in recent years, but the silver lining in this cloud is that there has been reconciliation in recent months, and for that I’m thankful. I may not be back here for a year or more after next week’s funeral, so I plan on making the most of the next week with all of my family.

The next few days hold the potential to be quite busy, with arrangements for lunches and coffees with old school friends well under way, and at some point I’ll take a drive around the area and visit some old haunts. I’m quite sure there will be more Notes From A Small Country later this week.

‘Til next time…

Current Weight:193.0 lbs
This Week’s Loss:1.2 lbs
Total Loss So Far:7.2 lbs

I’m really surprised that I lost any weight at all this week. In fact, I was kind of expecting to have put some back on. Since the death of my mum last Tuesday, the whole diet thing has really been temporarily put on hold. In fact I broke it just a few hours after she had passed away, with a full rack of ribs, french fries, a molten chocolate cake with an extra scoop of ice cream, and a large margarita. Thanks, Chili’s.

Since then my diet hasn’t been unhealthy, but I’ve not been watching my calories. Since I got to England last Thursday, the jet lag has had me feeling hungry at weird times of the day, but I’m just about settling down now and getting used to this time zone. Friday was probably my biggest calorie intake day as I went out to the pub with my friend Kieran and we were drinking Guinness, which is really quite high in calories.

And to be honest, with all that’s going on, I’m not too concerned about it this week. It’s just really nice to be around my family, even in the current circumstances. Already this week I can see I’m going to have a hard time working off the extra food; there will be fish and chips for lunch today followed by an Indian feast tonight. On Wednesday I’m going to lunch with an old school friend, and then on Thursday one of my sisters is doing a full roast dinner with Yorkshire Pudding and roast potatoes and the rest of the trimmings. And I bet there’s apple crumble and custard for desert. Not exactly conducive to weight loss. Frankly, I’m not exactly concerned.

In terms of exercise, I’ve been going for a pretty long run every other day since I’ve been here; about 5 miles. The problem is that when I was 14 I suffered a triple break in my right ankle, and for the last several years it becomes quite painful when the weather is cold and damp. And this is England. It’s famous for being cold and damp. So it’s hard to run on it. The 5 mile run might turn in to a 5 mile walk before the end of the week. Either way, I’m determined to do my best to keep exercising.

Right now the plan is be back in the good old US of A by the evening of June 3rd; that’s one week tomorrow. I don’t expect much in the weight loss department this week, but when I get back I’ll be hitting it hard again to shed the pounds.

I will post an update next week anyway, just to see if there’s been any movement either way. Until then, best of luck to Brent, Kristen, Joe, Ron, Dan, Rick, Brandy, Deborah, Joel, Theressa, Steven, Love, Tawny, Kelly, Lori, and Jen.

If only there were a better reason for me to be back in England so soon after my last sojourn to the British Isles. As it is, there isn’t; I’m here to bury my recently deceased mother. But if it’s possible to push that aside for just a brief moment (and as long as I don’t think about it for too long, it is possible), I have to admit that it is good to be back.

It’s interesting that since I don’t have any plan or schedule for my time here, I’m able to stop and look around and appreciate what I’ve never appreciated before: England in spring is amazing! Perhaps it’s the fact that I managed to sleep for almost the entirety of my 11 hour flight from Los Angeles, but as I drove from London’s Heathrow airport to my dad’s house just outside Oxford, I was awestruck by the quaint beauty of the British countryside, caught in the afternoon Spring sun.

Even on the morning after my arrival, as I resigned myself to the idea that the inevitable jet lag would prevent me from sleeping, and instead deciding to get up and go for a run, the sunrise over the Cotswold countryside just shy of 6:00 AM had me catching my breath (and not for lack of fitness, I might add). As I made my way along the road from Witney to New Yatt the sound of sheep bleating away in the fields either side of the road was a refreshing break from the sounds of the concrete jungle I have become accustomed to. There was an amusing moment as I jogged past a gap in the bush to be met by a dozen or so sheep staring over the fence who began to bleat at me in unison. They looked even more confused when I passed them again on my return journey fifteen minutes later.

I think what I am saying is that I am beginning to understand the obsession that the non-British have with Britain. That is, I can understand the pull of the country from a tourism point of view. Outside of the urban hustle and bustle, the rural charm of the countryside is irresistible. Quaintness is everywhere, and when Spring is in full effect, life appears from every corner. Newborn lambs dot the hillsides. Wild flowers decorate the fields. Every country road is flanked on either side by thick green bushes that snake for miles and miles. Even the sleepiest of country villages become places of vibrant activity as country fares and festivals continue their annual traditions.

Witney (the town where my dad lives, and the town where I grew up) is an old Cotswold market town, steeped in history and tradition. Growing up here could be frustrating, as there really wasn’t much to do for adolescent reprobates like myself; no cinema, no bowling alley, no good shops, no decent recreation grounds. But the truth is that if those things were to become a part of the town, it would detract from the beauty of what makes Witney the place that it is. Unfortunately the town council appear to err in the direction of commerce; a big development is underway in the heart of the town that will bring a multiplex cinema and associated commerce. For someone who yearned for such a thing fifteen years ago, I now find myself saddened by the prospect of another part of Witney’s history being buried in this way. Now you may say that I’m not being progressive or that I’m being stuck in the past with that attitude, but then if the historic and traditional nature of this country is such an intrinsic element in it’s attractiveness, at some point shouldn’t we become protective of it?

You see, Witney is perhaps one of the most attractive towns in the Cotswolds. Sure, it’s inconvenient. There is just one bridge and one narrow road linking the two sides of the town. And it’s becoming overpopulated with the development of cookie-cutter CHAV-esque estates and housing developments on the outskirts of the town that, frankly, are unsightly and completely unnecessary. But Witney still has its Buttercross and Corn Exchange and churches that date back hundreds and hundreds of years. It still has the Windrush valley to the west, with the River Windrush cutting the town in half. It’s still a gateway to some of the most incredible places in the Cotswolds.

Having lived in the States for just a skosh over six years now, I think I finally understand the draw of the two places: Quaint and charming is what I want when I’m on vacation, but convenient is where I want to live. The penny finally drops. Having said that, there is a part of me that would like to live in England again, or at least have an extended stay here. I’m not sure that will become a reality really, but I’ll entertain the thought. At least for as long as I’m here.

‘Til next time…

I’ve been quiet for the last couple of days with good reason.

Someone once told me that we find out who we really are when life throws us a curve ball. I’m beginning to discover the truth in that statement.

At 11:45pm GMT on Tuesday April 20th, my mum went to be with Jesus, thereby ending her 8 year journey with Alzheimer’s disease, becoming free from the torture and torment of infirmity, finally embraced by freedom in the hands of her Saviour.

I count myself somewhat blessed that I didn’t witness her decline from lucidity to senility. Being half way around the world removed me from that. I last saw her on April 12th of this year, and the time before that was August 2001. A lot happens in 7 years when you have Alzheimer’s.

And so when I saw her in April, it was, for me, a time to say goodbye. And I did. But when God finally called her home, I didn’t imagine it would feel like this.

And so as I sit here at the airport in Los Angeles, awaiting a last-minute flight to London, I’m learning a lot about myself. I’m learning that our parents must be cherished, since their life led to ours. I’m learning I’m sometimes too callous about the things I’m emotionally tied to. And I’m learning to see that God has a good, great, perfect purpose in every single painful situation that exists. He never wastes a hurt.

Tomorrow I will land in London and drive to Oxford and hang with my sisters. Sometime soon we will bury or cremate my mother. And this week I will take the opportunity to grieve with my family. I’m learning that my family are just unspeakably important to me. I’m learning that we shouldn’t hold on to past hurts and offenses.

If you’re reading this, stop reading and call your parents and tell them you love them. Trust me, you can never say it enough, because when they are gone, you wish you’d said it more.

As for my mum, she’s whole again, smiling and joyful in a perfect eternity. I like to think that by now she will have met my still-born twin sister, been reunited with her parents, and finally gotten to meet Noah and his family. My sisters tell me that just moments before she passed, she shed one final tear, probably her sadness at saying goodbye to us for now. Now there are no more tears. There’s no more confusion. There’s no more frustration. There’s no more sickness.

That means that it’s time to rejoice.

Catch you all on the east side.

Current Weight: 194.2 lbs
This Week’s Loss: -6.6 lbs
Total Loss So Far: -6.6 lbs

It’s been a good first week! To say that I’m happy with losing 6.6 lbs in the first week would be an understatement. I had actually set myself a quiet goal of 3 lbs, and I figured if I could weigh in at around the 197 mark, I’d be happy. So to find myself losing double that amount is a real motivator. I can do this.

Diet wise, I’ve been limiting myself to 1400 calories a day, and I’ve found myself eating quite well on that limit. My vegetable consumption has increased, and I’ve been away from the junk food all week. I’ve taken advantage of Subway’s ‘6 grams of fat’ menu a couple of times and accompanied them with the baked potato chips, but otherwise it’s just been good food in sensible portions at the right time.

One thing I’ve really tried to do is keep my metabolism up by eating every two to three hours. For example, I’ll have some toast for breakfast at 7:00am, an apple at 10:00am, lunch at 1pm, a granola bar at 4pm, and dinner at 7pm. This seems to keep my energy up all day, and one good side effect is that I’m not experiencing the mid-afternoon need for a nap. Also, I’m drinking more water than I usually do. Perhaps my only indulgence has been a few beers over the course of the week, but I’ve substituted in Sam Adams Light, and I must say it’s rather tasty.

In terms of exercise, I made it four times last week. I’ve got myself in to a good routine that keeps me interested in the workout so I don’t get bored, works me hard, but doesn’t sap my stamina. I do a ten minute warm up walk on the treadmill, followed by a twenty to twenty five minute weight round, working the biceps, triceps, quads, chest and upper back, and I then finish things off with forty five minutes of HIIT - High Intensity Interval Training. I love that part; I run for 3 minutes at 7mph, then walk for 3 minutes at 3.8mph, and I do that until I’ve completed 4 miles; roughly 45 minutes.

A side effect to this, which is perhaps more important than the weight loss, is that I generally feel healthier. I’m sleeping well. I’m getting hungry at the right times. I’m alert and focused most of the time. There’s a general feeling of well being. I like it.

I weigh in only on Mondays. I don’t like the idea of weighing in daily, or every couple of days, because I’m so results-driven that seeing a drop of 6.6 lbs motivates me more than seeing half a pound a day. Also, I don’t want my focus to be on losing weight; I want it to be on eating healthy and exercising well, knowing that if I do those things then the weight loss will take of itself. I’m hoping for another good week this week.

Good luck again to Brent, Kristen, Joe, BuddyO, Dan, Rick, Brandy, Deborah, Mandy, Joel, Theresa, Steven, Love, Tawny, Kelly and any other NMFAPIMWLC-ers that I’m not aware of.

How did you do this week?

Just one of the many reasons I love SoCal…

Continuing my lame trip through an excellent wall calendar series, and continuing my now traditional approach of being heinously late, here’s April’s trip to the most excellent place in the Cotswolds, one of my most favourite places in the entire country; Bourton-on-the-Water…



Here’s a picture of me at this same bridge, taken from the other side (where you see the white chairs in the above picture)…



Bourton-on-the-Water is a mere 28 miles from the hallowed turf of Witney, and is known as “The Venice of The Cotswolds” due to the river that flows through the village, spanned by many bridges. The river, by the way, is the River Windrush, which also flows through Witney.

Some of the cool things about Bourton-on-the-Water, apart from it’s oldness and quaintness, are the model village (an exact 1:10 replica of the village itself), the motor vehicle museum (full of really old cars), several tea houses serving tea and scones that are sinfully delicious, and the monthly farmer’s market which sells pretty much anything you’d want for dinner.

Perhaps the coolest thing is that every summer a football match gets played between two of the bridges, with the goal posts placed in the water. It’s a full-on, eleven-a-side match and it gets quite a crowd. I think the main purpose of the game, though, is just to get everyone as wet as possible. Good times, good times.

Oh, and I almost forgot. If my memory serves me correctly, Bourton-on-the-Water is where my good friend Kieran proposed to his Bride-to-Be earlier this year. How romantic.

Next up to be late is some other village that I don’t remember right now. Bet you just can’t wait.

It’s Creative Chaos day over at Los’s blog.

My entry this week is more of synopsis of a different type of creativity; the ‘let’s mmake do with that we’ve got’ type.

Last Sunday was Mother’s Day. The facility that we normally hold our services holds a Mother’s Day brunch; it’s the only day of the year that we can’t have a Sunday morning service there. Last year we did Saturday night there, but this year we decided to find another location nearby and hold a Sunday morning service. The location was just a couple of miles away, easy to find, and could accommodate us well.

When we got there, it was a slightly different matter. As is often the case in these types of scenarios, not all bases had been covered during the planning process. We discovered a distinct lack of power outlets, no loading bay, a ceiling too low for our projector screen and speaker stacks, and various other issues meaning we had to get creative with out setup.

I’ve always known that my team were awesome, but they really showed it on Sunday:

1. With no loading bay, it was a case of rolling everything in through the front door. With a trailer full of Road Ready cases, rolling apparatus, and staging, everyone chipped in to offload the trailer and get it all in place through the front door.

2. Our sound system usually runs on a dedicated ground, 240v circuit of clean power. Our sound team stripped the system down to the bare essentials and ran the entire thing off of two 120v outlets; board, processing rack, antennae, speakers.

3. With the projection screen so low, our video team brought the projector to front row, sat it on a small plastic table we found in some back room, ran a long VGA cable, and had the video sat towards the front, stage left.

4. The low ceiling meant we couldn’t stack our speakers as normal. So we did away with the subs and used the full range capability of the mains (we sacrificed some of the low-end doing this, but it wasn’t bad). Rather than put them on their usual stands, we just rolled in the now-empty Road Ready cases that the speakers are transported in, and stood the speakers on top of them. Perfect height.

5. With no kitchen facility to speak of, the hospitality team scrambled to get industrial amounts of coffee from the nearest Starbucks, and set everything up in the main hall, to the side of the seating, stage right. There was a brief moment of confusion when we didn’t know which coffee container had decaf in, but some quick coffee education from my wife on the taste differences between caf and decaf, it was quickly and accurately determined.

So with the band stripped down to an ‘unplugged’ type set (two acoustic guitars, one vocal), it had a real coffee-house vibe going on, and ended up being a really great morning with an absolutely killer message from Scott.

That’s this week’s Creative Chaos.

I’m pumped for this year’s conference, especially because a large chunk of my team are coming with me this time.



Who else is going?