Pokédemic?

It had been eight days since Patient Zero.

Eight days since Pokémon Go was unleashed upon the world and some sort of social transformation happened nearly overnight....

I find myself on the way to Folky Fridays in Old Ellicott City, looking to relax with some friends and perhaps have a bit of adventure.  Having been released from the somewhat insular world of the Nine-to-Five, I am taken aback by the sudden change in my surroundings.  As I drive up Main Street, I see groups of two or three or six, mostly high school and college age, all glued to their phones.  Some with backpacks wield extra battery packs, wires spewing forth.  Never have I seen the sidewalks as crowded on any other given Friday evening.

Finally caught my Zubat.

I snag a parking space near the central stoplight and start off to Tonge Row.  More people are milling about here, index fingers swiping furiously on touch screens.  I run into Dan, a summer theatre friend.  We chat a while as he captures a Zubat on the thirtieth try.  "I've used all my Pokéballs," he moans.  Middle schoolers ask us which team we are on - I learn that there are three teams and opponents can battle one another at local gyms, which might be a church or some random building.  All around us, on grassy hills and any available seating, are phone-wielding Pokémon trainers.  Two port-a-johns are set up in the parking lot so these crowds might find some relief.

Stephanie arrives, followed shortly by Justin and Nathan.  We move to a nearby table, straddling two distinct worlds of Americana music lovers on one side and pocket monster collectors on the other.  We talk, observing the crowd of nearly forty people staring at their phones.  A group of young men attempt to sell water from their tailgate cooler.  A dating couple sits nearby, independently catching Pokémon together.

We are joined by Rachel, just finishing her shift at work.  She is intrigued by the fact that we are having a real conversation amongst ourselves, phones securely out of sight.  So she joins us and becomes a friend.

Emotions are Running High.

I have my camera out, as does Justin.  Nikki notices and steps away from her cadre of Pokémaniacs and comes to ask us about them before pitching a videographer job at the Otakon Animé convention.  Justin, intrigued, gives her his contact info.  She joins us awhile, and then her posse drifts on to the next Pokéstop.

Nighttime falls.  We are surrounded by the orange glow of street lamps and the blue glow of mobile devices.

It's like Fourth of July Fireworks without the explosions or cheering!

It's time for second dinner at Cacao Lane, so we begin the walk down the hill.  On the sidewalk are messages in chalk:

10% for Pokémon Go players!

Look up! Real Artwork Right Here!

I spy another summer theatre friend, hunched over his phone while seated on a storefront stoop, and call him by name as I pass him by.  He hears nothing.  Our group of five surrounds him.  "Situational Awareness, man!" we say, laughing.  After a brief catch-up, we continue on our way.

Dinner at Cacao Lane is an enjoyable experience, but now it's time to head on home.  We enter again the mysterious world of Pokémon Go.  Larger groups now wander, five or seven clustered together searching for prey.  Two girls wander into the middle of the street, intent on capture, automobiles be scorned.

The Teeming Hordes bring blessings upon local businesses

I remain astounded at this sudden change to the local economy and the average per capita level of exercise our town is now seeing.  A new medium of interaction with our surroundings and with each other.  What shall come of it?

We place bets as to the date of the first #PokémonGoWedding, say our goodbyes, and head home.

#Pokémarriage ?

Beauty for Ashes

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Hawaiian fire hydrants are different.  The birds are too.

On the island of Oahu, there is a place called Hanauma Bay.  The sea, long ago, wore away one slice of a volcanic crater, birthing a tranquil bay of bright blue water, scattered coral, and sandy beaches igneously pockmarked.  Here, hundreds - thousands - of fish swim, in every shape and size and color combination imaginable.

It's entirely unnecessary.

Everything could be concrete.  Everyone's eyes could be a dull lifeless color.  Birds could, instead of singing, simply make grumpy sounds and complain about the city's fire services.

---

I spent the first part of May in Hawaii with my friends Jim and Jess, who have been on staff with YWAM Honolulu the past several years and are soon transitioning to a new context where they'll continue to follow Jesus and equip people to know - to deeply know - the story of scripture.

The last months, for various reasons, had worn me down.  There was little point in getting excited for anything, it seemed, as a variety of hopes had been dashed several times in quick succession.  Indeed, as I packed my gear, I noticed that I was hardly excited to go to Hawaii.  For this statement, there are hundreds of people who would gladly punch me in the face while incredulously asking, "what the crap is wrong with you?"

So I spent a week with Jim, joined by Jess as she was able.  We traveled the island, went camping, visited coffee shops, wandered a half-dozen beaches, and talked about all sorts of things.  I took a five mile hike through the jungle, tried local delicacies (I, quite understandably to most readers, discovered that I like Mochi better than Spam), yelled in the car just for the sake of doing so, visited Pearl Harbor, met wonderful people, and went snorkeling with all those fish in Hanauma Bay.  

Perhaps more detailed anecdotes will come in later posts, but a notable takeaway point is this: in resting, in talking through recent hurts with Jim, in meeting amazing new people, in reading Scripture, in spending time listening, my heart began to find restoration.  I began to simply enjoy the day without anxiety, began to see what structural changes I need to make at home so that I may not fall into a listless frustration that has often characterized my outlook as of late.

Has not God made a wondrously beautiful world?  What has happened to our hearts when we lose sight of that?  There's hundreds of thousands of neon rainbow fish flitting through the reefs of Hawaii that wish to remind you: 

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

— Jesus, in Luke 4:18-19

Jesus' promise is for all people, in all its fullness - whether rescuing an addict, a slave, a mobster, or simply one whose heart has been hardened by pain.

God will make beautiful things out of dust - a tranquil bay out of volcanic ash, or perhaps a triumphant son our daughter out of a broken soul.

Sure, I'll fly to Boston for Easter

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Clam Chowder at a pub whose namesake is that where Patrick Henry and Sam Adams planned the revolution?  Yes please.

I woke early and headed to BWI courtesy of another early-rising friend, breezing through security with enough time to wander the terminal, browse the books, and do some reading.  We boarded, the girl next to me giving advice on where to eat and what to see while in Boston.  Up and back down nearly as quickly, flying over suburbs which, from high above, betrayed lingering signs of the ten feet of snow that had buried the city a few weeks before.

Walk, bus, subway, and up the stairs and out to the streets of Boston, oddly quiet for a Saturday.  To the right stood the towering Celtics stadium; to the left, city streets of eating establishments and apartments.  I wandered around the block and settled on a coffee shop.  I purchased a small black coffee from a barista who seemed miffed at my choice and sat down to read as people came and went, conversations flowing past until early afternoon.

Marcus arrived, having won the battle against traffic, and we headed down the street to the Grand Canal, a wonderfully Irish pub.  We caught up on life, discussing the various pains and joys we’ve both endured and celebrated over the past months, wondering about the journey we are on and where it might lead.  He, studying at seminary; I, designing ductwork and plumbing - both of us earnestly concerned about what we might do with our lives, how we might impact this world for good.

“Cheers, thanks a million,” said the waitress in true Irish fashion, and we headed onwards.  A drive, a prayer for God’s continued grace in our lives, and back on the streets I went, now at Park Street - bustling with lives in the midst of a bright and blustery day.  I wandered the paths, wondering about this city and how it got that way and what the passers-by were pondering.  The Steinway Piano store beckoned and I entered, sitting down at a $124,000 to play a simple song about a God who sees us, knows us, and loves us - through and through.  Shall I not express my thankfulness on one of the very best pianos, the culmination of decades of thought and innovation?  I shall, and a small part of my soul will grow lighter.

More wandering and finally Isaac’s arrival, later than expected due to a roommate’s clogged shower drain, which had required immediate attention.  We caught up as well, discussing his graduate studies and my work as we wandered the Freedom Trail, taking in all the buildings and streets which once knew the names of men like Patrick Henry and Sam Adams.  Cannoli from Mike’s Pastry, a delightfully crowded counter of all sorts of folks clamoring for dessert, and clam chowder at the Green Dragon, which bills itself as the Birthplace of the Revolution.  The original building, sadly, is no more, but an enthralling idea nonetheless to eat in the same pub where the Sons of Liberty talked and planned and dreamed and birthed a nation.

Again on the T - another prayer and another goodbye - and then on a bench, waiting.  Yunhe then appeared from a hotel, through which we doubled back to see his office building.  Our walk became a meandering tour of MIT as dusk turned to nighttime, and the campus streets around the engineering department’s wind tunnel turned into a scene from a film noir.  Finished now with walking, we left the city and headed to his apartment in the suburbs.  Yunhe made dinner - shrimp and broccoli - quite delighted to host a guest.  We ate and talked and finished the day.

Up the next morning, a large breakfast, and a long ride on the T from one end of the Red line to the other.  Conversation about life and what matters, really?  A girl sits next to me and I ask, "where are you headed?"  She seems surprised by the question (who speaks to strangers on the subway?) and yet delighted, and shares that she’s on her way to church.  The train stops, “happy Easter,” says she, and out she goes.  A few more stops and we leave the train as well, up to a waiting car driven by Nola, a friend.  To church we go to celebrate Easter - indeed, the original reason why I found myself in Boston was due to Yunhe’s request.  Some text messages, confirmations, and a plane ticket later and the plans were set.

We enjoyed the service, a typical American protestant/non-denominational service as far as I understand, and afterward had many conversations with Yunhe’s friends.  After meeting twenty people, many of whom were characters and wonderfully so, we were off.  Down to the Red Line, nearly punched in the face by a man jealously guarding his backpack as he washed his face in the restroom, through the gates, and back on the train.  We paused to wander Harvard, pondering the question of whether Jesus really raised a girl from the dead and what it says about who He may be.  Can we believe that story?  What about Jesus would give him the authority to call a dead person back to life?  Can a person be spiritually or emotionally dead?  Could Jesus raise that person to life?

We pass a gate with the Harvard logo, veritas emblazoned thereon.  Veritas.  Truth.

What is true?  Does it matter?

Onwards we go, back to the airport.  Another goodbye with much gratitude on my part - both of us, really.  Another flight, another landing - back to Baltimore.

And I am thankful - for soul-conversations, for Steinway pianos, for Patrick Henry, for people, for life, for grace, for resurrection. 

The Will Rogers Follies

This summer, I have the privilege of being a part of Howard County Summer Theater's production of the Will Rogers Follies.  This community theater has been an important part of my life since my first show, Annie Warbucks, in 1996.  I was just six years old at the time and apparently all the teenage girls considered me adorable.  This, I do not remember.  It's also no longer the case, for which I suppose I am thankful.

The show follows the life of Will Rogers, an Oklahoma comedian, radio personality, film actor, cowboy, and vaudeville star.  He was an incredibly important cultural icon back in the years surrounding the Great Depression.  Sadly, almost no one among my generation has any clue who he was.

Will Rogers had an incredible wit, and made many great observations during his time, in addition to his jokes about lawyers and politicians.  Much of what he said then seems, to me, quite applicable even today!  Having already performed in this show twice (1997 and 2004), I may be biased - It's become one of my favorites.

The cast is incredible, and I believe we have put on a truly great show.  Come on out and see it!  There are four more performances this week (Wednesday through Saturday) at Atholton High School.  Showtime is 7 PM and tickets are $15.

See the Baltimore Sun article here.