Antideservation

The Riley Covington blog vocabulary word for today is “antideservation”. And, while the word itself is fairly new (say, about two hours old), the concepts are as ancient as the Giza pyramids and as rich as the fertile soil of the Black Earth Region of Central Russia (thanks, Wikipedia, for that one).

The term itself was born out of a meditation today on grace. I’ve always heard the definition of grace as the receiving of that which you do not deserve. While that’s a great first step in defining the concept, I don’t think it goes far enough. The reason being that it starts us all on a neutral playing field.

So, here’s Ned. He’s never done anything really bad. Yet, he’s also never done anything really good. He’s just neutral, middle of the road, neither der nor die, just das. Thus, if Neutral Ned were given something really cool, like an iPod or a zebra, it would be an act of grace. He didn’t earn it, didn’t deserve it, it was just a nice little out-of-the-blue gift.

But we don’t start in the middle of the road. Instead of Neutral Neds, we’re all Bad Barts. We’re rebellious, nasty, sinful. Not only have we not earned the good things; we deserve the bad things.

Now, I know many of you long-time church-going people all have your hands waving up in the air. And if I were to pick one of you…say, Marsha…Marsha would say, “But that’s where mercy comes in. You know, mercy – the not receiving of what we do deserve.”

After complimenting Marsha for her well-stated point and her fashion-forward mauve, tie-waist blouse, I would respond, “Yeah, but…but mercy is the withholding of punishment. That’s not what I’m getting at either.”

Grace is not just the receiving of that which we don’t deserve, it’s the receiving of the exact opposite of what we deserve – what we anti-deserve. Now, I recognize that I may be nuancing this finer than a Paulie Cicero garlic clove, and I agree that “grace” and “mercy” are beautifully appropriate terms (and somewhere the Holy Spirit is saying with a sigh of relief, “Hey, Guys, good news! Steve likes our words!”). I just don’t want to miss the insane depth to which grace reaches.

I deserve punishment. I deserve separation. I deserve hell. Yet, God, through His amazing grace, gives me the complete opposite – forgiveness, adoption, heaven. I praise you, Lord, for your grace, your mercy, and your wonderfully precious gift of antideservation.

The Smear

Regret.

What a depressing word. Images of pains caused, words thrown, feelings neglected, people rejected…Seems they all coalesce into a question that screams in my head, “What the heck was I thinking?”

God has blessed me with an incredibly weak memory. So, when I look back three decades to my late teens and into my early twenties, most of it is just a blur – a smeared tapestry of incidents that have lost their individual definition and just left an overall portrait of stupidity and self-centeredness. It’s like trying to look at one of those Disney Photomosaic puzzles without my reading glasses. I still see the complete picture, but the detailed cells are beyond my eyes’ capabilities.

However, while I can’t make out the specific brush strokes, the picture itself is still enough to make me want to dive for the remote to the Blessed Distractor. Because, if I dwell on my past too long, my stomach starts to turn. I want to track down Mark Ruby and say, “Dude, I have no clue what I was doing.” I want to get a message to Ed Aaron on the other side of eternity and say, “You know…I don’t even know…” I want to find my supervisor at WestAir, Mark or Mike or Ted or something, and say, “As much as I claimed to represent Christ, I really didn’t. Please don’t judge Christians based on me.”

I came across this passage a few weeks ago in my morning reading:

Psalm 25:6-7 ~ Remember, O LORD, your great mercy and love, for they are from of old. Remember not the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you are good, O LORD. (NLT)

God could remember our past with digital IMAX 3D clarity. Yet, He chooses not to. Instead, He smears the painting – takes off the readers – and lets the details blend into a new picture; a work of art that doesn’t look at all like our past. Instead of the harsh, angry grays and blacks of our sin and rebellion, He sees the radiant palette of His love – beautiful, pure, holy, perfect.

While we live in the world of “What the heck was I thinking?”, God never has to ask that question. He knew all along what He was thinking and what He was doing when He chose you and when He chose me – a choice that, despite our propensity to sin and failure, despite our own guilt and shame over our past, He will always look back on with no second-thoughts, with no what-ifs…and with absolutely no regrets.

A Little Sumpin' Sumpin'

This morning, my dad and I were coming home together from a meeting. It was trash day, and everybody on the left side of the street had their full cans out with all the assorted oversized items surrounding the bottoms – branches, bags of clippings, empty cases of Corona, a stack of bed pillows (there’s got to be a story behind those, although I’m not sure I want to know what it is). However, on the right side, all the cans standing on the curb were empty.

When we eased around the next curve, we were forced to dodge a big, green Waste Management truck just before the driver hopped back in. As we passed, my dad did an interesting thing – he waved to the trash man (I didn’t even know we citizens were allowed to do that). Common courtesy in most Western states dictates that when someone waves to you, you wave back, and the trash man didn’t disappoint.

I didn’t think too much of that curious little incident until we pulled up to my folks’ house. All down the long, winding street empty trashcans were scattered along the curbs – while a majority of them were upright, all of them were askew to one extent or another. My parents’ curb, however, was empty. I was about to hit my dad with some smack about missing another trash day, when I noticed their two cans up the driveway next to the garage, standing straight, nicely aligned – and I could have sworn they’d been polished.

My dad, knowing exactly what the question was that I was trying to form, said, “Your mom and I thank the trash man each Christmas, tell him what a good job he’s doing…and slip him a couple $20s.”

Brilliant! What a great lesson to remember, whether it’s in the workplace, the church, or in our families. People want appreciation. People want recognition. And, most people don’t mind if you slip them a little sumpin’ sumpin’ (not saying it needs to be cash, but it is amazing how a $5 Starbucks card can brighten someone's day).

Although, I just got through preaching a sermon on how those things shouldn’t be the primary motivators for the work we do or the service we give, the fact remains that they still count. And, if leaders neglect the Appreciation/Recognition/Sumpin’ Sumpin’ (I had thought of turning that into an acronym, but I’m afraid it would come too close to offending our British readers), our people may still do the job, but maybe not as well…and probably not with a smile on their faces.

So, today, think of someone who gives you some help – could be your husband, your wife, your kiddo, your employee, your trash man – someone who could use a boost. Then, find a way to give them some Appreciation/Recognition/Sumpin’ Sumpin’. A little love goes a long way…

Nothing More Than Feelings

A couple of weeks ago, I opened a small package and pulled out my first copy of Blown Coverage. When I first started writing, I thought that the initial moment I held a copy of a book I had co-written would be one of hooting and hollering and doing middle-age, out-of-shape cartwheels (which would pretty much entail putting one's hands on the ground and shifting one's hips from side to side). I thought the adrenaline would surge and my entire body would be filled with the warmies.

What I've found instead is a feeling that can best be described as surrealiciousness. Now for those of you with somewhat of an educated background (i.e., those who do not write sports blogs and who do know the difference between a regular book and an ebook ['nother story, 'nother time]), you might realize that according to Webster "surrealicious" is technically not a real word. However, I figured since the Apostle Paul could just make up a Greek word whenever he couldn't find one that perfectly expressed what he had to say, then so could I. After all, the only differences between what he did and what I do is that Paul wrote life-changing Scripture inspired and aided by the Holy Spirit, while I write pulp fiction thriller novels inspired and aided by an NFL kicker. Okay, so there's no comparison between us, but I'm still going to make up words.

Flipping through Monday Night Jihad and Blown Coverage for the first times were truly surreal moments. All those hours of conversation between Jason and me, all those nights spent typing away at a computer while sitting on my couch with a computer on my lap, all those edits and changes and rewrites and cover choices, everything suddenly (and almost magically) coalesced into these slabs of colored and printed pieces of paper that I now held in my hands. Then came other bizarre moments: seeing the book at a Barnes & Noble, keeping track of amazon.com reviews, watching the growing waiting list on the Douglas County and Arapahoe County library sites, realizing that people all over the country are reading (and enjoying) the words that were written on that computer on that lap on that couch.

It's surreal, but delicious. I grew up with an aversion to carrot cake. I hated carrots. And cream cheese - that just sounded nasty. Then one day when I was in my 20s, I decided to give it a shot. I remember taking the bite, and not being initially overwhelmed. But as I chewed, my taste buds began experiencing every diverse flavor - the subtlety of the carrots, the warmth of the cinnamon, the sweetness of the raisins, and the sharp tang of the cream cheese. I was in flavor heaven. It was so far beyond what I thought it would and could be.

Publishing a book is a bizarre experience, but once the strangeness begins to wear off the wonderfulosity (a term we'll save for another blog) just builds and builds. What an amazingly surrealicious feeling!

The Tacky, Plastic Wave of the Future

There's an old saying: If you can't beat 'em, complain about 'em!

I just received our monthly sales report for Monday Night Jihad yesterday and noticed that we had taken a huge jump in our ebook sales. Admittedly, "huge jump" means we sold 43 in October, but, compared to the 17 we've sold in the previous nine months, that is quite the increase (a 2,150% increase in monthly sales if my high school accounting class is still working - which it's probably not).

Looking at that number, I have to admit that I'm a little torn. While it's great to see people buying the book (although I have no clue what Jason's and my percentage is off of an ebook, and I'm not quite interested enough to fire off an email to our agent to find out), I'm still not sure how I feel about the ebook revolution - "revolution" probably being a bit too strong of a word; it's probably akin to calling it a revolution if the states of Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire would suddenly rise up and secede from the Union (seriously, apart from the spike in maple syrup prices, who would notice?).

I guess it comes down to what exactly is a book. My Mac dictionary widget was less than helpful, giving me two definitions: one describing a "paper-glued-to-binding" tangible work; the second describing it as a literary composition intended for publication. I tend to lean toward the former.

To me, books have a feel and a smell. There's just something about the way words look printed on an actual sheet of paper that has actually come from an actual former tree. I get a rush of excitement when I can see how close I am to the end of a story by tilting the book and eyeballing the pages I've read compared to the pages left to go. I love the way I can measure my progress through a thick, classic paperback by watching the wrinkles spread slowly across the spine. I doubt that even the rumored 2.0 version of Amazon's Kindle will let you do that.

Now, I don't want you to get the impression that I'm some modern day Luddite. I'm all for progress. I love the latest electronic gadgets. I'm still waiting for the day when God causes an iPhone to fall out of the sky and into my hand (and then miraculously lets me use it with a service other than AT&T). However, there are some things that should just not be messed with. Think how much better our society would be if we had not allowed so many other things to fall by the wayside in the name of progress, e.g., vinyl records, glass bottles, banana seats for bikes, styrofoam containers from McDonalds [no styrofoam, no McDLT, 'nuff said], the original members of Van Halen, the staunch refusal of all my friends to allow use of the phrase "24/7" into their common parlance, and Sean Connery as James Bond).

But, for all my blustering reminiscences about the way things were, I look at my life now and see that I drink sodas out of cans and enjoy watching Daniel Craig as OO7 (although you'll still never catch me saying "24/7" or listening to any post-"Eddie's-learned-to-play-the-keyboards-so-let's-way-overuse-his-new-found-skill" CD). And, honestly, I have no doubt that in the same way I reluctantly left vinyl for CDs (and now iPods), there will come a time when I will hold some plastic book substitute in my hands just because it's the wave of the future. I will eventually bow to progress, even if it takes the form of a cheap-feeling, slow-page-turning, weird-button-placed "wireless reading device."

So, for all you Kindle users out there, some day I'll join you, dragging my heels all the way. In the mean time, if you so desire, feel free to keep purchasing the ebook versions of Monday Night Jihad and of Blown Coverage (when it's out) - I promise I won't hold it against you.

A Chance Meeting

You never know who you're going to stumble across on a simple errand. Yesterday was a great publicity day for Monday Night Jihad. Nora St. Laurent published a great online interview with Jason on her blog "Finding Hope Through Fiction". Her creativity and humor added a wonderful spice to her questions (and to our responses). You can check out the interview here: Finding Hope Through Fiction: NORA INTERVIEWS JASON ELAM and STEVE YOHN.

Neither one of us have ever met Nora, although I have had some email contact with her. Later in the day yesterday, Jason decided to make a quick run to one of the Atlanta area Christian bookstores. He got what he wanted, went to pay, and heard from the lady at the cash register, "Hi, Jason, I'm Nora St. Laurent. I published your interview today." That chance meeting soon turned into an opportunity for Jason to meet the manager of the store, as well as many of the other employees. He said it turned into a virtual party!

Sometimes when we look at coincidences, we have to ask ourselves, "What are the odds?" After spending a few minutes computing the numbers, it often becomes apparent that it's much more reasonable to attribute the events to intentionality than to chance.

God's constantly working in our lives. Whether we see Him or not, He's always there - interested, active, and intentional.

What's That In Your Hand?

The Ideal - Jason and I holed up in a hotel room with a white board and two dry erase pens; a full night of brainstorming plot ideas; caffeine in tasty forms; a true symbiosis of the brains some time past midnight that leads to a final plot twist that has both of us hooting and hollering and waking the neighbors. This is how the skeleton for our upcoming book, Blown Coverage, was created.

The New Reality - Jason sitting in his home office in Atlanta, I on my couch in Denver; both of us staring at a Skyped video-version of the other on our respective computers; a white board set on Jason's desk chair and me trying to make out the pixelated words; ideas really starting to flow, but our time being cut short by a knock on my front door from the guy who's come to blow out my sprinklers. This is what the first brainstorming session for book three of the Riley Covington series looked like yesterday.

The situation reminds me a bit of a story in Exodus 4. Moses is standing shoeless in front of the burning bush. God is telling him to go to the most powerful ruler in the world, and say to him, "Uh, Pharaoh, you wouldn't mind if I took your free, pyramid-building work force and skedaddle, would you?" Moses, sensing that the process might not be quite as smooth as God was making it out to be, asked, "What if they don't believe me or won't listen to me?"

God: "What's that in your hand?"

Moses: "A big wooden staff."

God: "Throw it on the ground."

Moses: "AAAUUUGGGHHH!"

God: "Now get back here and pick the snake up."

Moses: "You made it into a snake, You pick it up!"

God: ". . ."

Moses: "Okay, okay. Hey, it's a staff again. Cool trick, God."

The line that has always stood out to me is God's question: "What is that in your hand?" In the same way God used whatever Moses happened to be holding at the time, God can take whatever we have and whatever circumstance we're in and use them to accomplish what He wants.

So, here Jason and I are in a less than ideal writing situation. We've prayed it through, and know that God wants us to continue the work we've been doing. I guess the question is what's in Jason's and my hands? Well, we've got a lot of great ideas, we've got a strong friendship, we've got a good working history, we've got Skype, and, most importantly, we've got a calling from God. Compared with a big wooden staff, I guess we're actually doing pretty well.