Why Chicago?

Why not Chicago?

I didn’t have any specific city in mind; I just wanted one with a solid urban infrastructure. New York came to mind first, but it’s is just too big. I wanted a city that I could actually digest. Seattle, Boston, and Chicago came to mind next. For some reason Chicago just stuck out. It seems like a charming town, and I’d heard good things about it. Ok, sure! Let’s do Chicago!

Since then, I’ve heard phenomenal things about it, only solidifying my decision. But initially, it was a pretty arbitrary choice. I’ve never been to Chicago, but I’ve never been to any of the other candidates either.

So, you know some people there, right?

Outside of a few second-degree acquaintances, I don’t know a soul within 400 miles of Chicago. Half of the purpose of the move is to completely break out of my established comfort zones and see what I can make of myself without the influences that I have in my life now, be them good or bad.

Do you have a job lined up?

Yes and no. At this point, I don’t have a specific job lined up, no. Initially, I was hoping to find some contract web development work that would last from 4-9 months. But in talking with a few placement agencies, while I’m qualified for some high-demand positions in the Chicago area, most are very quick hire. They want to interview and hire within a week. That wouldn’t leave me much time to quit my job, pack, find a new place and move.

So, I asked anyone I know in the web development industry to pass along any freelance opportunities that they came across. As long as I could get enough work to get up to Chicago with a decent work/cash buffer, I figured I could land a job in a few weeks. From those contacts (read: friends), I have several projects that I’m working on now, that will last me for a few weeks yet, with several more that should be coming down the wire soon.

I’m not sure if I’ll stick with freelance, find contract work, or do a little of both. It completely depends on what immediate opportunities present themselves. So, no, I don’t have work lined up, but yes, I feel fairly confident that I’ll be able to find some.

But not so confident that it’s completely out of mind. This is by far the biggest unknown with the whole plan, and the piece that is most guilty of keeping me up at night.

Where are you going to you live?

I’m planning on getting a furnished apartment in the northern half of the downtown area. Right now, I’m leaning towards Lincoln Park or the surrounding areas, though pricing and availability of studio or one bedroom apartments will vastly influence that decision.

A lot of furnished apartments are fairly quick turnaround, and since I’m still not 100% sure when I’ll be moving, I’ve only been able to generally price out apartments without taking any steps towards actually leasing one. I’ll probably end up picking one a week or two before moving in. I hope it doesn’t smell funny.

It should be pretty evident that nearly every piece of this is still up in the air. For it all to come together, a dozen things will have to simultaneously fall into place. And I’m sure I’ll be taking some blind leaps along the way.

But, hey, that’s half the fun!

Lord willing, of course.

A few weeks ago, I pulled the proverbial trigger on something I probably should have done years ago: Taking a risk. Doing something reckless. “Giving it a shot.”

Having been birthed and raised in the suburbs north of Dallas, I’ve never lived outside of a circle 20 miles in diameter. I went to a local college, living with my wonderful parents (and sisters) until six months before graduation. I took jobs always where close friends worked. It’s been great, and I wouldn’t change the past decade even if I could. But nowhere in all of that have I ever really done anything a little crazy or risky. Nothing that put me outside of the comfortable world I’ve always known. And having no reason to move or branch out, I’m on track to stay here for my entire life.

And don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that. But as I get a bit older and I look back on my adult life, those little “what ifs” start to rear their heads, and I can’t help but wonder how things would have ended up if I had branched out a bit. Normally I would internalize all of that and use it as fodder for future self-loathing. But not this time.

Past decisions are over and done; time has washed its hands of them. There is nothing I can do to change my early 20s. But there is something I can do to change my late 20s. So here goes.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to live in the city. Urban lifestyle is so appealingly different from my hitherto suburban experience. Waking up on the 23rd story of a rundown apartment building, walking two blocks through the crowded streets to catch a train to take me across town so that I can spend the morning reading in the park. Sighing as I groggily realize it’s another stormy Thursday, until the sight of my ridiculously oversized umbrella makes me smile and I whistle over the rainy din as I walk to work. Well, that just sounds charming.

But staying there, settling down, and raising a family in the hubbub of the city? That sounds slightly less charming. So my solution is this strange extended business trip / vacation / walkabout hybrid. My plan is to live there for six to nine months, then come back.

The proverbial trigger that I pulled was putting in an official two weeks’ notice at my job of three and a half years, which will end this Wednesday. On top of that, I’m moving most of my stuff into storage in the next few days, and staying with my parents for a few weeks while I get the other details worked out. A lot still has to come together for me to actually make the move, but I’m hoping to be up in Chicago within the next three weeks. Again, Lord willing.

I’m also working on (yet another) Cabeeb.com overhaul that will be better suited to chronicle my little adventure, amongst other things. Though it will likely not fully come together until I’m well into said adventure.

If you’re the praying type, I would definitely appreciate prayers leading up to and in the midst of this. I’m ashamed to admit that I initially made this decision with very little prayerful consideration. But now as I’m praying, not for confirmation but for unbiased direction, God has given me several affirmations that this is what I should be pursuing right now. It might fall apart, or change midway into something completely different. But for now, this is what I think I’m supposed to be doing. I just want to be poised to follow wherever He leads me every step of the way.

I’m ecstatic, terrified, anxious, overwhelmed, and at peace all at once. It’s a strange place to be, and unlike any point in my life so far. But I absolutely love it.

Even if something happens tomorrow that completely demolishes the plan, leaving me jobless and homeless, I won’t regret one bit of it. Because for once, I gave it a shot. I put it all on the line and went full tilt from the light to the hazy twilight of the unknown. When I’m 70, I won’t look back on the summer of my 27th year and think “What if…”

Like I said, Lord willing.

This past summer when I started supporting Richard was a time when my concept of charity, generosity, philanthropy, social justice, and a personal responsibility for the well-being of the world as a whole began to shift. Though Richard was a part of it, there were countless relationships, conversations, articles and books that contributed (plus a little boy named Christian).

Whatever the reasons, my view of philanthropy is staggeringly different than it was a year ago. And that shift has affected how I think of nearly every facet of life in one way or another.

To put it simply, I started caring.

Whether you’re a Christian or not, you’ve always heard that it’s your “responsibility” to help people less fortunate, and support causes that are important and right. What does that mean though? To what extent? How do can really quantify that responsibility? How should I actually apply that responsibility to my life?

What typically ends up happening is that it comes out of feelings of guilt. You see the white-bearded man on television holding an impoverished child and decide that $1 a day is a fair price to alleviate the feelings of guilt that slightly prickle your heart. You see Haiti ravaged by an earthquake, and though the concept of 100,000 people dying doesn’t fit inside your mind, your pity is stirred and you text $10 to the Red Cross. Phew; you’re at ease until the next major catastrophe.

That’s not taking responsibility; that’s self-preservation. Responsibility is taking a vested interest in something, and devoting yourself to it. The only responsibility that most of my charitable actions have filled is my responsibility to keep myself comfortable. And that can only go so far. I will only help others enough to keep myself appeased. It’s fickle, ungrounded, and ultimately doomed.

What changed that cycle was when I actually cared about what I was supporting. Getting to that point can be amazingly difficult. How can you make yourself care for something? It’s nearly impossible. I kind of tricked the system, though; instead of trying to make myself care for the first charity I came across, I looked around found charities that won me over with their vision and message. I read about different organizations, I asked friends about who they supported and why.

So, when I finally started to support an organization, I already had invested myself into them. I knew who I was supporting, and why it was important. It was just the natural outpouring of my genuine concern, rather than me blindly trying to calm my unease and possibly making a little difference in the world too.

When I finally experienced that – the joy and satisfaction of giving to something I really cared about – it made me want to find more causes to support. It wasn’t a chore anymore, it was love. It was a way to express my love and concern about someone or something, and actually do some real good in a way that personally resonated with me.

We’ve all experienced that with people we know – we do something for them because we love them. Not because we have to, or because they told us to, or because we are afraid to face the consequences if we don’t. But because it is one of the ways that we express our love.

That’s one reason that Compassion International, or similar organizations are so brilliant. With so many charitable gifts, you toss an organization some money and say “Here… do something with this.” and you wash your hands of it. But with Compassion, you spend time searching for a child that you want to support. You read about dozens of different children, look at their pictures, read their stories, and then finally you say “That’s the one”. You’ve finally taken responsibility.

At that point, the organization doesn’t matter anymore. It makes no difference that you’re giving to Compassion; you are supporting the child that you yourself chose. That’s what matters. Richard matters.

As it becomes clear to all of us as we get older, love is a choice. Of all the children whose pictures I saw, whose stories I read, I chose to love Richard. Of course, I was and am concerned for all of the children I saw, and I’m sure it won’t be long before I’m supporting another one. But something about Richard stirred me; maybe it was that innocent smile or the way he was slouching his arms behind his back. Whatever it was, I reached out and said “Him.”

For me, it was the first time I’d truly felt the joy of giving to those less fortunate. If you haven’t experienced that, I highly, highly recommend that you look into an organization like Compassion. It really takes becoming invested in a cause, mission, family, region, life or message before you can truly feel that joy that we’re all meant to feel. And once you have, you’ll never be able to go back to the detached form of appeasement giving that we’ve all known for so long.

Give me love over this.

And, though I have never met him, he’s completely changed my world.

I became Richard’s sponsor through Compassion International in July 2009, thanks to encouragement from Daniel Bryant. And though the monthly cost to support Richard is less than almost every other “bill” I have, it’s more than three times as much as his parents are collectively able to make in a month doing occasional farming jobs.

What my support of Richard represents is the first major contribution that I’ve made that I have a true personal connection with. I’ve given to various charities before for various reasons, but none of them have had nearly the satisfaction or impact within me as Richard has. I’m specifically helping Richard; not Compassion as an organization. My support isn’t being spread out over all of the countless children that Compassion supports. No, I am helping Richard Ssempijja grow into the man he is going to be.

Having this decidedly personal connection has changed the way I now look at every charitable gift. But I’ll save the broader picture of how my perspective of charity and giving has been vastly altered for my next post.

For now, I just wanted you to see that adorable picture of Richard, and learn a little about him. I highly recommend that you read more about Compassion International and really consider sponsoring a child. You’ll be absolutely amazed the impact that it will have in every aspect of you life.

And, of course, in the life of your own Richard.

With that in mind, I decided to narrow it down to five instead of one, which somehow seems slightly less absurd. Though being asked your five favorite letters or your twenty best breaths would seem even more foolish than narrowing it down to one, so that analogy just crumbled before my eyes. Moving on.

Five songs. I mulled over it for a while and tried to dig deep into my musical past and think of songs that have really influenced me one way or another, even if it’s not a song that I still listen to every few days. Weighing my options. Immediately disavowing anything from the past 2 or 3 years. Reavowing a few of those. Narrowing a list of 50 songs down to 65. Getting nowhere.

So, I decided to give myself five minutes to make my decision. That’s a minute a song; more than ample. And what do you know, I had no problems at all coming up with them. Naturally, after I was done I still had some doubts, but as I looked back over the list, it was completely feasible that it’s exactly what I would have come up with if I’d spent hours intently mulling over my 8,000 song library and past 3 years of Last.fm listening history.

But before you read my list – or at the very least immediately following it – I want you to do the same. Within the span of 300 seconds, come up with five (5) songs, and leave them in a comment. Make no mistake, the instant you hit submit, you’ll have a pang of remorse as you suddenly remember one that you’d forgotten to mention. Tomorrow, you’ll think back and realize that you were completely wrong, and out of those five songs, only one really belongs there. But it’s Ok; we’re all in the same boat here.

So, without further ado, I give you my five favorite songs (as of 9:45pm on Jan 20, 2010) (Click a song to listen to it on last.fm).

100 Years by Five For Fighting
Politik by Coldplay
Read My Mind by The Killers
On & Off Again by Sondre Lerche
Stop This Train by John Mayer

Alright, that’s your cue.

But, seriously, I’m not.

So, I have a crush on Chris Martin. And Tom Welling. Mat Kearney. Gerard Butler. Sean Bean. The list goes on. Man crushes. Some may deny it, but in my almost complete lack of experience on the subject, most men have them. If not, they’re either foolishly blind to the charm, wit, and coolness of other men, or they’re actually gay and trying to hide it.

It’s a strange thing, a man crush – or a “mush” as I’ve never once heard anybody call it. In fact, the name “man crush” is a little more provocative than it should be. But what was first a concept that, by name alone, disgusted me and caused me to rebel against it, I now understand and embrace whole-heartedly.

Irrefutable.

You see, a man crush not at all a typical, romantic crush at all; it’s more of an idealization. For me, it boils down to someone in whom I see an epitome of manliness in one way or another that I wish I had. For instance, Chris Martin and Mat Kearney – aside from being fantastic songwriters and musicians – both fully embody what I consider “cool” in the purest sense; down to earth, raw, and unabashedly sexy. Gerard Butler is rugged and aloof with a Scottish accent that could make a hyena swoon. Sean Bean has a timeless class generally reserved for monarchy and expensive cologne models. Tom Welling is – well, frankly he’s kind of a tool; but damned if he isn’t one of the hottest men alive.

The point is that all of these guys have something that I desperately wish I did. Be it charm, talent, or just plain old-fashioned, double-t hott, they have it. And though I’m a little hesitant to admit it, there is a slight sexual aspect to the man-crush equation, and that is just the general envy of the man crush’s sex appeal. He’s got it. I want it. Teach me, sir.

It’s almost like how an aspiring football player views Payton Manning, Tony Romo or Jerry McQuire. They’re heroes; inspiration; a model to strive for. Except instead of their ability to catch, throw or manage a football, mushes are thus just because they are men. Damn fine men.

And, I mean, let’s just be honest here. These are some good looking fellas! Am I wrong? Are you honestly going to tell me, Mr. Manly Man McStud, that you see nothing in these men except blokes vying for your position as alpha male? C’mon!! They’re attractive guys!! If you can look at a flock of seagulls, a painting, a sunset, or a sports car and call it pretty, then why not a man? Especially if it’s a man whose qualities inspire me to be a better man myself and simultaneously wish I was born a woman.

Now, I’ve heard that man-crushes are a result of the emasculation of males in modern western culture. Men today are not men, and our subconscious is quietly aware of this. We’re trying to reach out and connect with a part of ourselves that we didn’t even know we didn’t have. Blah blah blah. You know what? At the end of the day, I don’t care. I want to be with and just plain be Mat Kearney. I don’t care why I feel like that, I just want to know how I can make one or both of those things happen, and happen now.

But I’m not gay.

As the story opens, Poppy (christened Houston Epps Sr.) is 42, Jerry (my grandmother) is 18, my great aunt Glenna is 14, my great uncle Houston is 20 and fighting against the Japanese in the South Pacific. My great grandmother, Maurine (affectionately known as Mimo), is age unknown at this point. I’m guessing 40, give or take a year or two.

A lot had happened between then and the last time Poppy put pen to paper five years later. Poppy and Mimo had celebrated their 25th (Silver) Anniversary. The war had ended (marked by a simple entry “Japan Surrendered Unconditionally To-day”), and Houston was back home and had started dating, become engaged to, and married his wife of over 50 years. Glenna had dropped out of high school (with her parents’ consent), then re-enrolled and graduated on the recommendation of her new employer. Jerry had become engaged twice, called both weddings off, and started dating my grandfather; they were married in mid-1950.

Many of the entries were short little quips about the day or week. Times being what they were, Poppy frequently mentioned the price and availability of different meats (beef, chicken, pork, bacon, etc). He also mentioned the weather, often as an afterthought at the end of an entry. “Nice weather to-day”, “Storm hit McKinney at 3:30 this afternoon”, etc.

It was very, very clear that the most important thing to Poppy was family, and he was extremely proud of his children. Especially in the time when Houston was coming back from the war, there were countless entries talking about how happy all of them were and how excited they were to have him back. Overall, most of the things he wrote were about his family.

The journal was a very charming read, from Poppy’s old-fashioned phrasing and spelling, to the insight into their lifestyle and the context that I now have for those 5 years. As I was reading, I had my Moleskine handy and filled seven packed pages with quotes, notes, and thoughts of my own. I never actually met Poppy, as he died several years before I was born. That being the case, though, I almost feel like I did know him after reading this journal.

One of the most quaint element of the read was an ongoing competition of 42 between Poppy, Mimo and their friends the Horsts. Over the course of the journal, Poppy mentioned them playing 42 over 20 times, and one of those mentions was him saying that they play it nearly every week. The very last entry in the journal was incredibly fitting: “We spent our new Years Eve with the Horst to play for tie in 42 for the year. Mrs. Horst & I beat 5 to 4 at the last min. of 1949.”

Well done, Poppy.

If you were bored by the video, or have no interest in classic wet shaving, don’t read any more, because this is largely a reference post devoid of anything personally self-reflective or intentionally entertaining. Seriously.

The Razor

This is the single most important piece of the shaving puzzle. As luck would have it, this is also the easiest buying decision to make. After doing just a little research, it became very clear that it is a truth universally acknowledged that the Merkur Classic razor is the double-edged razor that all others are compared to. It’s the perfect starter razor, and most wet shaving veterans still prefer it. They’re also well-priced; I bought this very razor from this very site, and it was a little under $40 after shipping. If you’re buying your first double-edged razor, buy this one. Period.

The Blades

Probably the second most-important piece of the puzzle, as the way that you shave will vary drastically depending on what blades you use. Some are sharper, but less smooth so you have to shave carefully. Others are very smooth, but may require a few extra go-overs.

Blades are cheaper when you buy them in bulk, but I didn’t want to commit to buying 50 blades that I’ve never used before in case they stunk. As luck would have it, there are some sites that sells large sampler packs so you can get a variety of different blades to try out without having to commit, but still be able to pay bulk price. If you’re starting out, I can’t recommend this option enough. I bought a pack of about 50 assorted blades almost exactly a year ago for less than $20 after shipping, and I still have probably half of the blades.

As mentioned in the video, after trying probably a dozen different kinds, my clear favorites are Feather and Crystal, with Crystal probably taking the highest honor. They’re incredibly smooth, perfectly sharp and easily last for 5 or 6 shaves. The Feathers, on the other hand, are known for being insanely sharp and it is a title well deserved. If Feathers are a 10 on a scale of sharpness, the next closest blades I’ve tried are 7s; maybe 8s.

The Brush

You can spend anywhere from about $8 to hundreds on a shave brush. The vast majority of shave brushes are made from badger hair, but the cheaper ones will be made from lower quality badger hair (which comes from the less desirable parts of a badger) than the more expensive ones. Nicer brushes hold a lot more water than cheaper ones, so you’ll get a much more lush lather with a better brush.

When I was buying all the different articles for wet shaving, I tended to buy cheaper products to begin with on the assumption that I could upgrade down the road. The brush was the one exception though, and I ended up getting it from Crabtree and Evelyn in Willowbend Mall for $35. It’s a good medium size, with a comfortable wooden handle, and I don’t regret spending the extra money at all.

If you want to start small though, I’ve seen sub-$10 ones at CVS Pharmacy.

The Shaving Cream

Your choice of shaving cream is largely a personal preference issue, and there are significantly more readily-available options with the shaving cream than with the other pieces. I personally alternate between two. One is the tube from Bath & Body Works I showed in the video. It is actually a rebranded version of a very popular Italian shaving creme called Proraso. With this, I put a bit in a warm latte mug and build the lather there before I apply it to my face.

The other method – and the one that I prefer – is a shave soap that I also bought from Crabtree & Evelyn. I like this way better because instead of using a mug, I get a bit of soap on the brush and build the lather directly on my face, which keeps the lather warmer and gets it even more saturated into my skin.

The Aftershave

Aftershave is actually the one area in which just about anything will do. I use a Neutrogena aftershave that I bought for $4 at Target, and it works great. I’ve also recently discovered the joys of Burt’s Bees Aftershave, but it’s a bit pricey at $10 a bottle. Bath & Body Works also has a wide assortment of aftershaves, as does just about any store that carries skin care products. Aftershave selection for most people ultimately comes down to their preferred consistency and scent, and everybody has different tastes on both. Start cheap.

Also, if I do happen to nick myself at all during a shave, I’ll get a little bit of Witch Hazel on a cotton ball and dab it on my face as an astringent to help the wounds close up before I use my aftershave. Also, Witch Hazel just sounds completely awesome, so I use it as much as I can.

Regarding Long-term Costs

I looked up some prices online, and found the cheapest costs for several shaving methods for the sake of comparison. My findings are as follows.

My Current Setup w/ Classic Shaving
Merkur razor w/ 1 blade = $38
Crystal Blades In a pack of 100 = $.12 / Blade
38 + .12x
Shaving with a Mach 3
Handle w/ 1 blade = $8
Replacement Blades (Pack of 12) = $1.67 / Blade
8 + 1.67x
Bottom of the Line Schick Disposable Razors
Bought In a Pack of 12 = $.58 / Blade
.58x

After having far too much fun figuring out those equations and comparing the graphs of all three, I figured that one would need to use only about 20 blades for Classic shaving to be less expensive than the Mach 3. Now to beat the price of the disposable Schicks (the cheapest disposable razors I could find), you’d need to go through about 80 blades. But that assumes that you’d get as many shaves out of the Schicks as the Crystals (you probably wouldn’t), and doesn’t take into account the medical bills you’d likely incur from the disposable ones.

At my current rate of usage, 80 blades is probably about two years’ worth. And considering that 80 blades is how many razors you’d have go through before your switch from probably the worst shave around (shy of an electric razor) to one of the absolute best shaves you can give yourself becomes less expensive, I think it is well worth it.

Final Thoughts

The initial costs for my jump into classic shaving totaled just under $120 for the razor, blades, brush, and shave soap, but I’m still set for another year at least on that investment. If you don’t want to drop that much money at once, and would rather ease into wet shaving instead of diving in completely, I’d recommend starting with the razor. While not ideal, a double edged razor with cheap shaving cream is a much better setup than a crappy razor with quality shaving cream. The improvement you’ll see from just that $40 investment will make you a believer.

I was amazed to discover that there are an incredible number of online resources that are absolutely indispensable. The most significant one for me is Badger and Blade. The site is basically a very feature-rich forum community, but there are extensive reviews and discussions on every literally every single product relating to classic shaving from shave creams and razors to the individual blades themselves. Before you buy anything, look it up at B&B.

There’s also a guy on YouTube called mantic59 (http://www.youtube.com/user/mantic59) who has several videos covering every aspect of wet shaving from the history of it and product recommendations to actual shaving techniques and step-by-step tutorials. Most of what I know I learned from his videos. They’re kind of goofy here and there, and he’s a bit quirky, but the dude knows his stuff and does a great job of explaining it.

And that’s all I got; seven and a half minutes of video and 1350 words later. Word to the wise: don’t bring up classic shaving with me unless you are prepared to hear naught but my voice for the foreseeable future.

It’ll give you time to grow a beard to shave off.

My reason for bringing this up post-fact is that while we were on the trip, we were making periodic updates to http://www.snowjutsu.com, a site that Josiah and I slapped together for this trip at the last minute. If you have a spare minute or seven, take a stroll through and look at some of the ridiculous things we thought it pertinent to share.

Already planning the next trip.

That particular day, between watching requests to “support the bond of brotherhood” and “keep our school spirit alive,” I set up a small-scale client called “The Miami Project.” Knowing nothing about them, I did my initial setup that I do for any new project and put all the appropriate video and image files where they should be and then browsed to the video to see if everything was working.

I was surprised to see that it was a fund set up to help cure paralysis (You can see for yourself here). The beginning of the video touched on how suddenly and without warning paralysis could strike anyone, and it was a bit cheesy, frankly; it reminded me of a newscast. I had it playing on the side of the screen while I was making a few tweaks to the page’s code, when the video cut from the voice over to a young boy sitting in a wheelchair with a tube coming out of his chest, making a visible effort just to speak.

“Hi… my name is Christian.”

In that moment, everything else stopped, and I completely forgot what I was working on. I was transfixed and overcome, and sitting at work, without warning or precedent, my heart broke and tears rose to my eyes.

There was a ten-year old boy, surrounded by the constant din of the machines that keep him alive, belted into his chair with a doll in his lap, struggling to get the air he needs to casually introduce himself. After which, he smiles as much as he is able and glances to his left, looking for confirmation that that take would be Ok.

“My name is Chrishen.” He can’t even fully pronounce his own name. His own name. Oh, boy. Here I go again.

Out of all the countless heart-tugging commercials and appeals I’ve seen in my life, Christian’s probably hit me hardest, and I’m not completely sure why that is. Whatever the reason though, it started me thinking and I haven’t been able to stop since.

Mostly, I’ve been thinking about how blessed I am with all those things that I daily take for granted; things that if Christian could somehow do tomorrow morning, would be the single happiest experience of his life.

Sure there are those typical things that years of inspirational daytime talk shows have trained us to think of. Things like hitting a baseball, playing with the dog in the backyard, or swimming in a creek. But what about those simple things that are so routine, we forget we can even do them? Christian’s never scratched an itch on his foot, woken up in the middle of the night and walked to the bathroom, written his name on a piece of paper, clapped his hands, scooped a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, or even supported his own weight.

If I want to simply stand up and walk to the other side of the room, I can, and that is amazing! Inconceivably amazing. Even if there weren’t any people who couldn’t, it would still be an incredible gift from God. But there are people who can’t, and merely acknowledging and appreciating the fact that I can does nothing to help them. While it’s essential to remember God’s incredible blessing, that in of itself can ultimately only affect me.

So, what do I do? I’ve been struggling for a week about how to respond, and I still don’t know. I can give money to support the fight against paralysis or any of the other countless conditions that afflict so many people the world over. But that just seems too easy; too passive. I’m tired of responding to injustice and misfortune out of a selfish desire to ease my own conscience.

In the meantime, though, I’m selfishly helping no one in any capacity. Apathy, in my opinion, is worse than poorly motivated action. God can use someone’s self-righteous contribution; there’s not much to be done with me sitting on my hands. I need to start doing something. I just haven’t figured out exactly what that something is. I’m trusting God to keep my heart true and to use what will begin as little more than a selfish response as an opportunity for me to grow. And, more importantly, to minister to people who are in desperate need.

Jesus met people where they were, and ministered to their day-to-day needs. He put just as much emphasis on tending to their physical ailments as he did on their spiritual sickness. I think we often overlook that fact when we think about Jesus. We remember the miracles, but I rarely think about the real impact they had on each individual person who was healed. On one hand, it was Jesus demonstrating His divine power, but it was also Him showing compassion and love in a very real, tangible way. As His namesakes, Christians should be carrying on that ministry. We Christians need to help the Chrishens of the world in whatever big or small way each of us can.

“Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” -James 1:27

That unstained part is a different blog post altogether.