My Stars in Alignment

As many of you well know, last night we here in North America experienced a lunar eclipse.  Although this takes place at least twice a year, bad weather and the position of the earth often make access to the event unavailable for billions of people.  

Last night I watched my first lunar eclipse.  It only took 28 years for the event to occur.  That’s a shame.  

What I found particularly ironic about the event was the subject matter of our reading in literature class.  Of all the books we could be reading during the night of the lunar eclipse we’re working through King Solomon’s Mines.  Of all the chapters in the book we could be reading, last night I assigned chapters 11 and 12.  No big deal except that the chapters detail a lunar eclipse that saves the lives of our four main characters.  

What are the chances of that?  Is it a big deal in the grand scheme of things?  Certainly not.  But I couldn’t believe the odds.  I’d like to say I planned for the reading and the event to coincide, but to be honest I did no such thing.  

I guess events like this prove that one’s stars can be in alignment.  

Save the Cat - Blake Snyder

Great book on writing!

I picked up a copy of this book from Amazon.com with a gift certificate the staff gave me for Christmas. How did I hear about the book? Well, several staff members from Desiring God mentioned it in their annual book review. When I read some good reviews I decided I needed to read it. Was it worth it? Oh yes.

Though the book isn’t that long - only 180 some pages - each page overflows with useful pointers for both screen and novel writing. I think the best part of the book was reading some thoughts by Snyder then recalling their evidence in movies I’ve recently watched. He lays out what should take place on page 1-5 of the script, then on page 6-11, page 12, and so on. It really happens.

The other night I re-watched Ocean’s 11. Everything took place just like he said it would. How revolutionary! Movie writing follows a set formula. Learn to follow the formula, and you can write a movie. Write a good enough movie, and you can earn some serious dough.

If you’re at all interested in writing fiction, grab a copy of this book. It’s a keeper.

Photography Lessons from Weddings

Took pictures at another wedding, my third so far. Wow! I feel like I’m learning a lot about the business, but I know I still have much to learn.

So far:

It’s the bride stupid. It’s all about getting shots of the bride. In the first wedding I shot I angled myself all wrong when I shot the bride walking down the aisle. Sure, she’s in the shot, but instead of getting some nice clear pictures of the bride’s pretty face, instead I got her father. The bride, the bride, the bride. In every shot make sure you get the bride. She’s the one who is going to love or hate the pictures in the end.

Watch your aperture. Aperture? You may ask what an aperture is. Aperture controls your depth of field. With a high aperture (2.8 or there abouts) you get pictures where part is in focus and the other part is out. For some pictures that’s a great idea. In other pictures you need a lower aperture (8-11) so that each part of the person is in focus. The picture’s no good if the bride’s shoulder is in focus, but her face is not.

Set yourself before snapping. Sometimes I find myself nervous about getting a shot. To make sure I don’t miss it I snap the picture while my body is still moving or the lens hasn’t focussed yet. The result? Though I pressed the shutter button at the right time because I wasn’t set the picture is still blurry. It’s a waste. I’ve got to get set first.

Don’t drink. Probably everyone who reads the blog would know that, but the last three weddings have convinced me of the ills of drinking. It’s almost humorous sometimes to watch the change in people who only moments before were perfectly sober become stupid idiots in front of a crowd of a hundred people. I can’t believe it. There’s really no surprise that a portion of these people then go out and run their car off the road or into someone else.

Equipment. A good camera does not a good photographer make, but without the right equipment, you’re wasting your time. You wouldn’t try to start a tree service with only a handsaw. Without a good camera (or two), flash, extra battery and memory cards you’ll never make it. Buy the equipment you need to do the job.

Rearing Its Ugly Head

This morning I walked a block up toward town to get my monthly hair cut. One of my students trims it now. She’s the same student who last year revealed the fact she found several nasty little gray hairs near my temples.

About midway through the haircut the student, Kiara, mentioned the camera I use to take pictures at weddings. I own a Sony Alpha 100,which was named camera of the year by Popular Photography magazine. Kiara went on to mention her father bought a DSLR (Digital Single Lens Reflex).

“Oh,” I said.

“My dad says it’s better than yours,” she went on.

A simple little phrase, “My dad says it’s better than yours,” yet suddenly I felt something very harsh and ugly rise within me. I wanted to defend my precious camera.

“Did your dad’s camera win the Camera of the Year Award?”

“Has your father earned almost a thousand dollars with his camera?”

“What makes your dad’s camera so special?”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but mean comments about my camera will never hurt me.”

Of course I didn’t actually say any of those things. I could go on though. There were so many thoughts running through my head before I finally realized how stupid I was. Who cares? What’s the big deal if her father thinks his camera is better than mine? Maybe it is. Rather than feeling upset about the comment shouldn’t I rather rejoice he’s blessed with a great camera? How can I help Kiara’s father make an even better use of his camera?

The whole instance occurred in less than thirty seconds, yet it helped me realize how much of my sinful flesh still remains waiting and willing to rear its ugly little head.

Pride. I can’t wait till I can shuffle off that horrid part of my mortal coil and move into humility.

Memories: Spring Break with Marty

March of 2001 held my last real Spring Break.  Since I’d be student teaching during my last spring break my best friend, Marty Pagano, and I decided we’d make the best of our nine days off from school.  We’d talked to our parents and convinced them to let Marty come home to Pittsburgh with Keara and I.  Oh, the plans we made.  We’d see movies.  We’d stop at every Starbucks.  We’d see some of my friends from High School.  We’d sleep in.  To all the plans we construed we added three unplannable desires.

#1  We’d almost get kissed.

#2  We’d almost get arrested.

#3  We’d almost get killed. 

Now, some may suggest we wimped out on the first two plans.  We should have kissed and should have been arrested.  Of course the two need not have been directly connected.  You must remember though that we were Baptist boys.  We couldn’t stray to far from the fold.

Early in week we accomplished #3.  We visited my mom while she taught class at North Hills Christian School.  On our way home the car lost its brakes as we drove down a long hill toward the highway.  Thankfully we veered off the road into a long, gravel Park and Ride parking lot and got stopped before going over another embankment.  

#1 occurred late in the week on the evening we returned to Northland.  A bunch of people met at the Pagano’s off-campus house.  Before returning to the dorm Betsy Reed and I had a moment.  In the spirit of the season I probably shouldn’t exaggerate to much, but she did blow me a kiss . . .  I’ll just say my entire face blushed for about three days afterwards.  

The events surrounding the #2 incident probably provided the best story of the week.  

Late on Sunday evening, just two days into the break, Marty and I decided to go dumpster diving.  He’d heard me tell stories about the exciting little adventures I’d had in the past and wanted to get in on the action.  I couldn’t blame him. 

Dumpster Diving began many years ago when my dad and I sat in the car while Keara and Mom made “short” shopping stops which tended to last more than an hour.  Bored to tears Dad explored the shopping center by driving behind the buildings which formed the outdoor mall.  He stopped at the Sears dumpster, parked the car, got out, and peeked down inside.  Nothing good, but that short moment behind Sears began a trend in the Kistler’s lives.  I don’t really remember that many things picked up in the early years other than an odd bookshelf or something.  

Some of you may be cringing already.  Trash picking?  You may call it that if you like.  You may lift your haughty little nose in the air and head to someone else’s blog.  That’s ok.  You must remember though, that our family was quite poor.  I hope I don’t offend my parents by saying this, but we never had much.  Sure, they took great care of us.  Our needs were always met.  There just simply wasn’t much extra money to spare.  If we could pick up a perfectly good book shelf someone else wanted to throw away, why not?  Especially if we would have had to spend $50 or $100 on it elsewhere.  

My own dumpster diving experiences began about ten years after my father’s.  I’d just returned from my sophomore year at college.  Keara wanted to use my availability as a licensed driver to take her to go tanning.  We drove out to Robinson Town Center, and I sat in the car while she walked in for her fifteen minute session.  Boring.  I’d brought nothing to do.  After all, this was still years before a cell phone or ipod entered our home.  Instead of sitting in the hot car I decided to drive around the building where Keara tanned.  In the back I found a dumpster piled high with goods.  I couldn’t believe it.  I parked the car, climbed up on a rail and peered down inside.  The store, Media Play, redesigned their entire building and threw away all the excess product they no longer had room to store.  While I don’t recall all I saved from the trash heap, two things stick out.  One, I got a nice pair of Sony headphones which were still in their package, completely unopened.  I saw the same pair several days later in Best Buy.  They sold for $29.99.  I also pulled two matching Ansel Adams books.  The hardback covers had been torn off to prevent the books from being sold.  When I got home I took the books apart page by page and the several of the pictures now hang framed in my apartment.  I checked those books to find they retailed at $20.  Who would toss such treasure?

Fast forward now to my spring break with Marty.  I’d been dumpster diving for two and a half years.  In that time I’d collected twenty end tables for the camp (Ikea), manikins for the camp store (TJMaxx), a dining room table (Barnes and Noble), designer office trash cans (Marshals), a roll top desk (?), books to sell on Ebay (Half Price Books) on which I made over $100, and various other things.  That’s why Marty couldn’t wait to go with me.  He wanted a share of the loot.  

At 11 o’clock we began our preparations. We dressed warmly as the temperature sunk to the mid-forties.  We brought flashlights.  Marty suggested gloves in case it got much colder.  I left my wallet at home as I had a recurring nightmare of the wallet falling out in some dumpster.  Then we left.  Just after mid-night we arrived at Robinson Town Center.  The area had commercially exploded since the days of my father’s diving.  Now there was a mall and three separate complexes to explore.  I didn’t tell Marty, but I decided to start behind the stores where I rarely found anything good.  We’d start small and work our way up. 

After checking five dumpsters we hadn’t found anything good.  There was a recliner tossed out behind the leather store, but it had more damage than we wanted to mess with.  Plus it would have taken up to much room in my car.  I wasn’t surprised by the lack of loot.  I did not often find good things behind these stores anyway.  

As we pulled out from behind the leather goods store I noticed a vehicle I’d never seen before.  A white Sheriff’s Ford Explorer parked right in front of the store.  I must say that up to this point we had not done anything illegal.  I’ve heard that if you would actually get into a dumpster, that could be considered trespassing, but we’d done nothing of the kind.  At the same time, I don’t know about you, but I start feeling guilty and nervous anytime I see a police officer whether I’ve done anything wrong or not.  

We had a choice to make.  There were two exits to the parking lot.  One forced us to drive right past the Explorer, the other took us out and a long way around.  I thought it might look fishy if we changed our direction when we saw the police so I headed the car right toward the Explorer relying on our innocence to solve any trouble.  

I thought we’d made it.  I drove past the Explorer and nodded at its driver in the most innocent and kind way I could, but he flashed his lights before we got too far and motioned for us to stop.

“Oh great,” Marty said.  “How often does this happen?”

“It’s never happened before,” I whispered as the fifty year old officer approached, one hand hovering near his revolver.

I rolled down the window.

“Good evening, officer.  Can I help you?” I asked in a cordial tone.

“Yeah, you can tell me what you were doing behind the building.”  Somehow the officer did not sound as though he too was trying to be cordial.  

I thought about lying and trying to make up a story, but I knew that would only land us in more hot water.  So, I just told the truth.

“Yes, officer.  Sometimes these businesses throw away some things that aren’t really trash, and my friend and I were just looking to see what had been thrown away.”

“Uhuh,” the truth did not convince him.  “Let me see you license.”

That little request caused some big trouble.  You’ll remember that I’d left my wallet at home.  I said as much.

“You what?” he asked as though I’d told him I’d farted on the president’s lap.  “You’re out here driving around without a driver’s license?”  He sounded a little irritated.

“I thought I always had twenty-four hours to prove I have a driver’s license.”

“Well you thought wrong.  You’re always supposed to carry your driver’s license on you.  Even if you aren’t driving.”  That sounded a bit irrational to me, but I let it go.  Someone had obviously kicked this guy’s dog before he came on shift and he was about to kick our’s.  Later on I checked my facts to make sure.  It’s true what I said.  In Pennsylvania you have twenty-four hours to prove you have a license before you can receive any fines or tickets.

“Is this your car?”  he asked unwavering in his pursuit of justice.  

“No,” I responded and was cut off before I could finish saying, “It’s my parent’s.”

“No?” he yelled. “You’re out here driving around after midnight snooping behind buildings without your license in a stolen car?”  As Marty and I thought about how bad that sounded he whipped out his flashlight and began shining it around the car.  

“Why are there flashlights and gloves in the back seat?”  I don’t think he wanted an answer because before either of us could respond he placed his hand on his gun and said, “Place your hands where I can see them and get out of the ^%@$%^ car!”

Now we were scarred.  This officer was obviously serious.  He didn’t believe us, and we felt like one false move and someone would be tracing our bodies in chalk.  

I don’t know how he wanted us to place our hands where he could see them and still pull the handle to open the car door, but we did our best to obey.  The doors opened, we put our hands back in the air like they do in the movies, then he directed us to the front of the car.

“Hands on the #$%$# hood.”  This was only the beginning of a long line of profanity directed toward us.  

The officer kicked our legs apart and bent us down onto the hood of my Buick.  

“You have any knives, guns, or other weapons I should know about?”

“No officer!” we said in unison.

“I’m not $%^@%& with you!  If you have any weapons I’ll see your @#$# in jail so fast you won’t know what @#$@$% hit you!”

“No officer,” we said again. 

Now he was frisking us.  

“You have any open bottles of alcohol or drugs in the vehicle?”

“No officer.”  

He stepped around to the driver’s side of the car and looked directly at us.  

“I’m going to call into headquarters.  If you move, I will be forced to arrest you with no questions asked.”  

Marty and I weren’t planning on going anywhere.  

He called headquarters and placed a request for possible backup.  Then he asked me who the cars was registered to.  I gave him my parents names and address.  He called that in with the license plate number.  

As he stood at the back of the car calling in Marty and I got the worst case of the giggles.  I chuckle even now to think about it.  We had done nothing wrong.  Nothing at all.  There was no possible way either of us could get in trouble if we did what we were asked to do.  So, suddenly to us the whole situation became quite humorous.  We tried to hold in the laughs, but couldn’t help it.  Here we were, two students from a Baptist Bible College, the sons of pastors, studying for the ministry, and we stood spread eagle with our hands on the hood of my car, being threatened by a hyped up police officer for doing nothing wrong.  We couldn’t believe it.  

While the officer waited for a response on the registration and plates, he came back around to the front.  

“I want you to tell me what you were doing behind this building.”  This time he asked Marty.

Marty said the same thing, “Sir, we just looked in the dumpster to see if anything good had been thrown away.  We didn’t even find anything.”

The officer still didn’t like the response.  “Do you have a @#$#@$ license?” he asked.  

“Yes.”  

“Fine.  I want you to pull it out slowly.”  

Marty did as he was told and carefully handed it to the officer.  Of course, Marty is from Wisconsin, and it said so on his license.  

“Wisonsin?  You’ve got to be #$#@$ kiddin’ me!  I suppose this is real?”  

“It is real, sir.” Marty replied.  

“Wisconsin?  Why the @#$@#$ were you behind a leather store in Pittsburgh, PA? Can you tell me that?”

Marty looked pleased at the opportunity to explain.

“Yes, sir.  Ken and I go to Northland Baptist Bible College together up there.  We’re here visiting his family on Spring Break.”

At the words “Northland Baptist Bible College” the officer winced.  He stood silent for a moment taking in Marty’s explanation.  The radio interrupted his reverie as the lady on the other end declared that the registration and license plate checked out.  

“Alright, thank you,” the officer responded.

“Look fellas.  Your story seems to check out, but I still don’t understand what you are doing back here at 12:30 in the morning with gloves and flashlights in your car.”

It was my turn. “Officer, like we said, we came out here to see if anyone was throwing anything good away.  I used to come out here and get good stuff like that.  We brought flashlights to look in the dumpsters.  We brought gloves in case it got cold.  That’s all.”

Finally the truth sank in.  

“You’re just looking in the dumpsters?  That’s it?”

“That’s it,” we replied together.

At that moment I felt bad for the guy.  He realized we were telling the truth.  He realized he had overreacted.  He tried to cover himself.

“Well, look fellas.  Anyone could have taken you guys for robbers.  They might have thought you were trying to break in the building and steal stuff.  You’re out there looking through their trash, someone comes out with a shotgun, and boom.  You’re dead.”

We didn’t quite know where he was going with that illustration, but it was ok.  

“Alright, fellas.  I guess you can go.  You want to hop in dumpsters?  Why don’t you do it during the day time?”

Both Marty and I were still too nervous to lift our hands from the hood of the car.  

The officer noticed and nodded.  “It’s alright.  You can go.”  

We lifted our hands from the hood.  The poor officer looked so sheepish.  I think he felt stupid for overreacting.  It wasn’t really his fault.  The situation would have looked suspicious to anyone.  

I reached across the hood and stuck out my hand to him.

“No problem, officer. You were just doing your job.  We appreciate guys like you.”

He didn’t know how to respond.  He may have thought I was being sarcastic, but when I smiled, I think he realized we really did appreciate him even though he almost shot us.  

He shook my hand, shook Marty’s hand, then we got in the car.  Just as we were about to pull away, he held up his hand and knocked on my window.  I rolled it down.  

“Fellas, I just wanted to say . . . “ he cleared his throat, “Good luck with your college and stuff.”

“Thanks,” we said.  

For the final two hundred yard drive to the end of the parking lot neither Marty nor I said a word.  We paused at the stop sign, then turned onto the main road for the fifteen minute drive home.  As we turned both of us burst into laughing.  We barely stopped laughing even when we got home.  

Institutes of the Christian Religion - John Calvin

Properly listed I should have written “Books of 2003” at the top of this page.  I read the book a while ago, but only recently was I able to list the quotes from this book.  

A Compend of the Institutes of the Christian Religion was given to me in a stack of books by a gentleman in our church.  Jim Rooks had heard that at the time I was selling books on Ebay, so rather than donate his pile to the local Goodwill he gave them to me.  I picked through the pile and recall that many of the books would be worthless to anyone but the Goodwill.  I think I was able to sell two on the internet, receiving about $10 total.  Then I found this book.  

John Calvin?  I began to salivate. How many college evenings had been spent debating the tenants of Calvinism with my roommates.  I’d left Pensacola Christian College over Calvinism.  Sure, I’d done my research. I read Sproul’s Chosen By God.  I’d flipped through the pages of other authors who offered insights on Calvin’s thoughts.  After all, though, I’d never read the man himself.  

A few weeks after receiving the book I worked up the guts to begin reading it.  It took me a while.  Calvin is no breezy reading.  This was the first real theology book I remember making it all the way through.  

Woah!  Some of John’s thoughts began to rock my world.  In the end I recall loving almost every minute of the book.  It had depth, meaning, truth.  Calvin shined a light on areas of theology I didn’t even know existed.  This was one of the first books I underlined, underlined, underlined.  

The other week one of the girls in our Youth Group typed out all the quotations.  I’ll list a few of them below, but if you follow The Institutes of Religion - John Calvin.pdf you can download the entire PDF.  

But, if we once elevated our thoughts to God, and consider his nature, and the consummate perfection of his righteousness, wisdom, and strength, to which we ought to be conformed.  What before charmed us in ourselves under the false pretext of righteousness, will soon be loathed as the greatest iniquity; what strangely deceived us under the title of wisdom, will be despised as extreme folly, and what wore the appearance of strength, will be proved to be most wretched impotence. (pg. 5) 

Thus God by his providence restrains the perverseness of our nature from breaking out into external acts, but does not purify it within…  The will, therefore, is so bound by the slavery of sin, that it cannot excite itself, much less devote itself to anything good. (pg. 49)

Memories: How I Got LOST

Many of you know that I don’t have a TV at home.  No, I don’t think those of you who do have them are immoral, carnal, foolish, or lesser Christians (well, perhaps lesser Christians - just kidding).  I don’t own one simply because I fear the amount of time I would waste if I did.  

Three years ago I visited Blockbuster Video and walked out with a DVD that would change my life.  When I walked into the store I had no idea what I wanted to rent.  It was a Saturday night after a long week of camp.  Most of the staff was headed to their various homes that weekend.  I just wanted to rent a movie I could fall asleep to.  Upon asking the cute blonde behind the counter for her recommendation she pointed me toward Lost.

“Do you like JJ Abrams?”

“I’m not quite sure who that is,” I said.

“He does Alias.”  

I knew that Alias starred the ever-lovely, red headed Jennifer Garner, so I said, “Yeah, I guess I like that show.”

“Then you should try renting Lost.”

“What’s it about,” I asked.

“Well,” she thought for a moment. “It’s about a group of people in a plane crash who land on a strange deserted island.”

The plot interested me.  

“Alright.  You win.  I’ll try it.”  

With that I walked out of the store carrying Lost, Season 1, Disc 1.  When I got home I must admit I wondered whether or not I’d made a good decision.  Other than Alias, which the Gwilts got me watching, I’d not seen a good TV series that really held my attention.  I’d heard 24 was entertaining, but I’d never given it a chance.   

I popped in the DVD, hopped on the couch, and pressed Play.  The first episode caught my attention, but I wasn’t convinced.  Jack, the heroic doctor, runs out of the jungle and begins saving lives.  Kate, the adorable girl-next-door, sews up wounds and treks through the jungle with Jack and Charlie.  Locke, and bald old man, smiles and makes strange statements.  Was this something I really wanted to invest hours and money in?

Then things began happening.  Kate, the girl-next-door, was a federal fugitive.  Never saw that one coming.  Charlie was addicted to heroine.  Didn’t see that one coming either.  Locke, who begins episode four staring at his wiggling toe, ends the episode by revealing to everyone that before the plane crash he was a paraplegic.  Never, never, never saw that coming.  That’s when I was convinced.  This was a show for me!  

It kept my attention.  It twisted and surprised me constantly.  Instead of renting the rest of Season 1, I went to Targer and bought it.  I raced through all six of the DVD’s, convincing Jeff and Michelle Gwilt to try it as well.  They too fell in love.  Then my parents began watching.  Then John Sinclair.  Valerie Shaffer was my greatest success as she watched all 24 episodes straight during a snow day.  

Dave and Keara were two of my last and most wonderful converts.  At the time they ministered on the island of St. Vincent without a TV or cable box in sight.  Our whole family visited for Thanksgiving and I gave Keara season 1 for her birthday.

“24 episodes?” she asked still not knowing quite what the show was about.

“Yep.  I figured that would give you guys many hours of mindless entertainment,” I replied.

“Wow!  We can watch one episode a night, and it will last us almost to Christmas!”  

They were both excited.  The first night we watched two episodes.  The second night they watched three.  Like everyone else who’d seen it, they couldn’t get enough.   Before my parents left the island they’d seen every episode.  Thank goodness for Itunes.  Though Keara and Dave couldn’t enjoy the new episodes each Wednesday night on ABC, they could download them on Thursday from i tunes for only $1.99.  Keara later described this experience.

“We’d buy popcorn and stuff to make milkshakes.  Dave would begin downloading the episode as soon as it was posted.  Sometimes I would take almost four hours for the stupid thing to download.  Other times we’d almost have almost the whole thing when the internet would go out for three days.  We couldn’t believe it.”

I didn’t help matters. I’d call to talk about the episode with them only to discover they hadn’t seen it it yet.  

After watching Season 1 on DVD I watched Season 2 at the Rochon’s home.  They’d given me a standing invitation.  On Sundays the Rochon’s, Gwilts, Gwilts, and Thomas’s would discuss the episodes and ponder what was going on.  We wanted answers.  Still do actually.    

Now, we’re just beginning season 4.  There are less than 48 episodes to go.  I’m not as interested as I used to be, but still love the show.  The first three seasons live in my closet on DVD.  If any of you need to borrow them to get you started, give me a call.  It’s a great series!