getting involved

Yvon Chouinard (left) founder of the outdoor clothing company Patagonia, and Wayne Lynch, pictured with their surfboards at Santa Cruz Island, Mar Meada. Picture by Tim Davies.

cool photo. It's from an article you can read here, in the Brisbane Times... ain't the internet great? The article briefly covers Patagonia's ability to survive the downturn in the world economy, Choinard's business model and background and their forward thinking outlook on saving our planet's resources. All pretty good stuff.

I confess, it was the photo of the guy Choinard's walking with Wayne Lynch- a 58 year old former cult status surfer that drew my attention to any of it -he's my generation and he was always cutting edge in the water... and apparently he's still alive! But the final words of Patagonia's owner got me writing. He said:

>"I'm a doom bat," he insists. "But, you know what? I'm a happy doom bat. Because as long as I feel I'm part of the process of doing something, I'm not part of the problem. I'm part of the solution, and I feel fine about it."<

"As long as I feel I'm part of the process..." I like to feel that way too. Nothing worse than feeling like we're not making an impact or working towards the greater good. If our efforts only enhance our own well being... they also take away from the greater good. When we invest ourselves in work that lifts up everyone- we lift up ourselves as well.

It's what I love about the church... about God's Kingdom... about my small part serving in it... making a difference and confidently reaching out our hands to others letting them know that they're invited to join the greatest cause on the planet- to save all of creation, in love, through service in His Name.

You're Invited. What are you doing with your life? What images will you hold dear some day? I'm guessing both the guy from Patagonia and Wayne Lynch kind of like this photo... out of the water, after a surf, working together with a common goal- far later in life than they'd ever imagined when they were in their 20's... both probably wondering why they didn't get started any sooner... why they let so many days slide by...

We don't have to let another day slip away. Get involved in the process. Until you do... you're only part of the problem. And that's not a photo anyone wants to keep in their "golden years."

blessings,

Eric

a shadow of talent

Trestles - 9-8-08 -Boostmobile Pro

It's happening out there in the ocean...really... we sat on the beach, like we do every year, when the world's greatest pro surfers come to "our" break... our son John and I hang out, dream of surfing like the stars and sit in the midst of the very, very best of surfing. I snapped this shot with my cell phone to remember the day.



Kelly Slater snaps all the way back.

John, sitting right next to me on the sand, took this insane photo of 8 time world champion Kelly Slater absolutely destroying lowers. Admittedly, he has a much, much nicer camera than my cell phone offers... he also has way more experience shooting live shots, surfing and otherwise... even still... my photo doesn't deserve to be on the same page.

This move, you don't have to be able to do it, (few can), or understand how difficult what's happening in a split second, (few do), to appreciate it's beauty. John's captured an artist at work in one of his finer moments on a very cool wave on a sunny southern California day... what more could you ask for?

Look closely at the heart of the photo. Waves come and go in a moment. Riding a wave's so unlike hitting a golf ball, running a race or most other sports. The wave, the rider, the moment... it's all so transitory... here for but a flash... gone as quickly as it came... impossible to predict exactly what might happen... so fleeting.

That's why I love the heart of this photo... a shadow of the moment. Even a wave, the rider on the wave, here today and gone today, for a moment, cast a shadow. A shadow on the water... in seconds the water changed, lighting changed, ride ended... nothing that was just seconds ago remained... and yet this photo captures the shadow of a surfer, of a life... a shadow of talent.

The writer of James said:
Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17

So much that is good in this life is brief: a day in the water, a great wave, time spent with your son... but every good and perfect gift is from above... unlike shadows on water... so brief an entity most would never notice... they're eternal: love, hope, joy, all gifts from God... all remain... as we remain in Him.

John's outgrown me as a surfer and as a photographer. Makes me proud. Sitting together on the sand made me miss so many mornings sitting together in the line up... this evening I realize some of that time may have just been a shadow... not to be missed but to reflect on in thanksgiving. God's given us something more lasting that we share- His call on our lives -the opportunity not to sit but to stand together for Him, our Father in Heaven, The One Who gives every good and perfect gift. He is not shifting, He's eternal in love, hope, peace and joy.

I took a random shot of the ocean with my phone- and remembered a good day together. John took time to focus, to catch a shadow of the talent of a great surfer and in the shadow... God spoke to me... a little focus... the right tools... The Gift of God... When we humble ourselves to the gifts of those around us, we have the opportunity to discover the wonder of His unchanging love for us as He speaks in His Still, Small Voice. Are you listening? Looking?

blessings,

Eric

a different reality

Surfing... "Surf to live... Live to surf." It was my motto for too many years. That said, we never dreamed of waves like the one in this video- think that's Laird Hamilton, but not certain, probably at Jaws- a big wave in Hawaii that you want to stay away from: unless your last name is Hamilton, Angulo, Long, or one of the other quickly growing water legends- going where no one has gone before -or for that matter probably should go. Absolutely insane.

A world in crisis- rigged elections, churches burned to the ground while people are taking sanctuary, almost 200,000 young Americans serving and bleeding in Iraq, children around the world living hungry and in fear of the day... and surf... HUGE surf...

I'm not sure- but I'm guessing as he was towed into this wave, as he began to take the drop, as that HUGE mountain of water began to pitch- the rest of the world slipped away, total focus took over and the surfer's survival, if only for a few seconds, maybe a minute or two, became a different reality. Survival, success, seeing tomorrow, suddenly required the ability to not only be completely in the moment- built on years of training in the water, a lifetime of team work with those who pull you in and now must be quick at the rescue if you go down- one thing, one wave, required that he push all else out of the way. Sounds just a little bit liberating... incredibly frightening... lonely.

"Surf to Live. Live to Surf." I was never very good in the water, maybe "good," certainly never above average, even when I was in the surf for hours, every day, every year, around the world... still just ok. But I remember the drops that in the moment everything else slipped away... and the ones where fear refused to leave, responsibility occuppied my mind no matter how many waves I took and rode or fell on... soon, long before I approached the status of "waterman," yet decades after I first paddled out, dreaming of riding perfect surf... perfectly; I figured out that other things needed to occupy my life besides surfing. It was a good realization, for me.

Even still, something about the awe of this wave, this rider, this moment captured on video felt like an invitation to a different reality. I have no doubt that once a person learns to accomplish this kind of focus in one discipline it generalizes into the rest of their life... or at least into their pursuits... my prayer today is that a generation will be lifted up in Kenya, in the United States, in Riverside, in me... with a desire to pursue The Peace of God, His Grace, His Love, His Presence with the same singleness of mind given to this massive wave. It's one way we can start great in 2008. A different reality, His Kingdom, awaits us. It can be our defining horizon in the year to come.

Eric

Surfing Online

http://www.aspworldtour.com/2007

The link above will take you to the site that's kept me awake early for the last couple of weeks: live coverage of a WCT Surf Contest at Mundaka, Spain. Mundaka's an almost mythical left in the Basque region of Spain that I've never surfed. Spent a month or so surfing just north of there back in the '70's on the waves around Biarritz, France... never made it down to Mundaka... I regret it.

What can I say, I live with more than a few. That's not even in the top ten.

The best surfers in the world have worked their way into the quarter finals at a neighboring beach break in pretty junky surf in hopes that the final days will be held on the main wave with a swell. This weekend- October 13 & 14 - will have Mick Fanning surfing against Bobby Martinez, while Taj Burrow and 8 time world champion Kelly Slater fight into the final. With the time difference from California, for me, it could be as early as very late tonight.

Most people on the planet could care less... but high speed internet has become a surfing fans dream. Live coverage of the best surf spots with the best surfers in the world right on your lap top- get fancy and plug it into your big screen and bore the entire household- mainstream surfing -available to millions, recruiting even more people into the lineup... I would've been stuck to the screen if they'd had this when I was a kid... even still, it's the nightmare we never even imagined- international recruiting of MORE surfers!

My buddy Brad, who's surfed Mundaka to his heart's content, use to talk about surfing becoming unpopular. He'd say: "Don't worry, it's just a fad, when it passes we'll start to have the waves to ourselves again." That didn't work out. I've been in the water just a couple of times in the last year. Brad lives on his favorite surf break and doesn't surf anymore. There's two old guys out of the lineup. But when the boys are surfing the hot spots and Kelly's pushing for another title, you'll find me staying up late- or waking up early -with a heat always on in the background, checking in on the boys who still chase the endless summer... and dreaming.

One of these days I'm going to get back in the water.

May Day

That’s me- 30 years ago today –May 1, 1977. I’m the one on the right with the Michelin hat, backpack and beard. Think the guy in the picture’s name was Maurice… like the old Steve Miller Band song, “Some people call me Maurice…” but I wouldn’t bet on it. We were saying goodbye after spending more than a month surfing the spring time waves off the Atlantic coast of France. The city is Biarritz. Doesn’t seem possible that it could have all happened so long ago.

My buddy Brad and I had spent time working in a steel mill in Wilmington, California, saving money for the trip of a life time. I’ve been fortunate to travel my entire life and I was eager to get out on the road. We were room mates and our life had a rhythm to it: out to surf by 5am, college classes’ mid-day, off to our union steel job by 4pm for the swing shift, home by 12:30am and do it all over again. Not exactly party animals- don’t know how either of us kept girlfriends.

We were 22 and that was our life.

Our rent was up on April 30th, so the morning of May 1, we headed east towards adventures in Italy, Yugoslavia, a month living in a cave in Greece and then we parted ways. Brad went on to work a farm on Crete. I headed home, God’s Hand heavy on my heart, for my sister’s wedding. Those months hold a lifetime of stories and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. That said, one day has always stood out prominently, May 1, 1977.

We’d knew little of things like “Workers of the World Unite,” May Day marches, etc… we were a couple of surfers, thankful to have a rail pass. We waited for the train and were warned that a National Strike had been declared for workers across the country. Our train, we were told, was the only train crossing France that day and would be very crowded… would we like to wait a day or two to travel? Young and stupid, eager to get going, we said “No.” and jumped on the already crowded train. We had yet to see a crowd.

The train headed northeast from Biarritz, towards Lyon, stopping at every little town, picking up people desperately needing to travel. We’d sold our surfboards, wetsuits and anything else that would put money in our pockets and now only had what fit in our packs, along with our sleeping bags and tent. Each pack weighed in at 50 pounds, easy. I weighed all of 160, soaking weight. In Lyon, near nightfall, a local military base boarded a bazillion soldiers. It had already been standing room only: we spent the rest of the night with room for only one foot on the floor at a time. I tell the story rarely because it’s so unbelievable- I almost don’t believe it. No room to remove or stow our packs. Everyone forced to carry their own luggage. Surrounded by soldiers who smelled like they had been doing field trials all day… not that I smelled any better… and standing on one foot… all night long.

Did I mention that EVERYONE else was smoking? It was like traveling in a one of those ash trays they always have in old movies: packed with butts, gray smoke filling the air around it. What fun.

Whenever people tell me how lucky I am that I’ve traveled, I’m quick to agree… but I can’t help but wonder if they knew what it was like to live with everything you own on your back, next to no money in your pocket, traveling in conditions that still conjure up sore calves and the occasional nightmare… May 1, 1977: if they’d still be interested in seeing the world.

My friend Brad lives with his wife and kids further north, on the coast. That’s him in the picture below, the day we parted ways, as I prepared to jump a boat towards Athens. No clue what’s become of Maurice. He was a surfer from New York city. Maybe he stayed in Biarritz, that photo’s the last time I ever saw or heard from him. Me, I’m living the dream, the greatest adventure of my life, here in Riverside with the people of Central Community. Today, May 1, 2007, 30 years since these photos were snapped: before digital cameras, VCR’s, DVD’s, scanners, personal computers, blogs, the internet… I’m reflecting not on an easier time. Working to save the money, leaving, the trip, the lessons learned, coming home… none of it was easy… but of a time that helped shape me for all the decades yet to come. One more step in the invitation to a life of great adventures.

I’ll always remember the night before we left, April 30th, 1977. We’d walked into town for a final visit with some friends, a snack and as we were walking home, the strike began. The entire town went dark as all the electricity cut out and everything was eerily silent. The city completely dead, a little old man, probably about my age, walking with a cane, looking so typically French, raised his arm in the air and cried: “Viva la revolution!” or something like that… it’s always inspired me. Not the words, but the thought. I was a kid and thought this guy an old geezer at the end of his adventures but he was still living the dream, ready for a revolution, living for adventure. Pretty cool. It’s how I want to be.

This May Day, 2007, the adventure of life still awaits us- it’s one of God’s greatest invitations –He created us to live- and to live to the full. I hope this day finds you ready to celebrate the best the month ahead has to offer. It’s May Day… take someone lilacs.

It's Easter

I have lots of Easter stories. When you grow up a preacher's kid, Easter's a pretty big day. Sunrise services, both as a kid and as a pastor - to times when I was far from God and needing to find my way back home, Easter and the cross have been a hinge point, not only in history, but in my personal life as well.

There was the season I was living on the Atlantic coast of France, surfing. We left the water mid-day to see what the celebration was all about. People were everywhere from what was then the sleepy town of Biarritz down to St. Jean De Luz: bells were ringing, it seemed like we were missing out on a great party. Still dripping ocean, clad in a wetsuit, board under my arm, I stopped an old man and asked him "What's going on? Why all the activity?" Looking at me as if I was from another planet, he responded with a huge smile, one arm waving in the air, "It's Easter. Christ is Risen!"

I hadn't even known it was Sunday.

Saturday, "fine tuning" my Easter message – life times away from that lost young man who didn’t know what day it was - I heard a familiar voice in the next room: my father's. Not his post stroke voice, but clear, confident and at his best, telling his story of salvation. Pastor Ken, who I've worked with at Central Community for most of our years in ministry, was clearing through some old video and had come across this one from several years ago. I had been preaching on salvation and had asked a few people to share their stories as part of the message - including dad. The video's now a priceless keepsake, the moment , when my heart caught in my throat, tears welled up in my eyes, well before I walked into the other room to look at the screen, a favorite Easter memory.

Ken and my dad have been close for decades. They love each other. When Ken was an aspiring pastor and college student, dad was his pastor. Ken’s younger sister Leta, now with the Lord, had spent time as dad’s secretary. Ken and his brother Gene used to sing in church together with dad. They have a bunch of shared memories, even some Easter memories, some I share and at least one when I was out in the world and didn’t know it was Easter. Once, when dad was sick and in the hospital, he held my hand, (I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this), spoke quietly and said “Don’t ever lose Ken- he’s a gift, he’s such a big part of your work.” Truer words were never spoken.

Our family has this Easter memory of dad because Ken saved it and brought it out just when we needed it. Thanks Ken.

Dad’s testimony is worthy of your time: whether you’ve ever met him or not. At his core, he’s the son of a working man, a coal miner. Even at 92 years old, that’s important to him. Even more, he’s a child of God and his words carry weight. They touched my heart this morning as I prepared for our Easter services: I hope they touch yours as well. What a great Easter memory.