Tim Stevens is someone that I started tracking with a little bit last year. He has a cool blog, and his writing shows up on my radar in other places too. And the block quote on the most recent article I read of his is a knockout:

“With all of our collective influence and ability to impact the culture and effect change, we are boycotting a movie.”

Wow, if ever we needed to get it together, it’s now! Thanks, Tim.

There are a lot of people in the current economy that are trying to figure out how to make money. Does publishing do it? Are we to give away information on our website? And if so, how much? How do we continue to attract advertisers, and provide them value? Does “try before you buy” really work? Well, I’ve got news: it does when it’s really, really good.

I’d actually be surprised if you’ve heard of Rangefinder magazine. I have never seen it on a newsstand, not even in the extensive magazine rack at my local big-box bookstore. But in a twist of fate, I discovered the magazine’s website, where all of their articles are available in pdf format, for free. I got so caught up in the slick design, the solid writing and the interesting content — where do they find these people?! — that I decided on the spot that I needed a subscription to the print version.

I now have four editions, and they will have me on their subscriber list for life! This is a magazine geared towards professional photography (especially portraiture, the direction that I feel myself heading towards). But it’s not all cozy pics crafted in a studio, or even more cozily created in a computer. It spans a wide gamut, and pulls no punches. It goes all the way from knock-out wedding work portraying people on the happiest day of their lives, to documentary photographers whose work covers the continuing, grave health concerns of Chernobyl victims. It provides a continual buffet and challenge to me to do more, to try harder, and offers inspiration and insider tips to help me get there.

If I’m ever published in Rangefinder, that’ll be my benchmark to let me know that I’ve arrived!

One day in Africa, back when I was a kid, the duty of gardening fell into my lap. Well it wasn’t all the gardening. Mostly just the watering of the garden. We had flower beds and a vegetable patch that needed regular attention – like just about every day. And for some reason that’s never been fully explained to me, that suddenly became my responsibility. Actually, I think it started as a favour I granted — once! And somehow my one day’s willingness was instantly and sorely abused!

Now, I honestly don’t know his motivation, but when we got to Zimbabwe years ago, Dad bought the biggest, thickest, most heavy-duty length of hose he could find. Perhaps he decided that a hose was one of those things he never wanted to buy again in his lifetime. And if the airplane could taken off with that thing in the hold, I’m sure it would have granted him that wish. This is the beast that I had to haul across the yard. It wasn’t just that the hose was heavy. It was brutally, ludicrously, soul-crushingly heavy! But even more than that, a long, heavy rubber hose being dragged over dry grass, through gravel and around the corners of brick buildings generates incalculable amounts of friction!

I’d get one end over my shoulder, like a fireman, and put my whole body into it. And when I exhausted myself pushing, I’d switch around and put my whole body into pulling. I had to haul the hose to the four corners of our rather large property to connect it to the faucets there so that I could do a radius of all the stuff that needed watering within each arc. (Imagine the heartbreak when I’d expended untold energy to bring the wrong end of the hose to the faucet!) My Dad approached me after one particularly arduous watering session and said, “I can’t help noticing that your vocabulary has gotten rather spicy!” Great Dad, now you’ve ladled mortification all over my rage. Yech! (Actually, I think that all those 3, 4 and 5 letter words were invented specifically for watering duty.)

And, of course with perfectionist parents, there were always ways to improve the actual watering job.

“You can’t water the plants too hard, because you’ll damage them.” That didn’t stop me blasting away the odd past-its-prime rose bloom.

“And you can’t point the water right at the roots, ’cause you’ll wash away the soil and expose them.” I discovered that I could wash away the soil, and put it right back, with an artfully-directed, high-pressure jet.

“And it has to be a good soaking — right down to bottom of the roots.” Right, ’cause I care so much about these infernal plants – especially their roots! Actually, this is the most pleasant, fulfilling thing I can possibly imagine myself doing right now: watering *#%&ing plants with a *#%$ing 10-ton hose!

But the thing that killed me was that no matter how good a job I did — no matter how thoroughly soaked the soil was, even until there were little mud puddles sitting in it, the next day I had to do it all over again.

There are so many of us that survey the world looking for the Grand Investment. Where should I invest my life to get the maximum returns for the Kingdom? Where can I establish a lasting legacy that will foster ministry for years, even decades? How can I set up the vision and strategy that will make this eventual organisation strong? And God says, “Nope, you’re missing the point. You are just today’s water.”

Just today’s water?! Surely you jest! That’s so futile, trivial and meaningless! C’mon, you know how much I like plants, right? I’m certain you want me to be more than that…

“I will pour you into the soil.”

…to do more, you know, achieve some really…quantifiable results…

“I will nourish my creation with you.”

…no?

“It is there that you are in the centre of my will, of my perfect plan. That’s where you will feel satisfaction and joy — it won’t always be fun, but it will be good. Don’t worry about the other stuff — I will exalt you for your faithfulness and your humility.”

Wait…exalted for what-now?

“And tomorrow I will need to find someone new to pour into the soil.”

Okay…but, I thought–

“That’s how this works.”

that‘s how this works…?

“Yes. Look at what I’ve been showing you.”

um, oh, right…I see…that is…how this works.

I recently had a couple over to my house with their new 8-week old child to shoot some portraits. I was looking for a chance to try out the new studio gear, and hoped that it would provide them with some pictures that we both could be proud of. During the course of the shoot, the mother — with the child on her lap — latched on to this question: “What do you see?”. The child’s wide, shiny eyes darted around our living room, taking it all in. It was a new place, with big, bright lights and a stranger with a big camera. All new and unfamiliar.

“What do you see? What do you see?” It was a soothing, lyrical whisper, like tiny waves on a sandy beach. It served to both keep the child at ease, and to reflect her sense of wonder.

“What do you see? What do you see?” It was almost like a mantra to keep the mother calm too, and to keep her engaged with the shoot, and the presence of her child.

“What do you see? What do you see?” Okay, really that’s enough.

“What do you see? What do you see?” Right. Stop it. That suddenly has to be the most annoying, irritating…distracting question ever! I’m just trying to get some happy, sappy pictures of this family, and–

“What do you see? What do you see?” Seriously, SHUT UP!

“What do you see? What do you see?” Because it’s not her asking her child anymore. It’s coming from her lips, wrapped in her eager, maternal undertone, but it’s God asking me.

“What do you see? What do you see?” No. NO! I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to answer that question! I don’t even know how to answer that question. I can’t…I just want–

“What do you see? What do you see?” Oh, GOD! — I see the gates of Hell! I see the jaws of death at the neck of a nation. I see things happening in Kenya that I can’t articulate. Things that I’m sure Kenyans won’t ever be able to articulate. I see pain and chaos that are literally ripping human beings apart. And from here it’s not just a country, it’s a continent!

“What do you see? What do you see?” I see a 17yr girl in Swaziland facing either a 2yr jail term, or the fine of 2yrs of salary for having an abortion, where the married man who impregnated her faces no apparent consequences. I see death, confusion and injustice.

“What do you see? What do you see?” I see a 10yr old girl in Bolivia with burns to 95% of her body, from a gas explosion in — of all places — the family bathroom! Even in the best hospital care she’d be unlikely to survive, and her parents in fear and desperation took her home! I see oppression and despair.

“What do you see? What do you see?” I see shattered, fractured pieces of your image…EVERYWHERE! I see red, and black. I see your name and your creation broken, polluted and ruined in countless, nameless ways. I see and I see until I can’t look anymore.

“Yes…but what else do you see…?”

In a quote that’s gone instantly viral, Desmond Tutu’s response to the Kenya crisis is “I’m always a prisoner of hope.” People have latched on to that as a powerful phrase. But I wonder if they recognise it for what it is. ‘Cause these shackles are hard and rough and tight. The chains are short and taut and unyielding. I’d prefer to give up. To break down. To collapse and end. But I am indeed a prisoner. I’m held upright with a lance through my body, my very soul, and a clamp on the base of my spine. There’s no escape — no respite.

“I’ve got you. You are mine! My prisoner to hope. By your own choice, and your commitment, my slave. So you can’t despair. Oh I know how you want to! How much easier that would be for you. To call down a flood and end everything. To damn everything! But that is not going to happen — I keep my promises. So now, what do you see? What do you see?”

Oh God, God…I see you. I choose…to see you. Staunching gushing wounds. Consoling the inconsolable. Weeping with us, and attending to our desperate, wordless prayers. Inspiring your people to face overwhelming futility, and act with inexplicable courage. That’s what I see. When you help me look…that’s what I see.

“Yes, that’s what I see too. Now, for this moment, you see how I see.”

Who hasn’t heard about how much better it was back in the “good old days”? Nowadays, moral codes are in decline. The environment mounts an ever-increasing threat to life on Earth (as we mount an ever-increasing threat to our environment). Evil at all levels continues to grow unabated. But when I actually heard this expressed by one of our leaders, according to the Bible(!), I was left shaken. Scripture speaks of hope, of redemption and of peace. But is its key message ultimately one of despair?

I haven’t lived long enough to say this with real assurance, but it seems to me that people are people, and have always been people. Human nature hasn’t fundamentally changed since Adam and Eve gained awareness of good and evil. Perhaps the implications of thoughts and actions are now greater than they have ever been. Media can magnify and amplify the most trivial details to the most grotesque levels — just ask Britney Spears (et al). And speaking of pop, there is a phenomenon that if you look back ten or twenty years, songs that were pretty racy then are pretty tame now.

The stars who claim to be a rebel in the contemporary scene actually have nothing left to rebel against (unless somebody could make straitlaced fashionable…). Stars push the envelope of scandalising exhibitionism as far as they dare (and further), but it’s all been done before. (I saw a TV bit recently that mentioned that the new favourite fashion accessory for rock stars is a porn star. I find this fascinating and ironic. It means that rockers recognise that they themselves have lost their to shock, and seek to shock by proxy.) Is it any surprise that in an environment that equates success to oneupmanship of outrageousness, people are pushed toward their demise? It shouldn’t be — self-destructiveness is a key factor of human nature, especially amongst our culture’s most celebrated leaders. (Our culture is largely led by a group of people whose defining attribute is their attractiveness, and who commonly publicly denounce their status of “role model”. Who thinks this is a good idea?) Is that all there is?

I guess it all boils down to where you’re looking. I look for hope. I celebrate it. Whether it’s church, or reading blogs, or watching TED videos, hope is paramount. I choose to believe that people can make a positive difference. I choose to believe that Christ was serious when he invited us to be involved in the redemption of this world. The problems are massive, complicated and pervasive. But I think if we for one second believe that all effort is in vain, we’re failing our calling: We’re supposed to be better than our defeatist, alarmist and apathetic human nature! With God’s help, I believe we can be.

I’d love to hear your take…

You know how Asians are making t-shirts or slogans using really weird, often nonsensical English phrases? If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go take a look in the anime isle in your local video store. But if you do know what I’m talking about, I think this is a classic take. I want to print t-shirts with random, nonsensical Japanese phrases on them:

Hai, domo arigato sashimi
Wakarimasen ninjitsu

Actaully, you could do that with just about any language, though I think it would work best with one that converts well into English-style words. Of course with all the Asian hieroglyphics in clothing stores, that’s probably already happening. Now there’s a funny thought! I recognise that it’s saying something, but I don’t have a sweet clue what! That’s gotta be the incarnation of postmodernism!

“You’re either on the cutting edge, or the edge being cut.” — Editor, Living Martyrs.

It’s fascinating to me to watch how many people think they’re innovators when they aren’t paying any attention to what the actual innovators are doing. And how much energy is wasted by several people developing the same tactics to serve the same felt needs. The cure is simply to pay attention.