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The suit I’m wearing today says, “Professionally Dry Clean Only”.

I wonder if someone at the company ran into some rouge, underground Dry-Cleaning cartel at some point in his life…

There is something nice about being cut off from the rest of the world. From June 14th through the 28th I had the opportunity to travel to Morocco to learn about its culture, people, and language. Along the way I was able to have several conversations about religion and to share Jesus with some very lost people.



The first leg of my journey included a 9-hour layover in Germany with some of my soon-to-be teammates. We had a fantastic time and spent the day getting to know one another well.



First lesson learned: Blake likes to eat!

However, the adventure really started once we met the rest of the team and headed to Fes. One of the factors that most drew me to this program was the opportunity to live with a national family. The team was separated into different groups and assigned to different families. I was teamed with two great guys and had an extremely unique experience: we lived in a home with a Moroccan believer. (You won’t see any pictures of the family or my “Kingdom Brother” due to security issues – his life may be put in danger if he is identified as a Christ-follower.) I was overjoyed when I heard this as there are only an estimated 400-500 believers in the entire country of 30+ million.

Learning Arabic

Learning about the Middle East and learning Arabic has been on my mind for several years now so I was excited to learn that one of the things I’d be doing is learning the Moroccan dialect of Arabic. Through my 9 classes I was able to learn quite a bit – I speak in little kid sentences but I enjoy it all the same. I hope to continue my studies should God send me back to that part of the world sometime soon (or even later). One of the hardest parts of the language is the different sounds – several don’t exist in English. For example, they have three sounds that include our “H”. It can make communicating rather difficult because if you use the wrong sound it can me something COMPLETELY different. Usually though it is nothing that will get you into trouble … usually.

That’s all for now – I’m just hitting the highlights before diving into some of the deeper stuff.

Talk to you later!

I’m stuck in the airport today for about 7 hours (reasons why you should check to see if your flight has been cancelled) so I’ll probably start to write about my trip. Stay tuned…

I leave for North Africa today! I’ll be gone a little over 2 weeks and won’t have access to email or Internet — it should be nice.

See you when I get back!

Men Create with Their Hands

Growing up without a dad is tough business, especially in a small town. Well, I guess growing up without a dad is tough no matter the size of your town but you see what you’re missing more when you’re the only around who doesn’t have a dad. Not having a dad taught me to be fiercely independent. We once built birdhouses in cub scouts. My friend Andy’s dad worked at some sort of construction place and there were plenty of saws, and drills, and other things manly. These sorts of things scared me. I had rarely seen them let alone used them before. I sat at my place at the table with some wood, screws, and hinges in front of me and I was dumbfounded. I looked around the room and saw the other boys jumping into their projects; some even looked close to finished. All of them had their dads there with them coaxing and coaching them along. I had used glue before and I was fairly decent at gluing things, maybe I could just glue this bad-boy together. But I knew that wasn’t the point. I was to use a hammer and nails and a drill of some kind. With great shame I descended off the work stool, nearly two-thirds my height. I went up to one of the other dads and asked for help. He told me he’d get to me as soon as he finished with his boy. So I sat and waited, the other boys were all finished and I was just starting. I felt useless. I felt dumb. I felt like I had done something wrong by not knowing how to do this stuff. It was embarrassing not to know how to do this stuff when everyone else did – or at least had someone to teach them. As a kid, I learned to figure out stuff on my own. When people came by and said I was doing something wrong I’d ask for help – which they were too busy to give. Eventually I had to take on the attitude of doing it my way because no one had the time or compassion to show me the other way.

Long-Term Effects

I often wonder how my experiences growing up affect the way I view God the Father. In many ways I see him as I see the fathers with the birdhouses – great with their own kids but not having time for me. He’ll come around to make sure I don’t burn the place down but in many ways, being a father is a hands-off affair. I’m pretty much on my own.

I know, at least in theory, that God loves me wholly and fully. I’ve even experienced that love but it is easy to forget when it isn’t what you’re used to. God uses examples from everyday life to let us know who He is. One illustration is that of marriage – two people who love one another fully. God loves me like a husband loves his bride. Me, a bride. That seems like someone else’s complex. Getting back to the point, having never been married I can’t fully appreciate this illustration. I never fully appreciated John 3:16, how God so loved the world, until I traveled to Russia and saw a world completely different from mine.

I know I’m missing something but I’m not sure how to change it. Maybe when I become a dad things will change. That’d be nice – to demonstrate the Father’s love as a father. Sounds pretty cool.

I left my employer today. Should have happened 12+ months ago but better late than never. Best non-improv decision I’ve made in 9 months. Hunter = Happy.

A capacity crowd chants “SHIP! SHIP! SHIP!” in unison as they await the judges’ results. A small but loyal contingent of the crowd soon begins to chant as loud as they can, “RIP! RIP! RIP!” The small crowd soon over-powers the loud crowd and the chant shouting match begins. Over 150 people filled Venue 515 in Manitou Springs last Saturday night to watch the Springs’ Best Theater Troupe take on the RiP in an improv battle.

Saturday was “do-or-die” time for the Horses, IMHO. We lost the battle on Friday night – we had the chance to tie it on the last vote but it did not swing our way. The biggest issue was the “long-form” set; we were skunked 4-0. Saturday night we had to do better in the second round in order to have a chance at victory.

The Horses showed up for round 2 in night 2. We went a different direction and took more of a story-line approach to our long-form, which I prefer and believe non-improv audiences also prefer. We told the story of the aftermath of a high school prank gone wrong. Night one we forgot about our “gifting”, but not in night two. Night one we focused on objects, but in night two we focused on relationships. Night one we saw different variations on the same subject matter. Night two we told a compelling story that had the audience on the edge of their seats.

Michael Traylor was brought in as our “long-form” expert. He has extensive experience in Chicago, LA, and Hawaii so he really knows his stuff. We earned his vote that night, a great compliment. However, an even better compliment came at the after-show party at Meadow Muffins. Michael told me that it was a “180-degree difference between [Friday] night and [Saturday]. You guys really turned it around and did an impressive job.” I was happy to hear such praise from a talented actor.

We won round two 3-1 and won the evening with the last vote — the audience vote. It was a battle of laughs and the Stick Horses came out on top that night.

We’re planning another battle for the fall. Hopefully you can make it!

On Saturday I took my annual rafting trip down the Arkansas River — what a blast! This is my 4th year in a row and 5th trip in the last 8 years.

Twelve of us headed down to Canon City to raft the Royal Gorge with River Runners on the best day they’ve seen in 15 years. The water was flowing at 2930 cubic feet per second — which is pretty stinken fast. The park service closes the river for public rafting when it gets over 3200 CFS. (Click here to see the current flow)



I’ve never seen the river running this high and fast. The mountains got record snowfall this year and the warm weather is quickly melting the snow. All that water makes the rapids a little more treacherous and a lot more fun! We came close to scraping the wall a few times and all of us got knocked around but everyone stayed in the boat (in my boat, anyway) and had a blast.



I’ll go again next year — perhaps for the double-dip or for the three-day trip. Be sure to mark your calendars for the last week in May — the traditional high-water mark for the river!

I remember the day well – or at least well enough. I like to think of that day being a typical brisk, fall day. You know, the kind where auburn leaves blow by the window and make spiral shapes in the front yard. It has a hint of warmness from the nearly forgotten summer but the smell of the impending winter is definitely in the air. That kind of day.

In my memory my brother and sister and I were playing around the house, chasing one another with giggles and merriment but in reality I’m sure we were watching TV or bickering over something stupid. We bicker a lot, to this very day. We heard the front door open and we all came running. Mom had just returned from a long trip to Baltimore . We smothered her hugs and words of love; at least I hope we did. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go upstairs. I have something to tell you.” I remember asking my mother what we would do if the phone rang and she assured me that our grandmother or great-aunt, both of whom sat in the kitchen exchanging looks with darting eyes and words in hushed whispers, would answer without haste.

The three of us gathered in front of our mother in her bedroom, which was unusual. Unusual that we were in the bedroom, not that we gathered around her. She took a deep breath and for a brief moment her expression changed, changed in a way that sent shivers down my four-year-old spine. It didn’t take long to figure out why. She told us that our father had lost his battle with cancer and passed away. But she didn’t say it like that, not with the pleasantries you tell those in church or those friends you only see at the grocery store. She ripped the band-aide off quickly to get the initial pain out of the way. “Daddy died,” she said, barely getting the words out.

My brain processed those words in an instant, faster if that were possible. My entire world had just changed. I was the first one to land in my mother’s awaiting arms, my face buried into her midsection, my mouth expelling wails that no child should ever have to produce. I’m sure the whole lot of us were in tears at that moment. I remember my little sister was to my right and she wiggled her little left arm in between my chest and my mother to get a tighter hug. This caught me off guard and surprised me. She was invading my hug zone and in my sin nature I wanted to get angry but I knew it wasn’t worth it. This news trumped all rules of playing fair and giving one another space. Even at four-years old I had a grasp of the permanence of death.

I don’t know what the proper age is to tell your children about life and death. I’m sure there is some psychological study out there that says a child is ready at a certain age. Four is definitely too young. No four-year old should have a concept of what a funeral is nor should that word be part of his vocabulary. Maybe not until age ten or even twelve. But not four, that is too young.

With Father’s Day quickly approaching I wanted to share a story or two about my life and growing up without a father. I share these stories not so you can feel sorry for me but so you can better appreciate what you have or so you can share camaraderie in you loss. I don’t know how many I’ll write – more than one but less than five. Enough to make me feel satisfied.

So, dear reader, please remember your father and your time together, either in abundance or in dearth, and make it a truly happy Father’s Day this year.

I’ve been a fan of the Indiana Jones for a long time. As a kid I was fascinated with the adventure, the ancient cultures, and the really cool hat. So, as part of an adventure (returning to my youth) I caught the midnight showing of the latest film in the series.

I just got home — it is close to 3am — and I’m sorely disappointed. I don’t want to give too much away but this movie clearly moves away from the traditional archeology and moves more into sci-fi. I saw it coming (and so will you) in the first 10 minutes of the film. I kept hoping it would go in a different direction but it didn’t.

The villains aren’t as bad, the adventure part is just as good, and the love interest is 20 years older than she should be. I’d like to get my $9 bucks back.

Do yourself a favor and wait for the dollar theater — it would be worth that. But know this: this isn’t the Indiana Jones you grew up with. At this point in time I’d rather sit through the Temple of Doom than this pile of pooh again.