Recently, I have been able to receive some great clarity through a relationship with a local career coach Walter Sawatzky.  He and are are collaborating on some work he is developing and in turn I am receiving coaching for my own vocational development.  In our last session he helped me understand how I help people through ideation.  I am speaking to the founder of the ideation conference tomorrow afternoon and hope to find more clarity on this recent development.

You see I have been working on a vision for over five years now and it keeps evolving.  It has become apparent that there is a need in the greater Philadelphia area for new media coaching and consulting.  Todd and I have ideas about what people want based on our own client interactions.  However, it is our desire to design, develop and launch this organization with the collaborative effort of those who want to Open up their network, Hone their message and Ideate their dream.

You can follow us on Facebook, Website, Twitter

At the same time I was laughing and watching this event, I was following #rallyforsanity on twitter along with #mlc2010.  When you follow a # on twitter you get real time updates from an event.  So people were tweeting things like (I saw a girl in a princess outfit with a sign “I want my tea party back”).

The #mlc2010 was a small group of people from a “Missional” learning cohort in the Chicago area.  The reason I followed them at the same time, is because as much as I enjoy John Stewart and Steven Colbert they do not represent me either.  I enjoy their humor and the levity they provide for this insane time in our national discourse.  This conversations around war, politics, economy, sexuality etc. are not civil and these two comedians are calling for some sanity.  I join them in that cry.

However, I resonate with the conversation happening in a marginal community of leaders trying to uncover what God’s mission is in their context and join in the work of transformation.  We understand God’s mission through the mysterious narrative of Scripture and story of God through out our history.  This is marginal voice I represent and it is a difficult one to share through blogging, because I have found it usually only creates a divide in my ability to communicate.

Here is why this is important to me.

In a time when people think we don’t want to work together unless we agree politically, socio-economically, religiously, etc.  There are groups of people emerging on the margins who have been there for decades who want to do the hard work of reconciliation and transformation.  They are in your house, community, church, school, and online.

I want to echo what Stewart said today “We live in hard times, not end times.”

Also, I would like to echo the words of a Sheryl Crow song she shared on the mall, “There will be peace in our nation, there will be peace in our world.”

The reason I believe this is because of the story of Jesus Christ being lived out in the kingdom of God taking place now in real time all through out our world.  America is not my home.  I am only a sojourner, a pilgram who has set up a tent on the ground of my ancestors.

What was left providing me with a high level of anxiety, because without stuff to do, I needed to find new opportunities to build relationships in the coffee culture.  The part left was the area most enter in first: Coffee Shops.  Most people get into this business because of their passion for the brew, I entered this world because of my passion to create community and possibilities for new categories of business.  Ways to build equity, while solving social issues like poverty in small villages around the world.

I believe in the power of groups of individuals and organizations working together to raise value in the exchange of goods and services while providing tools necessary for economic growth of human capital in overlooked and under resourced community’s like what I experience in Nigeria.

Long story short, I have contemplated firing myself for the past several months for the sake of the growth of OVC’s Mission.  Recently, I had a conversation with a friend who is the President of a local insurance company in my town.  He is in his early 30′s and has a lot of wisdom, his answer was simple after I asked him what he thought:  “I do not think firing yourself is in the job description”.

Since then I have come to believe I have personal weaknesses in the area of competition, this was found out after a recent Volleyball match in my junior high gymnasium.  I looked at pictures of my fellow classmates from over 15 years ago.  In that moment, it seemed evident: I am one of those guys who has been given a lot and when my whole person is on the line. I tend to give up.

Addendum: Since stepping down from One Village Coffee I have found  hope in the possibilities of a better future and this is why I started blogging again: to share those stories with you.

He talks a lot about the Children who will now go to school because of the work being done in the village. The times of prayer and celebration taking place along with simple times of meals prepared over an open fire or walks to get fresh water are moments of joy.

I enjoy how simple his messages are:

There are some simple things I take for granted and am reminded of them when I watch him live.

1. Playing is easy, it is easier to play than fight.
(I see this in the way he interacts with underprivileged children here and abroad)

For my father service is not a duty, it is a privilege. Service is something held to the highest value when it comes to how we should interact with the poor. The type of service we give must be contextually appropriate to the individual or community. For example, in Nigeria he will interact with Balloons and laughter with the children in the village who spend most of their time working or surviving. Education is what most of the children want, they will work if given the chance.

In the States my father has mentored a boy for most of this child’s life. This boy does not have a father and his mother never had the skills to nurture him. Most recently, my Dad told me of a long conversation where this teen told him he was Bi-sexual. My Dad listened with an nonjudgmental ear as this boy described the feelings of isolation and loneliness.

When I listen to my father, when I watch his life, I am so thankful to know him.

You see I used to be a youth pastor, I was going to change the world. Now I struggle to change the lightbulb, with out my wife, most things I start would never be completed.

Accepting life as hard is relative to ones perspective.

Sometimes my life seems hard.

Here is what is hard about my life:

I work in a start up business with my family and friends.

Sure there are a lot of other facets to what happens in life from day to day, but to break it down. I am in a web of relationships I care deeply about. I am apart of a community that is providing for the needs I have both, physically, emotionally and spiritually. And I am responsible to those relationships. However when those relationships cross and one goes one way and the other goes another there is a cross road.

I am sitting at a personal cross road right now. I will make a decision this next month and see where that leads me. There have been several times in my life I have tried to take a step toward a “calling”. I do not believe in “calling” as I once did. I do believe in desire, need and ability and I believe God is the creator of them all. However, i believe in our humanity and inability to fully know God’s will, that is why I believe in the need for an incarnational God/Jesus. I believe the story because i want to, due to my personal experience and understanding of history, the gospels, the bible, and context.

This is why I believe a old desire is returning:

I have a desire to serve the Church. I have tried many different avenues since i was young, now I am asking what is it I can do now to serve a need in the Church, both locally and globally.

There was a time I wanted to be in church to be known/famous. I still want to be known by the greater Christian community, but I do not want to be famous in it.

There was a time I wanted to start a church. Now I would like to help people find and develop community. I have learned a lot through being in vocational ministry and the past three years of finding my way again.

I am good at entering a mess and seeing God in the beauty. Right now I stand at a cross road conflicted and scared.

God give me strength.

Here are some excerpts from a letter sent to me through Elijah Kurich, the man who supply’s One Village Coffee Kenya Beans.

First watch this clip to know what this man is reacting to: Here the words of a Kenyan to his countries leader. A tale of betrayal and injustice.

AN OPEN LETTER TO SAMUEL KIVUITU, CHAIR OF THE ELECTORAL COMMISSION OF KENYA Mr. Kivuitu, We’ve never met. It’s unlikely we ever will. But, like every other Kenyan, I will remember you for the rest of my life. The nausea I feel at the mention of your name may recede. The bitterness and grief will not.

You had a mandate, Mr. Kivuitu. To deliver a free, fair and transparent election to the people of Kenya. You and your commission had 5 years to prepare. You had a tremendous pool of resources, skills, technical support, to draw on, including the experience and advice of your peers in the field – leaders and experts in governance, human rights, electoral process and constitutional law. You had the trust of 37 million Kenyans.
We believed it was going to happen. On December 27th, a record 65% of registered Kenyan voters rose as early as 4am to vote. Stood in lines for up to 10 hours, in the sun, without food, drink, toilet facilities. As the results came in, we cheered when minister after powerful minister lost their parliamentary seats. When the voters of Rift Valley categorically rejected the three sons of Daniel Arap Moi, the despot who looted Kenya for 24 years. The country spoke through the ballot, en masse, against the mindblowing greed, corruption, human rights abuses, callous dismissal of Kenya’s poor, that have characterised the Kibaki administration.

But Kibaki wasn’t going to go. When it became clear that you were announcing vote tallies that differed from those counted and confirmed in the constituencies, there was a sudden power blackout at the Kenyatta International Conference Centre, where the returns were being announced. Hundreds of GSU (General Service Unit) paramilitaries suddenly marched in. Ejected all media except the government mouthpiece Kenya Broadcasting Corporation.

Fifteen minutes later, we watched, dumbfounded, as you declared Kibaki the winner. 30 minutes later, we watched in sickened disbelief and outrage, as you handed the announcement to Kibaki on the lawns of State House. Where the Chief Justice, strangely enough, had already arrived. Was waiting, fully robed, to hurriedly swear him in.

A few paragraphs later

Do you think of the 300,000 Kenyans displaced from their homes, their lives? Of the thousands still trapped in police stations, churches, any refuge they can find, across the country? Without food, water, toilets, blankets? Of fields ready for harvest, razed to the ground? Of granaries filled with rotting grain, because no one can get to them? Of the Nairobi slum residents of Kibera, Mathare, Huruma, Dandora, ringed by GSU and police, denied exit, or access to medical treatment and emergency relief, for the crime of being poor in Kenya?

I bet you haven’t made it to Jamhuri Park yet. But I’m sure you saw the news pictures of poor Americans, packed like battery chickens into their stadiums, when Hurricane Katrina hit Louisiana. Imagine that here in Nairobi, Mr. Kivuitu. 75,000 Kenyans, crammed into a giant makeshift refugee camp. Our own Hurricane Kivuitu-Kibaki, driven by fire, rather than floods. By organized militia rather than crumbling levees. But the same root cause – the deep, colossal contempt of a tiny ruling class for the rest of humanity. Over 60% of our internal refugees are children. The human collateral damage of your decision.

And now, imagine grief, Mr. Kivuitu. Grief so fierce, so deep, it shreds the muscle fibres of your heart. Violation so terrible, it grinds down the very organs of your body, forces the remnants through your kidneys, for you to piss out in red water. Multiply that feeling by every Kenyan who has watched a loved one slashed to death in the past week. Every parent whose child lies, killed by police bullets, in the mortuaries of Nairobi, Kisumu, Eldoret. Everyone who has run sobbing from a burning home or church, hearing the screams of those left behind. Every woman, girl, gang-raped.
Do you sleep well these days, Mr. Kivuitu? I don’t. I have nightmares. I wake with my heart pounding, slow tears trickling from the corners of my eyes, random phrases running through my head:

A few paragraphs later

Ee Mungu nguvu yetu
Ilete baraka kwetu
Haki iwe ngao na mlinzi
Natukae na undugu
Amani na uhuru
Raha tupate na ustawi.

O God of all creation
Bless this our land and nation
Justice be our shield and defender
May we dwell in unity
Peace and liberty
Plenty be found within our borders.

Rarely do we allow ourselves pauses, to absorb the enormity of our country shattered, in 7 days. We cry, I think, in private. At least I do. In public, we mourn through irony, persistent humor, and action. Through the exercise of patience, stamina, fortitude, generosity, that humble me to witness. Through the fierce relentless focus of our best energies towards challenges of stomach-churning magnitude. We tell the stories that aren’t making it into the press: the retired general in Rift Valley sheltering 200 displaced families on his farm, the Muslim Medical Professionals offering free treatment to anyone injured in political protest. We challenge, over and over again, with increasing weariness, the international media coverage that presents this as “tribal warfare”, “ethnic conflict”, for an audience that visualises Africa through Hollywood: Hotel Rwanda, The Last King of Scotland, Blood Diamond.

I wish you’d thought of those people, when you made the choice to betray them. I wish you’d drawn on their courage, their integrity, their clarity, when your own failed you. I wish you’d had the imagination to enter into the lives, the dreams, of 37 million Kenyans.

But, as you’ve probably guessed by now, Mr. Kivuitu, this isn’t really a letter to you at all. This is an attempt to put words to what cannot be expressed in words. To mourn what is too immense to mourn. A clumsy groping for something beyond the word ‘heartbreak’. A futile attempt to communicate what can only be lived, moment by moment. This is a howl of anguish and rage. This is a love letter to a nation. This is a long low keening for my country.
A VERY DISSAPPOINTED KENYAN CITIZEN – Shailja Patel.
This letter appears in Kalenjin Online.

Please pray for our friends in Kenya, may people in developed countries around the world wake up to the power they have in their voice and reach out to tell the stories of injustice, so that the awareness may overwhelmed the powers at work in our world.

Scott

fail·ure (flyr)
n.
1. The condition or fact of not achieving the desired end or ends: the failure of an experiment.
2. One that fails: a failure at one’s career.
3. The condition or fact of being insufficient or falling short: a crop failure.
4. A cessation of proper functioning or performance: a power failure.
5. Nonperformance of what is requested or expected; omission: failure to report a change of address.
6. The act or fact of failing to pass a course, test, or assignment.
7. A decline in strength or effectiveness.
8. The act or fact of becoming bankrupt or insolvent.

Reason for the title:

Confession #1

I am fascinated by the word failure, I am curious about it’s meaning in my life as well as others.

Confession #2

I have lived most of my life and still due to some extent in fear of this word, the meaning of it and how I relate it to my own experience.

Confession #3

It is a provocative title that connotes intrigue and curiosity.

I would like the reader to go through the process of redefining their own feelings of failure as they read.

Maybe it is our car, our job, our marriage, or our family.

Relationships are the hardest things for me to have break down. Communication is work, and it takes time to develop relationships.

Lately I have noticed a shift in the atmosphere, people are more on edge. There seem to be alliances forming. A shiftiness in the eyes, who is in and who is out.

Why is the one thing we want, the one thing we find so hard to maintain.

I have been apart of some honest conversations about marriage and commitment. People weighing in on peoples choices in relationships. The on lookers making their judgment and look for evidence to convict the guilty.

The issue usually do not lie with the other person. I have found relationships to be a reflection on the broken views I hold so dear. The frame work I try so hard to protect. If I can not speak about it, what I see or experience ceases to be real. Constantly, reconstructing meaning out of my experiences and choices I have made.

People who we can not relate to make it impossible to hold onto the old way of thinking that brought us to that point. We choose in that moment to disregard who they are as different and not worth knowing or we engage in the dangerous dance of conversing with the opposite. This is hard for most people who want to hold onto their world view. People like me.

It is in those moments I ask the question, “Who am I.”

My mom and I are sitting at the bar and I lean over my shoulder and look to the right to see a couple in the corner sharing a drink. I would say they are in their thirties. The man is facing toward the entrance of the room, but not looking at his wife or girlfriend. The interesting positioning is of the girl, She is looking over her martini talking to the man as though they are in an engaged conversation.

At first I brush off the awkward body positioning for a frustrated conversation or a distracted guy. However, I find myself looking over the whole night. to my surprise every time I looked the man was faced the same way, when i looked at the girl she was looking at him and conversing. The longer I looked the more I realized how messed up this situation was.

Then my mom interrupts me to tell me about the Polish man sitting at the end of the bar sitting four feet from his wife, which might as well be another table when sitting at a bar. She proceeds to tell me how he got yelled at by the bar tender the other night for being rude. If this where the local pub or hotel, that would be expected, but this is a high end place where the wealthiest this area has to offer come to fill their cup.

After that i begin to observe the situation. This is a room full of mostly wealthy, sad people. Husbands and wives sitting side by side, but not talking. Granted not everyone needs to talk to show they care, but this particular night I sense a dissidence in the room, and I am apart of it.

In fact a lot of consumer practices seem pointless to me lately.

Like shopping for clothes on Black Friday.

I went, because target was on the way home from my in laws and I needed underwear and undershirts. Target has affordable undergarments that still make me feel like a man, not a little boy or eighty year old man.

However, when I looked at some of the faces of the people shopping they looked, well, Tired.

I guess I don’t have enough money at this time to appreciate shopping or maybe it is because my mom still buys’ me shirts a couple times a year, maybe I am spoiled.

That’s it!

I think I am spoiled, but in stead of making me more entitled to a nice dinner or an over priced pair of shoes, my experience as a Moma’s boy makes me want something more. Maybe I want time with my mom.

Yeah, that’s why I go to “the Park Bistro” and sit at a bar and order over priced food that comes in small servings. And I enjoy it because my Mom enjoys, Just like I enjoy shopping with my wife because she enjoys it, or working with the Poor because my Dad enjoys it.

I do not know what that means for me, but I know I enjoy the story of Life. And I enjoy all the experience God has given me and I am confused by what I have been given. It is to much and yet I want more.

To be continued…