the agent B files...

over and out

2010-05-24T00:05:00.003-05:00

This will be my sign-off report here on the agent b files.

Blogs are a weird thing. First they were counter-culture, then main stream, and now old news.

I started this report file almost five years ago as a means to communicate to anyone out there that might be going through a spiritual desert like myself and family. Instead, writing became more therapeutic than I had expected. Sharing stories of our adventures in the desert while on assignment in a very religious town within a poverty culture backing has healed me more than I knew.

And amazingly, a few folks took me seriously. Real live friendships grew from this, as evident of my recent annual gathering in Lubbock, TX with G13 from the Boston cohort of agents...and also with a new friend from Kentucky who recently visited family here in the fair mother city.

But as always, the story continues. Just not here. I suppose I'll let the agent b files float around in cyberspace indefinitely or until some googlebot wipes its existence.

As for my family, our new assignment awaits north of the US border. We leave this weekend. Over the past twelve months doors have closed for this current assignment while new ones opened wide for our new gig.

As for the cast of characters here on the b files...I will never forget them. I had a chance to see Obi-Wan one last time in his new residence in Waco last week. A trusted friend of his and recent god-send in his life (who is currently taking care of Obi-Wan's estate sale) and I drove down to deliver some of his belongings. I can say that Obi-Wan is well cared for and visited by kin folk daily. The Sanfords came by yesterday to say good bye and get a hair perm. What else would you do when you say goodbye? The Tiger and The Bulldog remain in prison for another month or two,so unfortunately I won't get to say goodbye to them.

As for you and anyone who's bothered to read this, thank you. Your communication is invaluable.

I do not know if I will continue with a new blog someday. But if you'd like to keep in touch and don't already know me, please leave a comment or email secretagentb AT gmail dot com.

All the best to you all.

and so it is

2010-05-07T22:36:00.003-05:00

It is done. My family and I said good bye to Obi-Wan today rather unexpectedly. I mean, I was thinking this wouldn't have to take place until the day before we headed north in a few weeks.

His niece from Waco called me asking to pack a suitcase for Obi-Wan as he is being discharged from the hospital sometime tomorrow and then being shipped to his new residence, a care home in Waco.

We brought his suitcase and his requested last supper from Long John Silver. And amidst my cranky children and other routine hospital interruptions, we managed an awkward and emotional hand shake to seven years of friendship.

Obi-Wan, you were there to guide me through this seven year period of desert wandering. You hosted many a fried catfish nugget dinners in your dining room. You were there to hold all three of my children the week of their birth. And you were there to share the word of god when I needed it most.

Carry on friend. Carry on.

moving

2010-04-27T22:20:00.003-05:00

While celebrating Obi-Wan's 93rd birthday at the hospital, I learned that he may be moving soon. Like me, he could be leaving the fair mother city forever.

There's even a good chance he might leave before I do.

In the words of his niece, this recent fall has really humbled him. He now knows he can no longer live alone. So arrangements are being made.

The current plan is to have Obi-Wan moved to a VA-run care home in Waco, the town his niece lives. And another relative of his works at this home so he will have a familiar face.

For months I assumed that my departure from Obi-Wan might involve one of us lying in a casket.

I guess both of us staring into each other's eye, shaking hands and departing the fair mother city in opposite directions is a better alternative from the CEO.

I don't know how I'm going to take that day.

brutal blow

2010-04-18T22:47:00.004-05:00

About 7:30 yesterday morning Obi-Wan's home health care nurse rang our doorbell begging for the keys to his house. He had fallen and said it was an emergency. I handed her the keys and promised to be there as soon as I dressed. I also assumed this was yet another one of his routine falls out between the wheelchair and his bed. Wrong.

Sometime after 8p Friday Obi-Wan had fallen out of his wheelchair in his kitchen. Somehow he had gashed his left eye during the fall and thus lost tons of blood. His kitchen looked like a murder scene. Blood everywhere. He must have sat helpless on the floor for nearly 12 hours dozing in and out of yelling for help. And unfortunately, he doesn't remember the fall one bit.

His nurse called the EMT folks and he was rushed to the trauma center. He received several stitches above his eye. Thankfully, they admitted him in the hospital and is still there tonight.

He's doing well and in typical Obi-Wan fashion, he ain't going down without a fight. A major gash in his head isn't going to take him out just yet.

But truthfully, his health and abilities are slowing down rapidly these last few months...

farewell to the king

2010-04-15T21:19:00.005-05:00

I had a Momo sighting the other day while cruising the fair mother city.

Yes, Momo, the king of the streets, was camped out in his standard beached-whale fashion in front of the old Hot Dog Castle. He's one of the top ten people in town I wanted to get a few minutes with before my departure. I did a quasi-legal U-turn on S 1st and joined him in the abandoned parking lot.

No major inspirational exchanges transpired. I got him to hug me. And about 95% of the conversation was Momo rambling about people he might kill after he gets his million dollar court settlement or something.

He's definitely someone I will never forget as long as I live. Due to years of glue sniffing, Momo's lost just enough brain cells to be slightly nuts. But he has enough brain cells left to use his "crazy homeless guy" persona as a manipulative weapon. I'm convinced half of his persona is an act. He deserves an oscar for his performances in front of the post office years ago.

Or like the time he took a shower at our ministry's facility and he'd go walking around the hallways half naked with a towel exposing a partial wet butt crack and asking for toothe paste or something. Classic.

I'm going to miss you Momo. May the lord bless you and keep you.

Junior and Johnny

2010-04-10T23:22:00.005-05:00

Recently I have begun a new stage in my parenthood and undercover calling.

Our children are not yet school age. So they have yet to be thrown to the wolves that is "the world". You know, learning cuss words, peer pressures and such. Up until now their only friends were the children of mine and my wife's friends. And we know them well so we trust these kids to play with ours, etc.

Recently my son Agent Offspring #1 and his sister AO2 met a ragamuffin-looking boy named Junior playing with a kid next door. AO1 begged for me to let him and his sister play with this kid. Reluctantly I let them. But I stayed nearby on the front porch the whole time.

At first glance Junior seemed rowdy - climbing up our twig of a tree and jumping all over the bed of my truck (until I gave him a mild tongue lashing). I asked all the identification questions I could. Name age, school, etc. He's 8 and in 2nd grade. My kid hasn't started kindergarten yet. But my kid absolutely LOVED playing with Junior.

Junior seemed a little rough around the edges, but he was real nice to my kids and didn't belittle their childish ways. I learned that he had no mother but lived with his father in the rough looking house a block down our street beyond my jurisdiction.

A few days later we discovered Junior had a brother one year younger than him named Johnny. The two look like twins.

They came to our house today to play with our kids. Or at least, I figured their standing in the flower bed peeking in the window was their version of a greeting.

I guess when you don't have a mom, and dad works all day, there's no one there to teach you about door knocking etiquette. So I guess that's my job.

Junior and Johnny were wearing the same clothes from yesterday. But that didn't seem to bother them.

After my dog gave the newcomers hell, the kids all played in the backyard on the fort/swing set. They must have played for at least two hours or more. I sat in a lawn chair with my face buried in a book. My shades made it hard for them to know if I was paying attention to them or not. I over heard one of the brothers mention that he's seen these forts before, but never got to play on one.

Overall, they all played great together. The older boys were not the dark rowdy bad influences I feared. Or maybe my presence repressed that all together.

Shortly after Agent Wife made everybody lunch I sent the brothers on their way so my girls could take a nap.

I guess the outside world has introduced themselves to my kids. And it wasn't so bad.

last hurdle

2010-04-03T12:10:00.002-05:00

Although I do not have a contract or any signed paperwork as of this writing, our home will be sold before we depart to the new assignment up north.

Almost a month ago the Jedi Master put me in contact with two business partners who are amassing rental houses for retirement income. They hope to one day have a total around forty houses. My investigations of public tax records show they currently have about nine or ten. I've met with them at least twice and they give me no reason to suspect that this deal would not go through, so I am planning my last two months in the fair mother city accordingly: saying goodbye to people, enjoying things locally and NOT remodeling my home. Thank you CEO!

Not to mention...we will now have a small wad of cash in the bank in hopes to purchase a home in the new location. Along with having no debts, money in the bank may be our only card to play in securing a new mortgage since we a) have no credit in Canada and b) no jobs (yet).

On the local front lines: Obi-Wan was in the hospital again recently. He had been suffering some major pains in his arm and shoulder. Friends worried that it might be a heart attack convinced him to call the ambulance. Thankfully, his problem was only Gout, so he returned home before nightfall.

Coincidentally, I had a dream last night that Obi-Wan had passed away recently and his funeral was already arranged. I find it wise to pay attention to dreams as they can often indicate communications from the CEO. But as we all know, dreams can be a bunch of nonsense as well. Who knows.

And Agent Wife has been hanging with Mandy a lot. In addition to her crazy health ordeals she is now facing serious marital ordeals.

We seem to have our hands full during our final weeks. So it goes.

ain't over til it's over

2010-03-09T21:08:00.003-06:00

In the twilight days of our assignment here in the fair mother city within our undisclosed neighborhood we call home, a new neighbor need has arisen.

Mandy is a 24-year old wife of a military man and the mom of 2-year old Jaden. They are the closest thing to young white middle class yuppies on our street (and that's because in the fair mother city, if you're in your twenties or thirties and actually make money, you're probably in the air force). Mandy and her family moved across the street about two years ago, but we've only begun to know her in the last six months. We didn't meet Mandy any sooner because her husband is often deployed and so she'd close up her house and move back with her mother in Missouri several times a year.

This time her husband is deployed and she stayed here. But as soon as he left, she began having serious health issues involving her gall bladder. Agent Wife has spent several hours in the emergency room with her a few weeks ago.

Due to some bullshit involving the ever wonderful US health care system and her military health coverage, she has been passed back and forth from the local hospital and the military doctors. After two weeks she is finally scheduled for out patient surgery sometime later this month, but in waiting for it she often has severe bouts of pain. Or the effects of her pain meds make her extremely loopy.

Agent Wife has often been on call to be with her throughout the night or just for a few hours. And thankfully I haven't had work so I've been able to watch her kid along with my three.

I am thankful for Agent Wife's selfless devotion to Mandy. And despite my bitching about no income and waiting for my flip project house to close this week, I guess there's a reason I am available. So it goes.

towards the end

2010-03-04T22:07:00.004-06:00

Like much of the US, the fair mother city has endured the coldest, wettest, and possibly longest winter in the 20 years I've lived here. I don't know if it's over yet, but we've actually had some nice weather days lately. And since I am patiently waiting for my flip house to close and have no work for the time being, I've taken the kids out on walks, wagon rides and bike rides.

Everyone on the block is coming out of hibernation. So I get to see the neighbors way at the ends of our street who I'm not real close to. Thus, I'm sharing the news of our leaving which is still news to many.

Even cranky Mr. Buckley, donning his new "Stop Obama" sign in his window (that looks like a stop sign), was surprised. So it goes.

Thank you CEO for our time in this undisclosed neighborhood we call home.

long journey

2010-02-23T15:16:00.002-06:00

Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, my second and most difficult house flip project is scheduled to close next week. I never envisioned the number of hurdles and road blocks that would be thrown my way during this seven month journey.

There's been the additional five weeks of un-budgeted time and labor (mostly involving leveling, pier replacing, and sanding the wood floors half a dozen times), the corresponding money drain thus borrowing an additional $5K from the bank to finish this house, multiple inspections and re-inspections from city code people, the buyer's home inspection during Abilene's worst ever rain storm with 70 mph wind gusts, an appraiser concerned that the foundation was faulty based on something I said despite previous inspections and reports, and a vandal break-in.

Over all, I am extremely thankful for the entire journey and every trial. Realistically, each hurdle was a minor jump.

And the bottom line: the young couple who are buying this house REALLY want this place. And I can't foresee that changing.

I am thankful to the jedi master for the training that has led me to this point. And I am extremely thankful to the CEO of the universe who has allowed me the dream of making a moderate living with my hands, at will.

one by one

2010-01-30T22:07:00.005-06:00

After my record speed immigration status, I'm not going to act surprised as the pieces of our uprooting and overall assignment change falls into place one by one.

First, some dear friends of our the Carrs volunteered to travel with us to help move, watch kids & pets, drive, etc. That is a huge blessing.

Second, my current house flip project is under contract as of last week. That is a major factor in our move as the sale of that property will finance the logistics of road travel and etc. We are penciling in a date in mid to late May 2010 for the move.

Then recently, we heard from one of Agent Wife's cousins in the town we're moving to that their rental house might be available to us by the time we arrive there. Nice.

Our final root to pull is selling our residence. I have planned to fix & pretty up the exterior with proceeds from the flip project. Then, hire The Jedi Master and crew to fix/pretty up the interior after we are gone. But a coworker of mine and his wife (long time friend of the agent b files) have a vague interest in buying our house as is for a reduced rate.

I could make a few more bucks by prettying up the house and selling it when it's vacant. But it would be sweet to sell it as is and thus walk away from it late May. Either way is win/win.

Things are coming together nicely - further proof to me that the CEO of the universe has ordained this assignment transfer all along.

one slip

2010-01-13T20:51:00.002-06:00

Had a rare call to duty today during my work hours. Obi-Wan slipped into some diabetic trance due to lack of eating breakfast.

Agent Wife called me this afternoon after Obi-Wan's housekeeper called her from the hospital. An ambulance picked him up around 1:30.

I was working nearby the hospital and ran over on my break. He's was already back to normal and preparing to leave in the next hour.

Turning 93 this spring, Obi-Wan is legless, wheelchair bound and won't go down without a fight.

the testimony files

2009-12-06T22:24:00.003-06:00

I guess it's no news here that we are receiving an assignment change from headquarters and moving up north. But this week I received our passports back and mine is officially stamped with an immigrant visa. We have until August 3rd (or 3rd of August...got to start getting used to using the day before the month) until it expires.

We officially announced to all of our friends, extended family, and vague acquaintances that we are moving. Most responded with joy and well wishes. Others with shock and disbelief, as if leaving Abilene is unfathomable.

The little known miracle here, and thus testimony to the masses, is how fast this happened. "This" being my immigration process.

We mailed all of our applications, photos, FBI records, and photo copies of our anal cavities to Ontario on 25 August 2009. My visa is stamped 17 November.

That's less than three months. This process was supposed to take around twelve months, possibly longer.

The doors in our desert period have been closing for the past year or so. And thus the doors in our new calling are wide open.

wrapping up the final chapter

2009-11-09T21:33:00.004-06:00

Agent Wife recently wrote a letter to both The Tiger and The Bulldog in prison. They are in the same cell block and should be released within a month of each other next summer.

They both wrote back. Tiger, always the clown, stated something like, "Can't wait to BBQ with you again...because the food here sure does suck". I can just hear him saying that. Bulldog on the other hand is having a more spiritual change and thus his letter is more down to earth, stating things like, "this ain't the life for me" and "I'm going to change". Wow.

*********************

Obi-Wan is still Obi-Wan. I don't get over there as much as I use to. I miss our afternoon visits and such. And I really miss our dinners together when he'd cook some meat and we'd bring over something he might eat or might not. It's getting harder for him to cook these days, and he really hates that.

*********************

The days fly by when working on my current house flip project, due to finish in about 3 weeks or so. If I stopped and looked at my life with the eyes of the rat racers, I should be bored and or ashamed of trudging away at manual labor. But I'm having an absolute blast. This really brings out a dormant artistic side of mine. Although most days don't seem too artsy. But the big picture is: creating something desirable (and valuable) from something undesirable. I love every minute. Every ounce of energy I have is going into this, so it seems.

*********************

And again...on the assignment change...things are moving so fast that I would be surprised if we are still in the fair mother city six months from now.

I recently received a letter from the Canadian consulate who is processing my permanent residence status. It basically stated: "You're in. Send us your passports so we can stamp them with the appropriate visas".

I mailed off the passports today. When they come back, I think we should have about 3-6 months to get up there.

new assignment: progress report

2009-10-20T12:34:00.002-05:00

My Canadian immigration status is progressing quite well.

Back in August we mailed in a package of papers as thick as a dictionary. One month to the day we received a response from immigration officials notifying us that the first of two major hurdles was cleared: Agent Wife can sponsor me. Her sponsorship was never an issue in my mind, but I was pleased to hear back about something so quick.

Now, my permanent residence request is in the hands of a different office where it could take 6 to 12 months for processing. Whatever happens, happens. But we would love to have our oldest start school there next September and thus be settled in by mid summer. So we are praying for a quick turnaround like the first hurdle.

Thankfully, the Canadian government has a track record with me on communicating through any red tape process. It's quite nice. A far cry from Agent Wife's American immigration ordeal ten years ago where we were left in the dark almost two and a half years.

adios, forty-nine cent

2009-10-16T06:54:00.003-05:00

My fast-living, heavy drama, and Eminem stunt double coworker Forty-Nine Cent is no longer with us. He broke his parole a few weeks ago in a way that would be impossible to hide from the authorities.

Upon learning of his potential fate, both the Jedi Master and myself (and maybe even Chuckie) advised Forty-Nine Cent to turn himself in. He sat on that a while and eventually did so via a scheduled parole meeting.

In the six months I've known him, I've watched Forty-Nine Cent go from newly wed to expectant father to getting kicked out of the house to sleeping on friend's couches. Now, back to prison.

I honestly wanted to see him succeed in life even if his half-assed work output annoyed the hell out of me.

Forty-Nine Cent is one of those guys who doesn't know what truth is. Everything in his universe is a word game and a poker match. Truth is created out of thin air. If he was highly educated he'd make a good lawyer. And by that, I mean a terrible lawyer. He makes excuses for everything as does his mother in his behalf.

Dear CEO: if this is the best thing for him, please show him the liberating freedom of truth. And please care for his unborn child.

Adios bro. We had good times. And with my impending assignment transfer to Canada, I will most likely never see you again. May the CEO bles you and keep you.

least likely

2009-10-13T21:39:00.003-05:00

Recently, I built a deck for the current flip house project of mine. I've never built a deck. I have assisted in some similar projects, but never have I gone solo on anything this large alone.

For nearly three days I designed this and labored alone while the Jedi Master and the crew worked at a different job site. Numerous times early on, I threatened to drop everything and join the others. My confidence lacked in this hurdle. And it's more comfortable to be a robot and follow orders in this line of work than for me to a) plan and b) execute with little experience.

Overall, the deck (and patio cover) is complete. And although I can (and will) nit pick every last ridiculous detail and unflattering asthetics of the entire project, a professional carpenter would be proud of it. It is very square, very sturdy, and very functional.

My lack of confidence is possibly my "thorn in my side" as that guy Paul makes vague references to in the new testament. And I've rarely confessed this: my lack of self confidence is the reason I am not a professional musician today. I never seem to be pleased with my music.

But always, the CEO shows me that I can do things my head deems impossible.

I have a minor obsession with history books and literature on the subject of mass evil (the holocaust, genocides, child sex slavery, etc). Some would say that's unhealthy. I say it's a healthy dose of sobering reality. Amidst the joys and great freedoms in my western world I refuse to get lost in those freedoms.

I am currently reading Searching For Schindler by Thomas Kenneally who also authored Schindler's List in the 1980s (the basis for the Spielberg movie). It recounts his interviews and massive research for his first book on Schindler.

I have gathered much about Oskar Schindler that I didn't pick up on in the movie (it's been years since I've seen it). Mainly: Oskar was one royally screwed up human. A failure of a husband, a major womanizer, heavy drinker, and proud swastika wearing party member who screwed and raped the nazis from within by making millions in the black market and manufacturing ammunition duds - he hardly seems like a christ figure to the entire jewish nation. But somehow, he had compassion and extreme generosity that drove him to keep several hundred jew alive and healthy.

I've always loved how the CEO of the universe uses least likely candidates to perform important tasks.

battlefield

2009-08-30T13:50:00.004-05:00

If there was ever a week from hell on the job site, this past week would be one.

I try not to seek out demons behind every bush and/or activity in life as my charismatic church days have taught me. But sometimes I am convinced that there is more than meets the eye in various situations.

In one way or another, our foursome (Jedi Master, Chuckie, Forty-Nine Cent, and myself) are working on my second flip project. Perhaps I bit off more than I can chew with this one. Over all, we WILL be successful with this house. But it appears to be an uphill battle, which is more than we anticipated before purchase. So it goes. But carry on we must.

We were into week three: little visible change, much grueling labor ala house leveling etc., discovered that the lean-to garage is not salvageable – after working on it at least two days, a trio of prostitutes who live down the street soliciting their services to me and the guys, and two of our crew either facing or contemplating divorce.

Then, during a moment of little production and personal counseling between Forty-Nine Cent (who just received news of his wife’s desire for divorce) and the Jedi-Master, the female trio from down the block start shouting Forty-Nine’s name and flashing themselves.

If there was ever a calculated attack from the enemy of this world - that would be it I think.

Meanwhile, I am thankful for a work partner like the Jedi Master who agreed with me to drop our tools, call it a day, and join me in prayer at my home.

fine line

2009-08-22T22:51:00.003-05:00

I believe my Canadian immigration status is progressing as fast as it can. We still haven’t mailed in our applications that have been worked on for over a month. I have jumped through every hoop: been fingerprinted by the local sheriff, OK’ed by the FBI and Texas Dept of Safety, bought almost $100 in passport photos, paid $250 to a doctor in Dallas to tell Canada that I’m medically OK, and hunted down a real copy of my birth certificate.

But now the real gymnastics: trying to pay for the application fees. It’s not that we don’t have the damn near $1000 for the application fees (that’s a turnip that might have enough blood in it), but every immigration website runs us around in circles as to WHAT to pay and WHERE to pay it.

So, we are praying that a phone call to a Canadian embassy next week will solve this.

Meanwhile, of the handful of people we have shared this news with, it’s not surprising that the smattering of people that make up my family are not excited about our move.

I don’t know why. I guess it makes sense being that I’m the only child my parents have. But I don’t have hoards of aunts, uncles, or cousins that will miss me. So why stick around anyway I figure. I’m not that close to the people I’m blood related to.

My mother refuses to acknowledge the subject of our move. She goes silent when it’s mentioned. Not surprising I guess. Silent treatment or subject changing is how she’s responded with everything I’ve wanted to do that was outside her suburban work-a-holic judgmental church-going universe. Which is about 99% of the actions in my entire life.

I’ve always wondered if there was any preacher out there who gave a sermon on the fine line between ”honor thy father and thy mother” and Jesus’ words of ”hate your own parents to follow me”.

Jesus was being a tad metaphorical with that “hate” part, or so I assume. But honoring and hating are about as polar opposites as you can get.

I wouldn’t say I hate my own parents. But maybe not giving a shit about their desires for my life is a version of hating them.

*photo by Alexander Dudley - 2004

contemplations

2009-08-10T22:21:00.002-05:00

Sometimes it is difficult for me to continue communicating via reports on the world wide waste-of-time through a blog outlet. Although several real-life events limit my commitment to such an endeavor these days, I also am a big believer that facebook killed the radio star. Thus, such reports might be an online version of spitting into the wind.

But where else can I explain that I rarely visit my dear friend, former catfish nugget chef and electric wheelchair enthusiest Obi-Wan. Some of this is based on time restraints. But most is conscious choice these days. Obi-Wan has become more of a griper and gossip than in the past. I really choose not to sit through another diatribe on how the acid queen has wronged him or how Lamont is the worst son in the world. But I feel guilty of this friendship avoidance. Am I only to hang around through the good times and not the annoying?

Once upon a time I would sit and listen patiently. Then later, I would slowly interject opposing, if not contemplative questions and views mildly defending those who have wronged us. Because ultimately, we too are sinners, and so forth. But no avail. Obi-Wan wants the universe to know of those who have wronged him. Or whatever.

I have yet to tell him of our assignment change coming within the next twelve months. I think the news could send him towards death. He hates it when we leave on vacation because he “misses seeing our car in the driveway across the street”.

Often I wonder about the timing of his life and our exit from the fair mother city. I had assumed Obi-Wan would pass on by the time we moved. But maybe he won’t. I don’t know.

so long frieda

2009-07-31T23:00:00.002-05:00

In the ever continuing examples of closing doors on our assignment in the fair mother city...

The sudden departure of Frieda Sanford.

About two weeks ago, Frieda announced that she and her daughter Jessie are moving several blocks across town by the first of August. Frieda and her long time boyfriend Manuel (owner of the house next to mine) are splitting up.

She and her three kids have lived next door as long as we’ve been here. And of course, we knew her, the kids, her sister, and her late mother from the izzy group food pantry days of yesteryear.

Living next door to Frieda has been fun. It’s also been culturally interesting and educational for me.

Frieda showed me probably the closest depiction on earth of Jesus’ words: sell all you have and give to the poor. Well, she never seemed to hold on to anything for long. Everything was always for sale or given away. Like maybe material possessions mean little to her.

And without Frieda’s knowing, she showed me what Jesus’ words of “I was a stranger, and you invited me in” might have meant. She always had some rag-tag group of come-and-goers sleeping in her house. She even housed an abandoned 17-year old girl for a period of time. That girl recently returned for a visit with her boyfriend. I think she’s now 21.

I am truly going to miss the backyard BBQs, the Christmas gathering with dollar store trinket gifts for all, the robotic small talk gatherings on her front porch, and yes...even the damn garage sales every two weeks.

We got our dog from Frieda’s late mom. The Bossman and I conducted a funeral service for her mother. I feel like an awkward white middle-class member of her family.

Her sons The Bulldog and The Tiger hit their culture’s right of passage by moving off to prison a few months ago. Now Frieda and Manuel’s fragile and shallow shack-up relationship has finally ended.

So long neighbor. Good times were had. You will be missed.

scouting trip: report

2009-07-23T18:35:00.005-05:00

Agent Wife, the three offsprings and I recently returned from scouting the landscape of our future assignment from headquarters.

You heard it here on the agent b files: we are moving to Canada. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, as they say in the south.

This news is still pretty hush hush info. Many of our close friends, family, and neighbors don’t know this and won’t be told until probably new years. Our target moving date is summer 2010, and that revolves around my immigration status. I have begun the immigration process last week.

I know: big shocker. The agent family household is moving to Agent Wife’s homeland and the place Agent B talks about all the time. Never saw that coming.

Our recent trip was disguised as one of our vacations to visit family in Saskatchewan. And we did that of course. But we spent a week in the region our upcoming assignment, which is three hours away from Agent Wife’s parents.

In typical Agent B fashion, the real name of the town we’re moving to will be under the pseudonym Dog River. The real name will be disguised due to it’s very small size (pop 2000) and thus lack of anonymity for secret agents.

Dog River, Saskatchewan is a dichotomy of dichotomies, in my view. It is a small lake resort town, mostly filled with wealthy people’s summer lake homes and get-a-way cottages. The average income there is way above the national average.

But Dog River is surrounded by several First Nations (native) reservations, which is the extreme poverty culture of Canada.

The history of Canadians and their native population is similar to that in the US. But it seems more prevalent due to much recent history and lack of other minority issues that the US is plagued with. There is too much history to mention here. I may write more later as I learn more on modern Native culture in the coming weeks and months.

Agent Wife’s cousin Tina and her husband Joe are school teachers in the town. They both are involved with an outreach ministry to the poor that they both have actively volunteered for and sought funding for several years.

And Agent Wife’s other cousin John (Tina’s brother) and his wife Jane live there as well. John works for the city of Dog River and Jane is a government employed nutritionist that works directly with the reservations. They also play management roles with the outreach.

This outreach (which is currently shut down as they lost their rental unit) is practically run by a 60-something year old native woman named Martha. She gave Agent Wife & I a tour of her home reservation that’s named after her late grandfather who was the chief.

I can’t describe it accurately, but the poverty surrounding the native people was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve been to some mud-hut regions of Africa in addition to West Texas ghettos.

There is just some bizarre indescribable hopelessness cloaked over the native regions. I received a very small taste of it during our tour when Martha drove us out to a beach off one of the lakes. Out of nowhere, some gangster wanna-be looking kid comes out of the bushes and asks me for a cigarette. I said I had none. Then asked me to sell him beer. Again, I had no beer on me. He just stared aimlessly and said, “are you SERIOUS?”

It wasn’t that I was hit up for smokes or beer. That happens all the time in the fair mother city. It was the location. I mean, we were in the freaking middle of NOWHERE down some dirt road for miles. It was just weird. Hopeless.

Anyway, we saw clearly how our family could fit into this town and environment and how the CEO seems to be slowly orchestrating this for years. We are finally about to leave the desert and go into our new calling.

Meanwhile, as excited as I am to leave the fair mother city, I am going to spend the next year enjoying everything I can here and embrace this nutty conservative religious culture. I guess.

Until then, the agent b files is still up and running as I continue to report of our dealings around Abilene. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

addendum: first baptist

2009-07-22T06:51:00.003-05:00

In response to the previous post, former fair mother city resident Agent S emailed this to me:

Thanks for asking tough questions and holding people accountable. And for being my Abilene informant. I get most of my Abilene news from you. Here is what one of my friends had to say about the Sunday after the vandalism.

"At church on Sunday, the focus was on forgiveness and what can we do to help the young man who broke the windows. Phil gave a very moving address to the subject. Several members of our Sunday School class are lawyers and are looking into when the young man will be on trial so we can go show support and compassion to him, as well as see what he might need. I was proud of our church body."

It's always good to report the positive side that won't be in the local paper.

Thanks FBC - Abilene.

dear first baptist of abilene

2009-07-11T09:27:00.002-05:00

Dear First Baptist Church of Abilene,

I am so sorry to hear of the vandalism that happened to your property a few nights ago. Like the six or seven other downtown businesses, you must feel violated and angry. I know I would.

Vandalism is such a self-centered act that should never be condoned by anyone.

Thankfully the vandal came forward and confessed. Maybe he manned up and volunteered this information. Or maybe he was confronted by the law. Who knows.

But please, I beg of you. Use this opportunity to practice Jesus’ teachings of forgiveness. I mean hey, the WHOLE city is watching you via these news reports. What a grand opportunity to show the power of forgiveness to those who don’t follow Jesus.

I know you suffered a LOT of damage - stained glass that’s not easily replaced and so forth. But really, whining to media outlets about $50,000 to $100,000 of damage doesn’t hold water. The WHOLE city of Abilene knows that this amount of money is NOTHING to you.

Nobody is praising this guy’s actions. And I am not arguing to keep him from accountability. The law will take care of that. I mean, a third degree felony and $300,000 bond is nothing to scoff at.

But PLEASE, grab this opportunity to teach the city about forgiveness.

*photo by Victor Cristales of the ARN

balance

2009-06-20T17:50:00.005-05:00

As a follower of Christ and as an embedded undercover missionary within the poverty culture, I’ve always sought the balance between wealth and poverty. Between enjoying what you have and giving what you have. Between the words of Jesus and the nonsense of North American middle-class culture.

My friend The Shaman (formerly of Chickasha, OK and now of the Rocky Mountains in CO) recently wrote of Ecclesiastes in his daily on-line journal. His mention of Eccl. chapter 9 verse 7 and onward in defense of enjoying what the CEO of the universe has given us makes sense. The Shaman uses this verse to follow his words “When we have a real empathy for the needs of others, especially the misfortunate and poor, there is a tendency to have guilt about our own personal blessings and provisions”.

Basic gist: have care for those without. But enjoy your bread & wine. Enjoy your wife. Keep yourself clean, and work with all your might.

Oddly enough, I’ve always tended to agree with this. I surely enjoy my wife. And wine. And Golden Monkey Belgian triple ale.

But I still scratch my head over followers of Christ spending vast resources on gawdy property when the local poor go without.

In the local news this week, a local church bought the legendary mansion on Buffalo Gap road with hopes of turning it into a public event center and church function shin-dig house. This 12,000 sq foot monstrosity is in grave disrepair so this church is also raising funds to fix it up, under a non-prof outfit. So it goes.

This house is so bloated and asinine that even its builders/original owners back in 1983 couldn’t keep it after a few years.

The OLD Agent B would have lambasted this church’s purchase without question.

The NEW Agent B questions the comparison of enjoying ones wine from god with buying ridiculous property on the hopeful nickel of generous others for repair.

And the local poor still get nothing.

So it goes.

* photo by Kevin Halliburton

Forty-Nine Cent

2009-06-06T14:44:00.003-05:00

There is a new character working in the remodeling outfit along side myself, Chuckie, and The Jedi Master.

Forty-Nine Cent hails from Flint, Michigan but has been in the west Texas region for a good while. He claims to now be clean from a serious drug past that landed him in prison for five years. The prison-made mural tattooed across his body tells the tale of the snitch who sent him away, while the grim reaper lorded his life over specific years.

Admittedly, I never understood the gangster wanna-be attitude and culture. Even the baggy pants/boxer shorts uniform seems so impractical for a lifestyle that ends up on-the-run in a moments notice. Although cops have told me that they love this fashion when things digress into a foot chase. Baggy pants guys are easy to catch.

Forty-Nine Cent & I worked together this week and I’m glad to get to know him. He’s newly married and making a sincere effort to “settle down” and so forth.

Of course, the real beauty here is the redemption path that The Jedi Master is allowing Forty-Nine Cent to take. He worked for JM years ago and quit just as he stole a few hundred dollars in tools for a high. JM recently allowed him to work off that debt and start fresh.

Beautiful.

testimony #042

2009-05-29T17:43:00.002-05:00

My dream of house flipping has become complete with the sale closing yesterday.

I'm reporting this on the fly with little thought or deep meaning behind it. But anyway, I am thankful to the CEO of the universe who has once again given me an identity after many long years in the desert.

I am also thankful for my Jedi Master and Chuckie who have been beyond instrumental in my training of such endeavors.

I am thankful for Agent Wife and all three offsprings who are extremely supportive of my new found work and semi-passion.

And I will always be thankful for Nat Sherman "Nats" cigarillos and Victory Storm King Imperial Stout - the best beer I've found yet.

The Jedi Master will help me shop for a second house next week. I'm looking forward to doing this again (take THAT "recession").

Thanks for reading and for your interest.

the net

2009-05-22T23:40:00.003-05:00

Howdy all. It’s old-school Agent B here in rare form.

Recently I heard a peculiar analogy for the social club-style church. Or better yet, the attraction-al model church.

A person was convincing others in a conversation how their church’s worship service needed to be superior quality and excellent (ie: above and beyond average singing and music, etc) since Sunday morning service is considered a net. Basically, make it nice and pretty so visitors will hang around, come back, join, and become part of the collective.

I could easily go off on that faulty notion of excellence and worship. Not that I embrace crap or second class worship or anything from the christian culture (Fireproof anyone?!?). But my kids make excellent paintings (or so I think) that wouldn’t be worth a dime on the street. But these paintings are priceless to me. I’m sure the CEO thinks likewise.

But a net? How shallow.

Sure. Nets catch large quantities of fish with little effort. But they also entangle, drown, and unintentionally destroy various marine life (dolphins, sea turtles, etc).

That little effort part: I guess a Sunday morning social club would need to be a net if the individual people or families won’t bother with the effort to live with, walk with and understand another individual or family for the long haul.

A net – interesting analogy.

Life-killing AND sloth-promoting.

*photo credit by Tom Campbell.

thankful

2009-05-17T00:57:00.004-05:00

I am pretty thankful for much. Especially these days.

- The Jedi Master and I are scheduled to close our (my) first house flip partnership at the end of this month. This house flipping ordeal has been an amazing journey and dream come true. Thank you CEO. I’m still in awe of how fast I got into this. I am pretty sure this was meant to be.

- I wrote a letter to The Bulldog (who is in state prison). He replied with the most humble response ever. Becoming spiritually minded in jail is pretty common. But The Bulldog was apologizing for “not being a good neighbor” and not respecting his mother the way he thought he should. I never had any problems with his neighboring. I wasn’t too crazy about the gangsters he attracted next door though. Hopefully, he will continue to seek the CEO. And hopefully, our letter correspondence will continue.

- And lastly, a new character in my life got me thinking. Uncle Rico is a painter who is working on the same house that the Jedi Master, Chuckie and I are hired to remodel. I still haven’t figured him out completely, but I’m liking him more and more. His wife has a good paying job, so Uncle Rico paints houses whenever he can find work. He seems to embrace life where he’s at and not chase after prestige or anything. I can respect that much.

Uncle Rico got me thinking: I am 38 years old and support myself and my family on an hourly wage, plus any random lawn jobs that come my way. And now, house flipping projects. I am really thankful that I don’t have to live a rat race.

Thank you CEO.

prison bound

2009-04-30T22:01:00.003-05:00

Before Frieda could tell me of The Tiger's court hearing, I stumbled across his verdict via a local news site.

The Tiger will spend the next year and a half in state prison.

I hate to see it happen. If there is a good side to this, it's that he's actually getting disciplined for something once in his life.

It kind of breaks me up a bit. As Agent Wife and I ponder our most likely assignment change, I often wonder if I'll ever see him walk as a free man again.

Change is definitely in the air. Our local assignment in this undisclosed location we call home is wrapping itself up.

The Tiger and his brother The Bulldog: one more chapter in our agent life closed.

waiting: reloaded

2009-04-25T15:44:00.001-05:00

For the better part of six years, Agent Wife and I (and three offsprings who joined us) have been in the desert. It is mostly, a “spiritual desert” for lack of a better term. But don’t put it past the fair mother city to be a semi-arid region of the world as well.

For bible believing people, the desert is where you go just before some important mission, new ministry or life-long task. It is where you are trained, like army basic training. There are few if any physical resources. One must rely solely on our father in heaven (the CEO of the universe).

One of the outcomes of this period is learning how to wait. Waiting is not popular in the westernized world. We are impatient. We want our microwaved hot-n-ready pizzas now. And so forth. In the western world, waiting is considered a huge inconvenience. And inconvenience is considered a major crime against our human rights.

Thus, waiting is assumed to be like an inhumane act.

During the past six years (and during my bachelor days of long ago, looking for the right mate) I’d like to think that I had this waiting thing down.

But as I approach the 90 day mark on my house flip project sitting on the market with little interest, I discover that I have retained very little on the subject of waiting.

Granted, 90 days is not a long time for a house to be on any market. And 90 days is the average time frame in the Abilene housing market.

The Jedi Master, Chuckie (when he’s not mad at JM) and myself have filled in our time with various remodel jobs for customers. So, we have work. But not the kind of work I had envisioned and hoped for. I can’t do another house flip until #1 sells. So it goes.

CEO – I give you the project and forgive me of my restlessness. Thank you for everything going so well on it during the initial 8 weeks of remodeling.

Your communications with the CEO on my behalf are also appreciated.

in the pokey

2009-04-08T17:02:00.003-05:00

Last week I hitched a ride to the jail with Frieda Sanford to visit The Tiger.

This was my first time to be demoted to jail visits as a normal citizen. In the past, my ministry credentials with the izzy group allowed me 9-5 access behind bars. Now I had to stand in line with about 40 girlfriends, wives, and scattering kids for a one-time-a-week 30 minute evening visit. So it goes.

Waiting in the jail lobby brought back memories of the old izzy group food pantry days. The cultures are identical and I miss it.

Tiger is well. He's been on the work crew that goes around cleaning county roads and such 8-5 M-F. The work crew is for the privileged few: those who are in for a minor offense, are less likely to flee, and know how to work, etc. That's right up Tiger's alley.

He said the work crew also get shorter jail time (3:1), better food, and share a cell block which builds some sort of upper-level brotherhood.

I'm glad all is well for him at the local jail. Because, if he doesn't succeed at his upcoming court date then his fate will be like his brother's: state prison.

He told me when he gets out he will ditch his old friends and live on the up and up.

CEO - you are the only way up. Please show him this.

operation: theft protection

2009-04-05T17:59:00.003-05:00

After working 40 hour weeks for almost eight months straight, I have had no consistent work for almost a month now. Although I would prefer to be working (and REALLY prefer for my first house flip project to sell so that I could do another), I now see clearly how the CEO of the universe had me available for Obi-Wan these past few weeks.

As noted in the report that introduced The Acid Queen, she has signature authority on Obi-Wan’s checkbook. I released said checkbook to her back in December at Obi-Wan’s reluctant request and by her so-called claim that she is his power of attorney. I don’t know if she truly has power of attorney over him. Obi-Wan is confused about that.

But based on two months of bank statements, we have evidence that The Acid Queen has stolen money from Obi-Wan. The grand total is about $400 (that I know of), all made by The Acid Queen for her personal purchases, cell phone bills, and other things that were not in Obi-Wan’s best interests or made via his endorsement or knowledge.

After weeks of personal wrangling, Obi-Wan retrieved his checkbook from the reluctant Acid Queen.

This past week, I chauffeured him to his bank and operated as interpreter between Obi-Wan’s overly down-home chit-chat and the professional banking communiqué.

All in all, Obi-Wan has removed The Acid Queen from signature authority of his account. I don’t know when or how she will discover this as Obi-Wan wants her to “learn the hard way” and not mention it to her. I advised against this action to no avail.

My role here as operative walks a thin line: I want to assist Obi-Wan in every way possible as the CEO of the universe would have me do. But I want to remain Switzerland in his personal financial affairs. I’m sure The Acid Queen assumes I am operating with devious motives similar to hers. All of Obi-Wan’s friends have been rightfully suspicious of me throughout the years. But I have nothing to hide. And Obi-Wan’s fondness of me has created jealousies, so it goes.

I find it no coincidence that I am currently engulfed in books on various injustices throughout the world. This week, it’s Terrify No More by Gary Haugen (thanks Nurse!) which documents the international legal wranglings of the International Justice Mission, specifically their rescuing of three dozen child sex slaves in Cambodia in 2003. It’s a great read. I highly recommend it.

Although third-world under-aged sex slavery and US elderly financial abuse are basically apples and oranges, the same gist is there: remove the victim from the harmful situation with systematic and methodical prose.

bad guys

2009-03-24T21:50:00.005-05:00

My son, Agent Offspring #1, is four. And in his vast world view, there are two kinds of people: good guys and bad guys.

He plays various adventure scenarios in the back yard based on the embarrassing amount of videos I never thought we'd let our kids watch. And the characters in his play adventures are realistic but quasi predictable. The good guys do good stuff and the bad guys do bad stuff.

He's probably too young to comprehend that sometimes bad people do good things and sometimes good people do bad things. Hell, I can't always comprehend it.

And then there's "who gets to decide what is good and what is bad and what is the definition of good and bad". And on and on.

A couple of weeks ago, my next door neighbor, former backyard shadow, and garden wars competitor The Tiger finally went off to jail for some crimes he committed about two summers ago. He was on probation for a while until he broke his probation.

I told him about jail a while back, hoping to convince him to live on the up in up during the probation period. It didn't work I guess. I said "you're 18 now. You're a man in the law's eyes. No more pansy juvenile detention wus-ville. You'll get put in a cell with six other guys who will force you to be their girlfriend, all at the same time".

I love The Tiger. He really has good in him. A lot. I've seen it. I've lived next door to him for six years and have known him for four years prior to that from the old izzy group ministry food pantry days.

Not to defend his actions but, in many ways he never had a chance. I mean, he grew up moving every four to six months. His mom moved him and his two siblings into one roach infested hell hole after another. He grew up watching men beat his mom. I'm still amazed that to this day he has yet to copy that behavior. He's never had a girlfriend that I know of nor has he created or participated in any physical violence.

He's just such a follower. He's never had a grand goal or even any small goals and stuck with it. He's never had any parents or adult role models that had goals either. He just lives day to day and see what stuff happens. That's the poverty mentality.

But he's a good guy. Deep down. I know he is.

state of affairs address

2009-03-14T14:49:00.002-05:00

Almost four years ago I, Agent B, introduced myself to a small internet public via the agent b files and began sharing my adventures of both a) my spiritual desert period as well as b) my assignment within the poverty culture of a very religious North American city. And other than the occasional word from the CEO, prophetic-type observation within my own surroundings, or random jackass quips, I believe this blog has remained true to it’s mission: to report my discoveries, observations, and personal confessions as a middle-class westerner within relative poverty surroundings while remaining (somewhat) true to christ’s words in Matthew 6:1-4.

All of that to say – there hasn’t been much for me to report as of the past several months for reasons as follows:

1) My wife and I continue to plead with the CEO for an assignment change. I cannot imagine leaving the fair mother city with Obi-Wan still alive and well. But should he pass on, or the CEO gives the green light otherwise, we want to leave. Bad.

We have a realistic destination in mind, but it’s way too early to mention it. As for now, my family and I have stopped “investing” in the fair mother city. We just don’t have it in us anymore. We are spent. Never thought I’d say this but, I just don’t give a shit about Abilene, Texas anymore. Our time is up. The religious strongholds have not won over me. But I am weary. And besides, I’m pretty sure our time here has been a training period for the next phase of our lives.

2) Due to the above, I feel that there is little to say of my life and thus my lack of blogging. I really feel that anything I write now would only be a bunch of rehashed observations from the past four years. One can only say the same thing just so many times.

3) Since much of my day now revolves around trade work (which is physically taxing) I am usually tired by the end of the day. And when I get home there are two toddlers, a newborn, and a wife who is weary from dealing with them all day. I have little time or energy to write anything of significance.

I still have multitudes of observations of the poverty culture and the wealth culture from within my jedi padawan gig. But again, all has been said before one way or another.

On a related note, I am excited about this youtube clip going around of some famous guy on Conan O’Brien’s show ranting about the whineyness (or joylessness) of our wealthy culture. I see this all the time during remodel jobs for wealthier people. People can always find some ridiculous little nuance to be unhappy about. Meanwhile, we installed a laminate floor for an elderly woman who seems to live pretty simple and she was the easiest human to work for. Have lots = bitching & whining. Have little = thankful for everything. Go figure.

Back to the subject – the agent b files isn’t going anywhere. I haven’t heard to shut it down. But my reports may continue to thin out.

My thanks to the handful of you who continue to find value in these writings, thus continue reading. To all – my apologies for not keeping this blog as active as it once was. Thanks for your communications and comments over the years. And please continue to communicate whenever possible. Thank you.

the aliens

2009-03-04T21:55:00.004-06:00

One of the major chapters in the life of Agent Wife and myself is our African friends. About four or five years ago Agent Wife somehow got hooked up with a large African family through her French speaking abilities.

This family is actually four separate households – all siblings: two brothers and their two sisters. The oldest brother is some 20 years older than the other three, so he’s like the patriarch or something. And some have spouses and children and so forth. So, they’re a large group.

They came to the fair mother city through a non profit program called the IRC: International Rescue Committee. It’s a group that assists in bringing immigrants from war torn countries seeking asylum. They pay for the plane fare to the US, find housing, speed up the immigration process, assist in finding jobs (always hourly pay labor since even the educated don’t know our culture, language, etc), and assist in government subsidies (food stamps, etc).

Then they have 4-6 months to be completely self sufficient when all the subsidies end. And oh yeah, they have to pay back that plane fare. Air fare don’t grow on trees, I guess.

So Agent Wife & I stumble upon a great DVD at the library that I highly recommend: The Lost Boys of Sudan. It’s not just some boring documentary (which I like those, btw). But it’s pretty entertaining. Like the Napoleon/Pedro-esque technique of a young man trying to impress a female by giving her caged birds he caught.

Lost Boys is filmed in a “reality show” style, minus both the nonsense and ego filled soliloquies. The characters share a very similar story and life to our local African friends here in the fair mother city, which helped open our eyes to their daily issues.

If anything, this film can effectively show Christ followers the difficulty of daily life for the aliens in our midst. I hope it raises your compassion for those far from home.

the last step

2009-02-23T23:14:00.004-06:00

The Baileys are my across the street neighbors that I rarely have contact with, thus their first ever mention here in these reports. Mary Bailey is in her 70's I'm guessing. Her son Ted is probably 45 or 50.

Ted ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer. And that's not me being a jackass. There's really something up with him. He's not mentally handicapped, but he's dang close. When I first moved here six years ago Ted was just released from prison and under house arrest. Word on the street is that he wasn't some violent criminal or such. He got wrapped up with the wrong people and rumors say he may have helped in some burglaries etc. I've met him a few times. And the first thing he always says when he's meeting you is, "I got in some big trouble a while back". He's humble. I admire that.

Ted doesn't drive. His mother does. So she's basically his transportation.

Ted doesn't work (that I know of). He rarely leaves the house. So I'm guessing his mother is basically his livlihood and lifeline.

Over the last few nights Ted and the Mackey's from across the street asked for my assistance in helping Mary off the floor as she's fallen or needs help off the toilet. She's fallen like six or seven times in the last week. Amazingly, she's not injured other than a minor bruise or two.

Faye Mackey offered to contact Adult Protective Services as she has a friend who works there. The Bailey's seemed responsive to that idea which shocked me since I'm use to Obi-Wan who has used every last ounce of strength fighting for his independence. APS is usually the last step before an elderly person without responsible children ends up in a care home.

If that happens I wonder what will become of Ted.

pruning boy: deja vu

2009-02-17T21:19:00.002-06:00

In a bizarre mix of my current work life and my former work life, the jedi master along with Chuckie and myself are doing some work for my old boss at Son & Dad Tree Service, Inc. I of course helped land the job, so it wasn't like he randomly picked us out of the phone book or something.

But it's really weird going back to the north side dynasty and doing some piddly-ass repetitive job (like scraping the exterior of a house for paint prep) on one of The Son's five properties.

Something about this mixture of mundane labor and being at The Son's north side dynasty put's me both in The Zen AND makes me realize how bad I want an assignment transfer from headquarters.

The transfer will come in due time I'm sure. I just never thought I'd be back at The Son's doing some goof job. So it goes.

return of the king

2009-02-08T21:21:00.003-06:00

As the days, months, and years pass I am amazed at how many people I forgot from the old izzy group ministry days. Tons of people passed through our food pantry doors.

I was visiting Obi-Wan at the hospital last month when a hospital nurse came in to check his blood sugar. She knew me. I had no idea who she was. But she said she and her kids use to come to izzy and get groceries several years ago when she was a hurting single mom. Now she’s got her nursing degree and works at the hospital and thanks the CEO that all is well.

I am thankful that the CEO of the universe occasionally lets me see “the rest of the story” from those days. Even if I don’t remember certain people.

But there is one person from those days I will never forget. We shared too many memories together.

Momo, the king of the streets in the fair mother city, was sleeping on one of the cushy chairs in a Starbucks this weekend when I ran into him.

Agent Offspring #2 and I were getting groceries at HEB and decided to get a treat at the nearby coffee joint since my mailman mother gave us something like $105 in starbucks gift cards from her customers. She doesn’t like going there. I don’t mind it. Especially if it’s free.

This was kind of a weird place to run into Momo, since this area of town is way off the beaten path for our homeless friends. But Momo always gets around. I saw him camped out at the mall parking lot once. And that’s WAY off the beaten path.

We chatted for a good while. Actually, Momo rambled on and on with a bunch of homeless mental ramblings and so forth. But I didn’t mind. We all need to be heard and he doesn’t get much of a chance to talk to people. He’s so damn scary looking.

Nothing significant was said or exchanged. But I always forget how much I miss him. Even if he did use to piss me off.

One of my favorite Momo memories was once I ran into him downtown panhandling by the post office. His panhandling approach is terrible. Most homeless guys play the role of the lovable fuzzy tramp looking for something to eat and “god blessin ya” every second. Momo’s approach is to scare the hell out of you.

He’s short, fat, dark, wears the same clothes with stains for weeks until they fall off, and has that psycho pissed-off look in his eye. With his butt crack and gut hanging out he sleeps on a sidewalk like a beached whale. Then when some sucker walks by, he gets up and corners them and gives a direct demand for a buck. It’s such a crock schtick. I’m laughing.

So anyway, I see him do this one day as I’m going to the PO and I yell, “Hey Momo!” like I’m his best friend. Because we are friends. And I give him a hug like I always do.

He just froze with a smirk on his face that said “you’re giving away my schtick. Don’t let on that I’m really a cream puff”.

Thank you CEO for my run in with an old friend.

Long live the king.

dichotomy: two local tragedies

2009-02-02T21:45:00.004-06:00

#1 - A family lost everything, including their mother here. One of the seven-year old twin boys isn't expected to make it either.

This family lives right across the street from my old boss with Son and Dad Tree Service, Inc. Every morning I would see this family when I arrived to work. They had all the mannerisms and trademarks of the poverty culture, including hanging outside in the front yard at all times of the day and enjoying life. The dad was a truck driver, I think. I waved to them and talked briefly once or twice. My heart breaks.

#2 - One of the old money social clubs in town is about to spend one million dollars on high definition broadcasting equipment. Which is even more pathetic since none of the local stations has complete HD technology yet to broadcast their church service to the capacity of the church's soon-to-be new equipment. Sheesh.

A poor family lost everything including their wife and mother.

And a mere 14 blocks away god's people toss big bucks at the trivial.

Forgive us all lord.

*photo credit by Ronald W. Erdrich.

attendance

2009-02-01T21:28:00.002-06:00

It’s been a few years or so since I’ve reported on my absence from the sunday morning social club. I believe that my avoidance of this topic proves my confidence in my calling outside of that scene. Thus I don’t feel a need to prove something to others thus proving something to myself.

Despite popular belief, I, agent b, am not opposed to other’s membership of these clubs. Nor am I opposed to the possibility of being part of one myself again someday.

What I am opposed to is attendance. Or better yet – I am opposed to attendance becoming the calling as opposed to living the calling.

Or something like that.

So Agent Wife and I have children. Three, as of almost three weeks ago. And yes, we incorporate our agent calling “outside church walls” into our children’s life. Since our marriage ten years ago (pre-kid days) we discussed how to raise our kids to know the CEO and not just drag them to some sunday morning deal. We wanted to live the experience of this kingdom of god, not just talk about it and naval gaze while someone else taught our kids about god.

So anyway, last weekend both grandmothers were here: my mom and Agent Wife’s mom. Sunday morning they were getting ready to “go to church” together while I was going to visit Obi-Wan and Agent Wife was tending to our newborn.

So then, my oldest mentioned that he wanted to go with his grandmothers. So I suggest to the grandmothers that if they want to take them, I’ll get the older kids dressed and ready to go. They were downright giddy about this, as can be expected by grandmothers.

So later on that day one of the grandmothers mentions to us that if we wanted, we could send our kids to church via our neighbors The Mackeys (who go to the church they visited).

How are we supposed to take that? Are we some sort of deadbeat parental sloths by not taking our kids to church?

No one noticed that our kids knew the songs they sang at church...because Agent Wife taught these songs to them at home!

OK. Sorry. I’m getting a little defensive. Such is being an agent and dealing with family.

But my question: what is better – teaching your children about attendance? Or trying to live the faith?

Or something like that.

legless in the fair mother city

2009-01-29T22:14:00.002-06:00

My across the street neighbor, long time confidant, and zen mower mechanic Obi-Wan has returned to the neighborhood. He has been in the hospital since November having his last and only leg removed, recovering, rehab-ing and bitching about hospital food.

I admit, I'm glad he's back. This undisclosed neighborhood we call home is a lonely place without him.

He arrived yesterday with The Acid Queen's help. She arrived a day early to let the medical supply people move in his new hospital bed with the trapeze bar.

I noticed Obi-Wan's real bed, purchased three years ago during the legendary Nurse Gollum scandal of '06, was no longer in the house. I assume it made it's way back with The Acid Queen. I didn't ask.

He's glad to be home. And so are we.

jail bird

2009-01-25T21:57:00.002-06:00

My next door neighbor The Bulldog has finally gone to jail for some crimes he was involved in about a year and a half ago. His mom Frieda says he'll be in for 18 months. I guess that means he'll be transferred to a state run unit since the county jail only holds people a maximum of 12 months.

He's been headed for this life for a long time. His brother The Tiger is not far behind. He will soon begin his jail time for his involvement in the same crimes.

I guess this means I won't have gangster types driving and stopping by next door at all times of the day.

The Bulldog...he really has a sweet heart. But he's a rough dude. He has no direction. He doesn't want to do anything with himself.

Frieda thinks he'll do OK in jail, but The Tiger won't survive well. She knows her kids well, I guess.

birth announcement

2009-01-20T19:58:00.002-06:00

Agent Offspring #3 successfully joined us in this world today.

Agent Wife and baby are well...

jedi padawan #005: completion

2009-01-19T22:28:00.005-06:00

Last week the Jedi Master, Chuckie, and myself completed my first ever house flip venture from start to finish.

I really enjoyed this, every aspect of it. The whole transformation process is fun.

This particular project went smoothly from all perceived angles. I'm not holding my breath for this to be the norm from here on out. But we were fairly under budget in every category. We found deals everywhere. Even places we weren't looking for deals.

We even got to incorporate the locals. The guy who lived next door lays flooring for a living. He did a few jobs for us which saved us valuable time. Even his 6 year-old kid helped me plant the flower beds.

Anyway, today we started a remodel job for a customer. I much prefer house flips: no one staring over your shoulder and such.

Kitchen: BEFORE (Nov 14, 2008)

Kitchen: AFTER (Jan 14, 2009)

Happy Birthday Secret Agent B!

2009-01-15T07:52:00.000-06:00

I, agent wife, have a confession to make. I hired out another secret agent to hijack agent B's blog and publish the following post on agent B's birthday. I had to incorporate another field agent in the event that I am in labor or at the hospital the day I wanted this posted. I wrote this a week in advance, knowing that we could be rushing away to have our third child any day now or a couple of weeks from now- heaven forbid- ha,ha.
------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Happy Birthday Agent B!

I am so thankful for this man in my life. He really is a gift from the CEO.

I wasn't boy crazy growing up and never dated through high school, but at some point knew that I wanted a husband, so I prayed for one and prayed specifically. Since I am tall, I asked for someone my height or taller. Since I always thought my dad and siblings had far more interesting coloring than I did (I have brown hair, eyes and skin), I asked that my husband would look more multi-colored like them in physical appearance and I asked that the CEO would give me someone who would be a strong Christian- like a preacher or elder or someone of that spiritual depth and maturity.

Agent B is exactly my height (we've measured), his coloring is more similar to my dad's than my own brother's is and he is the strong Christ follower that I asked for, but never imagined.

Being very religious and performance, type A personality that our society and the institutional church loves, I imagined the same in a husband. Agent B is none of those. If anything he is the opposite. This baffled me some and at times still causes friction. Performance christianity and status quo are comfortable, easy and falsely satisfying. I fed on it for many years, but agent B has introduced me to realness, humility, real relationships, listening to others and loving more than my reflection or religiosity.

Where I and so many other church members saw the performing religious man as being the strong Christian, the CEO sees the heart. Where I studied missions and then went into ministry with all my religious garb (that I was taught to ditch), Agent B lived it naturally. I created bible groups called "friends", while Agent B was a friend. I scheduled people in, while he hung out. I most often have an agenda, while he most often has love.

I'm so glad the CEO is smarter than I am and gave me the desires of my heart, even though I didn't really know who that was. I'm so glad I obeyed and married someone I hardly knew because the CEO said to, even though I had an inkling this man did not fit my preconceived notion of a "strong Christian" as we entered our very short engagement and planned our lives together. I'm so glad that agent B has been patient with me, understanding and a sharpening agent in my spiritual life. He has and is helping me to become real, transparent and truly love the CEO, His ways and those He puts in our lives instead of the appearance of religiosity, performance and the cheap thrills that commercialized club members have found so appealing and (falsely) fulfilling. We read blogs and are being exposed to ideas that are "revolutionary" in Christian living and at each point, I have two reactions- the Lover within me cries out- "yes!!! this is true kingdom life" and the other part is "this is the agent life".

I also love how agent B and I are enjoying growing older. I know it sounds weird in our youth centered society, but we are finding great delight in growing in experience and maturity and building up a wealth of memories and relationships together. It's really pretty awesome!

Happy Birthday Agent B! from your greatest fans-- agent wife and kids

May our adventure continue with the grace, direction and love of the CEO. May He bless your socks off this year and bring us into greater depth in Him and in all that He has for us.

new library

2009-01-10T22:23:00.003-06:00

Something really positive happened within blocks of our neighborhood. The fair mother city opened a new library.

This is beyond amazing for several reasons. 1) A local non-prof (“Friends of the fair mother city library”) did their own funding to make everything it happen including the payroll for new employees, etc. So unbelievably, Tax payers won’t be billed for this, not that I would mind doing so. 2) The city counsel and hoopla gallery created little if any red tape for this library to exist. It literally was OKed and built within months. 3) They put this branch on the city’s north side (traditionally the old side of town thus, “poor” side). And finally 4) the new library is in the run-down vacant shopping center two blocks from my house.

That in and of itself is amazing. This shopping center has eleven store fronts, but only three are occupied: two dollar stores and a bingo hall. There’s also a discount pizza chain and our bank. But the bank is closing that branch in March. I’m not pleased with that at all.

But now there is something positive and possibly life giving: a brand new library.

My entire family and I were present for the grand opening complete with 500 others, a circus hoopla, shucking and jiving city politicians, a clown looking like Minnie Pearl, and a juggler who dropped an egg on the new carpet.

I love jugglers. I can juggle, a little.

I raise my mug of hot mint tea to all those who made this library possible. Thank you for bringing something excellent to our forgotten corner of the fair mother city.

the temple of mammon

2009-01-05T22:28:00.000-06:00

During the brief three and a half year history of the agent b files, we’ve been very militant about posting reports strictly on the happenings of and around agent b. No frills or fluff. Except for that one time Christmas greeting of the Star Wars Holiday Special in just five minutes. Oh man, I am so funny.

But generally, we try to stick to the mission here and not follow whatever is fab in blogland.

Yet for the last few years, my disdain for consumerism and stuff has grown as rapid as my interest in social justice. Why should I have the vast availability of cheep shit to buy if it means raping the world? Or something like that.

And for crying out loud. The texts I read about my god claimed he had little or nothing when he walked the earth with us.

Admittedly, I use to mildly defend Wal-Mart and similar places. I figured if you are going to boycott Wal-Mart, then you’ll have to boycott everyone. Because they all carry the same slave labored crap made in China and Bangladesh. Just because Wally is the biggest target doesn’t mean the little guys should get off the hook.

I admire brother Shane and co since they go the extreme to make their own clothes and such. Don’t know if I’ll ever get to that point. But all last year I bought clothes from Goodwill. And it was fun. I figured second hand is second best to making your own.

Also – as a field agent embedded within the poverty culture, I figured since the local poor folks go to Wal-Mart, then so should I. Why should I act more uppity than my friends?

But the poor drink sodas like no tomorrow. And I’ve barely drank sodas since 1994. So there blows that logic. And if the poor were going to jump off a cliff I probably shouldn’t follow. Or something like that.

Bottom line: I am not a fan of our nation’s consumer culture. I’m quite vocal against our fat-ass whiney babyness. I refuse to bow to the god of convenience and the god of entitlement.

After September 11, 2001, our president addressed the nation and suggested we all go shopping as a means to help the country. Like people who hide their deep seated issues with spending money or eating or drug doing.

Disgusting.

I try to buy as little as possible. And when I do spend, I prefer local business owners who offer various services and give back to the locals. Blah blah blah.

I’m not militant or preachy about all this. But I am more serious than before. Since I was born and raised in a consumer society, I figure this anti-consumerism lifestyle seems the best way to subversively live the gospel within this culture.

But my primary reason for sharing all of this...

Since about 2006 or so Agent Wife and I have received dozens of Wal-Mart gift cards. Christmas gifts, random thank yous, whatever. $25, $50, $100. Even a $150 once

We are thankful and don’t want to complain. I’d REALLY like to avoid Wal-Mart all together. Forever. But we can’t. Because we keep getting this damn currency for the temple of mammon.

I don't know what to make of this. Lord god, help me.

* If you have 20 minutes and can stomach the peppy narrator and her mentions of global warming and toxic breast milk, the story of stuff makes a good classroom-type lesson of our consumeristic godlessness.

jedi padawan #004

2008-12-30T22:03:00.002-06:00

(before and after shots of the front exterior)

Every step of our current house flipping project has gone well with no indication otherwise.

We are approximately two weeks from completion, assuming no more major US holidays or personal ordeals distract us.

My wife is about to give birth to our third. So, maybe some more personal ordeals await us.

I have enjoyed every minute of this and hope to continue with more partnership projects. As goofily sentimental as this may sound, I might actually miss my little corner of White Utopia. The property is totally bad-ass with plenty of outdoor-type nooks-n-crannies to take my ever coveted cigar break (like the tornado shelter we used on super cold days). Even the Jedi Master has helped resurrect my twelve year hibernation of pipe smoking. It’s hard to envision smoking any other place or time.

I gather that White Utopia has a weird bent to it. People WANT to live there. I mean, it’s weird. But who’s complaining? This is the first house I’ve worked on with the Jedi Master where different people literally stop by daily to ask us about the house. All are inquiring for themselves or “some friends”.

I’m not holding my breath over any of those inquiries. I'm sure it's small town nosiness - as in, locals just wanting to see the old “Richardson house” or whatever and see what those boys are doing to it, etc.

But in recent months I’ve leaned there are two kinds of people in the greater metropolitan fair mother city region: those who will die in White Utopia and those who are DYING to die in White Utopia.

This town has a strange attraction to it. And with the way the whole project has gone, I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up selling it word of mouth, sans realtor.

agent gathering 2008

2008-12-26T23:16:00.000-06:00

If the CEO can pay some guy’s tax burden via a fishes mouth, then surely he can provide G13 and myself $50 for beer, burgers, more beer, and coffee.

The CEO of the universe is a good god. And to all you naysayers: don’t ask me why he didn’t provide for our gas to meet in Lubbock via the fair mother city and Amarillo. Who knows these answers to the deep questions of the universe. Sheesh.

But none the less, I met up with fellow Bostonian agent cohort G13 (aka the disability resourcer) in the windiest city on earth, where money literally falls in parking lots.

As mentioned three years ago, I am willing to drive across subdued terrain for 3 hours to drink from the wells of encouragement and friendship. The fair mother city has been a lonely outpost during much of my tenure. I can use outsider views and words into my life right now.

Special agent G13 is a genuine friend with a gifted cut-throat pastoral calling. His low tolerance for drama and bullshit make him the kind of pastor that’s all-too needed in faith gatherings. Kind of like that jackass judge from American idol mixed with Henri Nouwen. Firm caress.

I tip my lousy Texas Amber Ziegenbach to you G13. A rare breed and honest friend.

castles made of sand

2008-12-24T16:54:00.002-06:00

(one of those sappy reflective posts)

As the CEO of the universe gives my family requested fruit for our past endeavors, and as the poverty culture I’ve grown to know and love slowly slips through my fingers, I ponder my calling and future.

I’m sure I’ll be an undercover agent to some degree for the rest of my life. But it’s clear that any remnants in my life of the old izzy group ministry are long gone. Hanging with the homeless and working-poor from within a social ministry apparatus was invaluable training none the less. But fumbling around in disguise as a manual laborer is my deal these days.

Surprise attack. Killed me in my sleep.

I’m loving it. But there’s little time to be with the disability check receiving folks of society. So it goes.

My new work schedule is killer. And my daily cohorts are enjoyable. Chuckie even gave me an unexpected Christmas present: a best-of Jimi Hendrix CD. That is the most incredible thing ever. I am listening to the Star Spangled Banner as I write this. We take cigar breaks twice a day, which I often enjoy my ever favorite Nat Sherman cigarillos.

As a child I promised myself that I would never become a tobacco fiend. But something about manually busting your ass and being part of a step by step metamorphosis makes you enjoy if not expect good reflective cigar smoking.

And as mentioned earlier, Agent Wife and I have begun the process of putting in our request for assignment change. It could be a long wait, assuming it ever happens.

But I assume it will.

So long 2008. You melted into the sea. Eventually.

testimony #041

2008-12-21T00:01:00.002-06:00

Agent Wife & I celebrated 10 years together on Friday.

With two toddlers, limited resources, and an overall consciousness for avoiding ridiculous amounts of money spent for our mere pleasure, we are thankful for friends.

The chef and his wife the nurse offered to spoil us with one of their cool hoity toity meals at their kitchen. In addition to the unique food, it included good beer, great coffee, and a cigar. Four of my favorite things.

And Agent Wife's friends kept our kids for the night. That's something that we never get.

So, I'm thankful to the CEO for all of that...as well as 10 great years of marriage.

the amputation files

2008-12-13T17:36:00.003-06:00

Obi-Wan is still in the hospital. And he is scheduled to have his lower leg removed this Tuesday or Wednesday.

He is in very good spirits about the whole ordeal. It probably helps that he has gone through this exact thing almost two years ago.

I cannot comment on or predict what his future holds. Two years ago after his first leg amputation I was convinced that he would have to move to a nursing home. But back then, his estranged son Lamont had moved in to care for him...until Obi-Wan ran him off.

So this time around, I don’t know. Hopefully Obi-Wan will fly below the radar of Adult Protective Services during his rehab period.

the acid queen

2008-12-08T21:57:00.002-06:00

Being an undercover agent is not all hams and plaques. Sometimes there’s real human nonsense (ie: drama) that must be waded through like work boots through a shit tank.

I will spare all of the ridiculous details involving Obi-Wan’s long time aid Nurse Gollum. If interested, the bore-fest can be found here, here, here, here...AND here.

Nurse Gollum retired and fell ill some time ago. Her oldest daughter The Acid Queen has pretty much taken Nurse Gollum’s place in the manipulative and snooping role within Obi-Wan’s life.

Both Agent Wife and myself had run-ins with The Acid Queen today, basically involving my handling Obi-Wan’s checkbook while he’s in the hospital. I am the keeper of the purse at Obi-Wan’s request.

But unfortunately, The Acid Queen has signature power on his account – a fact Obi-Wan would like to change whenever he gets released from the hospital.

It all boils down to The Acid Queen being jealous that Obi-Wan has shifted his trust to me and my family over the last several years.

Oh joy!

jedi padawan #003

2008-12-01T21:27:00.002-06:00

Have I mentioned that I love house flipping? I think I’ve finally figured out why.

Transformation.

And that’s it. I mean hey, something flips my switch when I get to watch and be a part of something becoming something else.

Changing a house from a piece of shit into something dignified and valuable happens relatively fast, usually about eight weeks. When I was in full-time ministry with poor people, the transformation in people (and myself) was sometimes so slow or small that you rarely saw the change.

Or you certainly saw nothing significant in eight weeks.

Usually it is against jedi code to show a house to any outside individual or party during the eight week operation. And I agree with that code because so few people have any vision or imagination when they’re standing inside an out-dated dilapidated rat-hole.

But I kind of get a kick when people (even my wife) have that “I’m so unimpressed” look when they come inside and see the “before” stage.

Suckers.

The “after” will arrive soon enough.

hospital, again

2008-11-30T14:04:00.002-06:00

Sorry for the delay in this report. My family and I were on Thanksgiving holiday in Houston this past week.

Late Monday afternoon (11/24) Obi-Wan admitted to the local hospital due to the pain in his one remaining leg and foot. This was not an emergency as his doctor had admitted him during a routine visit.

And since my family and I left Tuesday morning, I didn’t get a chance to share until now.

Obi-Wan says the outlook doesn’t look too good. His doctor announced this morning that he would run tests tomorrow to see if amputation is the only solution for his pain.

He’s in good spirits regardless.

the roofers

2008-11-24T22:55:00.001-06:00

Today completed day 6 of the house flipping project in White Utopia. And while Chucky and I finished prepping the exterior for painting, the roofers completed their job in less than two days.

Roofing is one of maybe two areas of house flipping that the jedi master has subbed out to other tradesmen and strongly recommends it. Most roofing companies can do the work better and faster than we could and at a pretty cheap price.

Roofers have always amazed me and I have great respect for them. They blow in and out of a job site like dignified mad men, work in ridiculous temperatures and crazy heights, all while making pretty low wages.

If Texas was a Hindu society, roofers would be considered one of the lowest caste groups. Yet they band together like brothers, cracking jokes and insults at each other like only siblings can – all while busting their ass in dangerous and uncomfortable surroundings.

As an agent, I’ve been to their backyard BBQs and in their homes. Today, I got to see them in action as we worked on the same job site.

Within the roofing caste came its own social order. There is a boss, as expected. But also there was the lowly cleanup guy on the ground. He seemed a little mentally slow. Or maybe his brain was fried from something by choice. Either way, some fat-ass on the roof was like the team bully, verbally slamming around the clean up guy. So it goes.

Social order within the lowest order, yet, a brotherhood.

open letter: disregard.

2008-11-22T10:21:00.002-06:00

For those of you following my expose on dying and aging church properties...

The local newspaper reported that UBC's sale is off.

I think that's unfortunate. Walgreens could have done some good for the impoverished neighborhood in that location.

It'll only cost a quarter of a million dollars to fix the air condition though...

open letter to university baptist

2008-11-19T22:08:00.001-06:00

Hello. My heartfelt congrats on your decision to sell off your property. This is a huge step forward for all in the fair mother city.

I know change must be difficult. But I also know the impoverished neighborhood that your property resides in would welcome the change.

Razing your 1200 seat stained glass auditorium and four-storey “education” building to make way for a Walgreens would be an enormous plus to that community. I mean, instead of your once-a-year Fall Festival (from 6p-8p) the neighbors can now walk over to pick up their Medicaid funded prescriptions. Walgreens could actually become a community center by default. God knows one is needed.

Sorry to come across like a jackass here. But really, rumor has it that your membership has dwindled to like 50-75 plus some 150 college students who come for lunch. (That’s great, by the way. Your calling as a college outreach is obvious. Go for it. I’d bet Hardin-Simmons would gladly loan you space to function as a church for their students.)

But really...a 1200 seat monstrosity that is rumored to need over $200,000 to rebuild the air condition structure alone?!? Why did you hang on to it for so long? Were you hoping that money would show up so you could maintain the social club facilities for a mere 75 people?

I know, I know. The low membership is not your fault. I’m sure it’s a mixture of Barna’s predictions as well as bad seeds sown by the pastor who ran off with his secretary back in the 1950s just before that building was finished. Or so, that’s what The Son told me when I worked for Son and Dad.

And that four-storey building...a guy I used to minister with, The Bossman, once told me that it contained not one, but TWO commercial kitchens. Yes. Commercial. As in, restaurant or cafeteria efficient equipment. That building could have fed and housed every homeless person in town one way or another. But that was just a weird idea I had years ago when you and the Happy Days Community Church (where I was once employed) talked about trading facilities years ago.

Over all, I applaud you for moving on. Normally I’m not a fan of mega-chain corporate consumerism. But Walgreens would be a practical outreach to your low-income northside neighborhood.

All the best,

Agent B

*photo by the Reporter-News staff

White Utopia project: day one

2008-11-17T20:42:00.003-06:00

So far, so good. Everything appears to be going well and has the potential to stay that way. I feel like I am getting closer to taking on the jedi trials and thus advancing past that of a padawan. At record speed.

But today, the local social scene bloomed. In one day I: 1) met the local gossip who shared some dirt on recent residents of our house. 2) was whistled or whooped at by some local redneck chicks in a pickup (or maybe that was meant for Chuckie) and 3) been given more than enough Texas-style approving head-nods by locals driving by.

Welcome to White Utopia. Not bad for one day. And we weren't even trying to meet anyone.

And oh yea...gossip neighbor mentioned she has church friends who are wanting to move to White Utopia from the fair mother city. Not a bad thing to hear in our position.

UPDATE: No one made mention of my misspelling of "project" in the earlier version of this report. See...small town brilliance is influencing me.

things are going to start happening to me now

2008-11-15T14:58:00.001-06:00

As of Friday, I am officially an owner of property in White Utopia: a small and slightly uppity bedroom community of the fair mother city where it’s legal to marry your sister.

Yeah. I need to quit it with the small-town jokes. I mean hey, I could make money here.

After thorough inspection with the jedi master, the property seems to be better than we expected. Central heat & air work fine. No apparent or major plumbing problems. And the two car garage/shop is an actual shop: a mechanics dream complete with engine hoist and two storage rooms with shelves.

Cha-CHING.

There is no indication that our budget would be off. It is now a matter of doing it and hoping it sells within a reasonable amount of time. I credit the CEO’s guidance in every step thus far. Thank you CEO.

The absolute weirdness in all of this is my agent calling and assignment in the fair mother city...

Agent Wife and I are convinced we are in the beginnings of a major change. We are putting in a request to the CEO for an assignment change to a different location. The location is yet to be made public and probably won’t be for some time. So endure my vagueness please.

It is difficult to explain our feelings and assumptions at this time. As of this date I have spent over half my life in the fair mother city. I have fallen in love with a side of this city few know. It’s poverty culture saddens me greatly, especially due to it’s close proximity to it’s religious culture.

And Agent Wife and I are huge believers in being missionaries in a single location for the long haul. So why would we up and leave someday?

Possibly because our time is due. And/or this was a mere training season. All of this makes sense to us as we step back and view the big picture of our lives and desires as well as reviews of our dream notebooks, etc.

About a year ago Agent Wife and I contemplated why we still lived here as we had no job or family ties to Abilene. We narrowed our answer down to relationships. And we narrowed those relationships down to two: Obi-Wan and AW’s little sister Princess.

The relationship with Princess ended earlier this year. So that leaves the aging Obi-Wan. As of now, I have no plans to move as long as he is alive and living across the street or here in town. But I have long felt that I’d be released into something should he ever pass on while I’m around.

This move is not a pipe dream. There appears to be an actual opportunity opening up for us elsewhere.

And my heart is slipping away from this city daily. I no longer want to invest here anymore, time-wise, spiritually, and even financially in some areas.

But for some reason, the jedi padawan gig of house-flipping seems to be moving great. So I’ll ride that wave and give it all I got.

I just don’t have it for the fair mother city. Anymore.

non report

2008-11-08T17:41:00.000-06:00

This report about nothing is just a simple ‘checking in’.

Life is still going well for the agent household. The jedi padawan gig is still at large, yet dragging. A bathroom remodel job for some desperate housewife has drug out beyond ridiculousness. We are now in the fine toothed detail comb stage and it will hopefully end in a day or two. Meanwhile, the house that I myself am financing for our next flip job is taking forever to close on, thanks to the bank that owns it and other human incompetencies somewhere. But all should fumble together this week somehow.

Some days, I wonder if I’m still an undercover agent at all. I mean, I work full days and rarely hang with the poverty culture as much as I used to. And also...this “agent b” veil is getting thinner. So it goes.

But in the local neighborhood (the undisclosed location we call home), things are moving I suppose.

Obi-Wan and I see each other throughout the week, but Sundays are usually certain. We drink instant coffee, he preaches, I run and pick up his groceries, etc. Health-wise, he seems to be going strong.

Meanwhile, the Sanfords next door seem to be harboring terrorists. Their house has become more of a gangster hangout.

The Tiger and The Bulldog (who really need to move the hell out and grow up) have been running with rougher and rougher crowds. Some days they work jobs. But most days they just hang around and take drives in The Bulldog’s new ride: and early 90’s suburban.

I’ve always wondered why the CEO of the universe put my family and theirs in such close proximity and friendship. We really come from different planets I think.

mission accomplished (I think)

2008-10-30T20:37:00.002-05:00

Today I took the day off to attend to business involving the house we’re flipping in White Utopia. We close on it next week.

So in between running errands, I took the two bags of tracts and went to the office of the mega church that the tract-passing crew (TPC) operates from. I didn’t know what to expect, but my plan was to meet someone from their operation face-to-face and make a polite plea for them to begin their own Evang-e-droppings cleanup operation.

Instead, I learned that the TPC does not have an office at this church (which happens to be the same mega church mentioned two posts earlier). But the secretary regularly contacts them and so forth. So I quickly scribbled out a note making my friendly plea, explaining that I was a mere background helper to their ministry, and left it with the two bags of tracts, showing that I did indeed collect these over the past year and I’m not making this up. In the end I signed it agent b, as opposed to my real name.

I don’t know if signing my alias was improper. Had I met them face-to-face I would have used my real name...out of necessity. The TPC’s leader and I have a brief history together. And I wanted to come clean and not hide behind veils, so it seems.

I have no idea if anything will come of this. But I feel that there’s closure. And I needed that.

evang-e-droppings: coda

2008-10-26T23:18:00.000-05:00

It’s official. Today I decided to quit the Evang-e-dropping eradication operation due to lack of time.

As mentioned earlier, my actual human relationships are suffering due to my increased work schedule. So, in the place of tract collecting I will be hanging out with Obi-Wan or whoever drops into my life on Sunday mornings.

I don’t really have anything poetic to wax about this one year plus of tract collecting and trash clean up that hasn’t already been written in previous reports. I think the CEO of the universe has shown me much during this season. And now it’s over. So it goes.

I do wish someone would continue it. And I believe that someone should be a member of the actual crew that passes these tracts out in the first place. Every Saturday night this crew preys on patrons at the door of a local nightclub. Maybe they could come back in the daylight and collect them from the parking lots.

For over a year, I have saved the tracts I’ve collected. Two bags full. I am thinking the time is now to meet my opponents in the faith face-to-face.

Opponents in the faith. That sounds terrible. Anyway, I’m not one to chicken out and mail a load of tracts to their office with some cute note or something. I should meet them face to face and tell them what I was doing: picking up their trash.

I’ll be pleasant about it. And I won’t go into my feelings of tracts in general. I suck at debates. I’ll just say hey, I think it would be a good testimony to not leave behind any trash. Could you please pick up where I’m leaving off?

But then I’d have to find time during the week to actually try to meet up with them. We’ll see.

The operation: it was fun while it lasted. Maybe the kids and I will go out again once in a while.

under the sun

2008-10-23T07:11:00.002-05:00

There is nothing new in the fair mother city. The same 'ole same 'ole.

What has been will be again.

Reports of the largest megachurch in town doubling the size of their facility with a $9 million bank loan isn't surprising. So it goes.

If George Barna's predictions of 70% of all believers living a faith outside the sunday morning social club by 2025 is true, I wonder what buildings like these will be used for by mid century?

All is meaningless.

tales from the zen #001

2008-10-16T21:54:00.000-05:00

This is a new series of possible reports that come to you from The Zen.

The Zen is a place I fall into when I am doing some repetitive task, usually involving loud tools or power equipment while wearing goggles and ear muffs. And it’s like I forget where I’m at because being behind goggles and having loud noise near you yet muffled launches you to another planet. Or The Zen. The CEO sometimes communicates to me in The Zen.

But most of the time I just think up weird stuff.

Recently while working for the jedi master cutting tile, thus under the influence of the wet saw and angle grinder, I thought about the possibility of a future assignment change.

Yes. Me. The guy who has spent half his life in the fair mother city ponders a potential assignment change from headquarters. I’m leaving it that vague. This move may never happen. Or if it does, I’m guessing it will be a few years or so.

A few years back, when we peacefully parted ways with the izzy group ministry, Agent Wife and I pondered why we were still in the fair mother city. We had no jobs or family here. Despite a myriad of friendships, our reason for being here seem to revolve around two vital relationships: Princess and Obi-Wan.

Princess was Agent Wife’s little sister with the big sisters program. They have been friends since 1999. But that relationship recently closed one way or another.

So we strongly feel that we are still here for our friendship with Obi-Wan.

I find it odd that I’d even consider leaving the fair mother city since I admire missionaries who stay within their outreach culture for the long haul. ie: forever.

But recently I’ve been looking at our time in the FMC as a possible training period as opposed to a life-time call. Maybe I’m right about this. Maybe not.

Either way, my plea to the CEO is that I don’t want to die here. God, help me.

twenty four minutes in the fringes

2008-10-10T22:41:00.000-05:00

Being wrapped up in my current life of a house-flipping jedi padawan has blurred my past. Or at least I’ve begun to forget how the deep trenches of the poverty culture is where I had once camped daily.

I’ve recently been reminded twice of my past with the izzy group ministry* some five to eight years ago.

1) Recently in the obituaries I learned of Jim Diddy’s passing. Jim was one of the hanger-ons in the Willy & Patches crowd. He was a notorious drunk and engager of escapism and the mole lifestyle like his buddies. I last saw Jim at either Willy’s or Patches’ funeral. I can’t remember which.

Amazingly enough, the obit mentioned his years of alcohol abuse. It also mentioned that in recent years Jim gave his life to Christ and battled his demons one by one until they were no more. He went on mission trips to mexico with his church as recently as last summer.

Thank you CEO for Jim’s change in life. And thanks for showing me the rest of the story.

2) After work today I drove by a slum house where I often have seen Georgia Rusty sitting in the yard with a 40 ouncer. Rusty was there along with Double O. I did a u-turn and pulled over to sit with these old friends and their watered-down brews.

Man. I was in another world. I almost forgot what life was like on the extreme fringes. While I was catching up with Rusty & Double O and Maria (Rusty’s longtime girlfriend and legendary local schizo), some legless guy in a wheelchair kept yelling to Rusty to buy some of his weed. The wheelchair guy had a leg missing below the knee. And I swear I saw a partial bone sticking out, like maybe the doctors didn’t fold the skin over all the way.

And some other elderly lady walked by then sat down in the grass with a beer and stared off away from the street. I assume she had mental problems (or demons, take your pick).

I watched a cop drive by slowly and gaze at us, like maybe this was a house that was always patrolled.

Double O, a notorious drunk himself, filled me in on the details of his grandkids who have been born since we last hung out. Rusty openly shared of his addictions. Just alcohol and pot. But he quit all that “other stuff”. Needle doing and so forth. Both guys kept fantasizing about some government check that might pop into their lives soon.

I just told them about my children they have never met and how I’m remodeling houses now.

The culture didn’t shock me and I adjusted pretty quick. But I’m very rusty within the far fringes. And it was weird that I was looked upon as the "church guy" with their apologetic behavior and so forth. I've always hated getting the church guy treatment.

I may need to go hang out there more. They invited me to.

*izzy group – nickname for the ministry I was once director and associate pastor of. It was a hands-on ministry to the local poverty culture with various apparatuses.

photo - Gary Kazanjian / AP file

jedi padawan #002

2008-10-06T21:51:00.000-05:00

As stated recently, my master plan is advancing forward at light speed.

Currently, I am an official full-time employee of the jedi master. And that is a very good thing because I am learning much and enjoying the work tremendously.

I am getting less awkward with tools and at least looking like I know what I’m doing more and more daily.

Just a year ago, I pondered my existence through the desert wastelands of the bible-belt. Now, I drive a truck and wear a tool belt. I am a bad-ass. And that is my existence.

And my big announcement:

As of today I am now under contract with a realtor to buy our next house flip. Yes – I, the young padawan in home remodeling and trades work is now an equal partner on the next project as financier...or something.

And the CEO of the universe employs his ironic humor as this property is located in White Utopia.

Yes. White Utopia: the fair mother city’s eastward bedroom community that I love to loathe and make fun of - a mere microcosm of the fair mother city with heavy magnification on wealth, religion, Caucasian seclusion, and haves vs. have-nots. Or maybe I’m too critical.

Good one CEO. I’m still shocked that my first would be there.

Oh well. Viva la Whitey it is!

Thank you CEO.

obi-wan sermon files

2008-10-05T15:27:00.000-05:00

Due to my busy and quasi-excrutiating work weeks of late, the evang-e-dropping eradication operation has been put on the backburner. I have not planned to quit collecting christian tracts from nightclub parking lots just yet.

But since I have so little time and energy to maintain actual human relationships during the week, I have shifted my Sunday morning time to being with either my family, Obi-Wan, or whoever else shows up.

This morning it was time with Obi-Wan. And I forgot how he can preach, albeit unintentional. I believe accidental preaching is the best kind of preaching.

The sermon topic this morning was almost straight from the Uncle George handbook: the CEO provides.

My friend, elderly neighbor, and Redd Fox stunt double Obi-Wan went on for almost an hour about how in recent years he asks the CEO for everything. And one way or another it shows up, be it some piddly little odd job needing attention performed by me or Mr. Mackey, or not having the energy to cook and suddenly someone is bringing a plate of food through his door, or whatever.

It’s easy and overly tempting to rely on ourselves when we’re young and able-bodied. But my elderly mentor Obi-Wan has taught me a faith level I have only imagined.

make history: join poverty

2008-09-27T14:09:00.000-05:00

My local cohort Jack recently posted an excellent point of view on the “making poverty history” trend (found here).

His basic gist: Jesus never commissioned us to rid the world of poverty. Instead, he encouraged us to join poverty.

I assume this is because not having readily available resources can be an excellent witness to those who do not know jesus. Not relying on our own means will demonstrate faith as well as loyalties.

My question is: what does joining poverty look like to those of us: in wealthy Western societies? With families with children? In the social club/church culture?

Are we to quit our jobs, sell our houses, and raise our babies in the dirt on the street corner?

Just questions.

pruning boy: the final chapter

2008-09-20T16:47:00.000-05:00

This has been a long time coming in the life of agent b: the finale of my employment with Son & Dad Tree Service, Inc. It’s like the end of a TV sitcom. Except not as hyped but equally as shallow.

Basically, it ended like this – last month during a routine tree spray season (ie: pruning boy: orkin man edition) I saw how the future of my jedi padawan gig was growing rapidly with an indefinite amount of work in sight. Since The Son has a knack for having me waste an entire 4 hour morning doing only 2 and a half hours of work, and since at that moment I was being held captive aboard the tree spray rig for 8 straight hours and missing all kinds of experience with the jedi master...I told him to begin finding my replacement.

Normally I am a huge advocate of giving an official “two weeks notice”. But working for Son & Dad wasn’t a normal job. And The Son found a replacement for me who I’m sure he’ll love – a Baptist ministry major college student. I mean hey, this kid knows the secret handshakes and so forth. They’ll get along great.

I was slowly weeded out of the “worker” position, which is exactly what I wanted. And I’m glad The Son found a suitable replacement for me as I didn’t want to leave him high and dry. The new blood and I did some mowing jobs a few days ago together for The Son who was out of town. That was my official last day, in my eyes.

Welcome to the migrant worker seat, new blood.

So, I tip my bottle of Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout to The Son, a halfway decent employer...who never offered a raise after a year and a half. And changed the subject when I mentioned a raise on my year anniversary with him.

And to The Dad, the 90 year old company founder who inspired me to write the book “Mowing With Dementia” after job upon job of following you with a mower to fix all of your landscaping mishaps...and watching you mow the same strip of grass five times with no end in sight.

And to the CEO of the universe: who, via a dream, showed me to take this job. It humbled me beyond belief, which I'm sure I needed during this vast desert period of my life. My adventures with Son & Dad were both priceless life-lessons and a wealth of comedy rolled into one.

Goodbye brown uniform shirt. Goodbye Three-Stooges antics. I’ll never forget you.

the pastor b files

2008-09-14T23:12:00.001-05:00

I made a brief cameo within traditional pastoral duties recently during a hospital visit.

My next door neighbor Frieda Sanford’s sister & brother-in-law were in a bad wreck a few nights ago. They live out in the country. Upon returning from Friday night bingo, some drunk driver gal rammed into the back of a trailer and swerved into their lane. They hit her head-on at 65 mph.

The drunk driver died instantly. Frieda’s sister Susie walked away with a bunch of bruises. Her husband Uncle Jerry is in the hospital with 4 or 5 broken ribs.

They both humbly give thanks to the CEO for their lives and figure there’s some reason they are still on this earth. I pray that the CEO will show them what that is.

There is still a lot of pain for both of them: much physical pain for Uncle Jerry and much emotional pain for Susie because of that woman’s death.

Your communications on their behalf are appreciated.

jesus doesn't give a sh** who you vote for

2008-09-07T14:34:00.000-05:00

Every four years here in the US it’s the same ole nonsense: the political game. Everybody rallies up behind their team and hopes for a win.

The religion of politics rears its head and reminds those of us in undercover operations that faith in jesus usually takes a back seat to faith in a candidate, political ideal, or nation.

Unfortunately, from my christian friends I often receive these poorly written FWD emails on how one of the two major candidates is the anti-christ or something.

And their email digresses into this pathetic plea to vote a certain way. Like maybe if we believers don’t all go out as a mob and vote one way or another, then god will punish us by letting our country (thus, the entire universe) go to hell.

In a handbasket.

Come on. Give god some kind of credit. I’m sure he’s not that stupid or powerless. Like he’d give a bunch of voters the responsibility to alter the fate of mankind.

This is not an endorsement of any candidate nor is it a pro or anti vote message. If you feel called to vote one way or so, then do it. But with the mission jesus had on this earth, I am convinced he would not have spent much (if any) time on politics.

Maybe we should do likewise.

So quit circulating the FWD’d christian magazine editor endorsements and rumor-like “did you hear” emails while you enjoy your wealth and freedom to buy your slave labored goods from the mega marts.

Stay true to the walk, not the political race.

the update files

2008-08-28T22:40:00.000-05:00

Checking in:

Some days I wonder if the “agent b” era of my life is coming to a close. Not that I would quit living subversively within the poverty culture. But writing about it on the computer is waning fast.

My new found life in the avoid-the-computer arena has obviously added to this wane. And so has house flipping.

But I'm hanging on for now. I think.

Padawan status:

My jedi training is moving ahead at light speed. Being matched up with my jedi master house flipper is truly an answered prayer and a crafting from the CEO. My training transcends simple carpentry and trades skills, but also real estate and business skills.

My current maneuver and thus communications requests to the CEO is possibly my becoming the financier of the next house flip.

Correct: I could be visiting a banker or two soon about a future house project with the jedi master, making he and I equal partners in that particular endeavor.

I ask you to join me in praying that this timing is correct and thus, the banker gives the A-OK and therefore, the loan.

Hop aboard the fellow-ship:
...complete with fool-ass luggage.

No, seriously. I’ve always thought the word fellowship to be a complete cover-blower. I mean really. Yes, it’s a real word with multiple uses according to the dictionary. But how often is it used in everyday conversation outside of church talk?

I recently ran into an acquaintance from the Happy Daze Community Church I was once employed at. He cuts to the chase and asks, “where are you fellowshipping these days?”

Imagine if you were me.

How should agent b honestly answer that question?

employer spotlight #002

2008-08-23T22:27:00.001-05:00

In this edition of the seldom received, highly coveted employer spotlight award, we acknowledge the jedi master, for whom I train under in the house flipping arena.

Note: this award is to bring out positive news from local employers in the fair mother city - a city who is chock full of tight fisted (ie: "cheap") business owners who mostly happen to be christian too.

The jedi master recently closed on a house that I was a small part of a couple of months ago. It was the one I mostly volunteered at after he notified me that he could no longer afford extra help that I was filling in for.

This house was a fair sized profit maker. The day of closing, both Chucky and I received sizable and very unexpected bonuses.

A business owner profits and thus chooses to share the wealth with those who helped him get there. What a concept. Thank you CEO.

And here's to you, jedi master house flipper, receiver of the second ever agent b employer spotlight award. Enjoy.

jesus doesn't give a sh** about your prosperity

2008-08-18T22:38:00.003-05:00

One of the biggest crocks in the history of the church is this teaching that the god who was born in a feed trough, became a homeless wanderer, then was tortured, humiliated, and murdered, somehow wants you to be materialistic, thus happy.

Or, you know, prosperous.

This is a false message from false preachers, false teachers, and bogus prophets. Have nothing to do with them or their sugar coated words.

There is no die to self in this kind of message because prosperity is a SELF-based message.

Opposing a prosperity message is very unpopular. One assumes that by opposing the feel good prosperity message, the opposite is being embraced and emphasized: poverty. Nonsense.

Jesus does not want you to be rich.

Jesus does not want you to be poor.

Jesus does not want you to be comfortable.

Jesus does not want you to be tortured.

Jesus wants you. Period.

So please christians, do away with your whiney, fat-ass, soda-guzzling, gadget-wanting, compensation-demanding, comfort-driven bullshit.

Thank you for your time.

* I know this doesn’t help when my reading material of late is any and every story I can find on martyrs. I’m fascinated with anyone who is willing to die for a cause. Especially faith. If interested, I recommend Foxes Book of Martyrs for starters.

** I know this doesn’t help when my new pal and work-mate Chucky
(who is not an overtly spiritual minded person nor heavy church goer, but he does join his in-laws at a local church that’s subtly prosperity-laced) mentions in a recent conversation “well I know that jesus wants us to be prosperous”. ?!? Says who? Those North Korean christians who were forced to watch their relatives have their heads run over by a steam roller? I guess they missed that message when signing on to jesus

mr. mackey

2008-08-14T13:34:00.000-05:00

My across the street neighbor Mr. Mackey and his wife Faye are sort of the anomaly of our street.

They do not embrace anything of the poverty culture or mentality. Their house is in better condition compared to the rest of the street. Yet they are not “rich” by American standards and live quite modestly.

Their mannerisms and so forth are very middle class. Mannerisms like...occasionally making a snarky comment about a neighbor or two who parks in the front yard and leaves trash everywhere.

Yard parking and trashy yards: those are two major offenses against the middle class mindset. I think. Or maybe it’s just their generation.

I love the Mackeys a lot. In many ways, they remind me of my parents. Or maybe my wife’s parents. I mean, they are all the same age, go to the same type of church (church of christ), and make the same kinds of snarky comments about yard appearances.

Maybe this is just the culture of 60-somethings who worship at the coc. I don’t know.

Recently, I’ve noticed how I am a lot like Mr. Mackey. Or, I am becoming like him.

First, Mackey is a cabinet maker by trade. Although he’s been known to do other various trades jobs like general contracting for home renovations which he uses me on occasion. Recently, he and his wife quit their paper route after nearly 20 years. They grew tired of the early morning hours yet they feared losing the steady income. So they confided in me that they were taking a leap of faith and quitting the paper route.

Now he’s got so much work that he can barely keep up. Thank you CEO.

Anyway, Mr. Mackey’s history is that he was once a young preacher in the coc. His first (and last) preaching gig out of college was in some small town in Louisiana in the late 1960’s.

He said that preaching was fine, but the church was tough – a bunch of old rednecks and so forth.

Mackey preached there for two years and the church wanted to get rid of him. The final death knell: Mackey’s sermon on how they should accept black people into their church.

They kicked him out for that one.

So, the Mackey’s made their way for a new life in the fair mother city enrolling in school. They bought the house they still live in, started a family, and he fell into trades work.

So I’m thinking: beat up by religion, making your own living with your hands. Yeah, I can relate to that.

I’m finding more and more former professional clergy in the trades-world within the fair mother city.

evang-e-droppings #017: anniversary

2008-08-10T23:12:00.001-05:00

We here at the agent b files acknowledge the celebration of the mediocre by making mere mention of the one year anniversary of the Evang-e-dropping Eradication Operation this week.

Woo-hoo.

This operation is still such a dichotomy in my life. I find it silly or absurd. Yet I take this operation seriously and go way out of my way to maintain this act. I miss it when I’m out of town or ill and thus can’t pick up tracts, etc.

The following are some brief recollections of the evang-e-dropping gig over the past year. It is still a coin toss as to whether it has benefited anyone’s life but mine:

Cleaner – There’s at least ONE city block and its surrounding area that is free of guilt induced evangelical outreach tracts. I suppose that’s a good thing. You be the judge. The weekly average pickup is about 30. I have found as much as 60 and as little as 17. I have yet to find any scientific rhyme or reason to these numbers other than windy days equate to fewer tracts. To date I have almost two plastic shopping bags full of tracts in my house. I have yet to know what to do with them. No, I’m not going to put them on people’s cars during their church service.

Gimme some lovin' – In the tract collecting process, I have gathered all trash found on the night club premises and disposed of it. I have no idea if club owners or employees have taken notice, nor do I care. I am concerned if I have been caught on their security cameras though.

Canada would be proud – Beginning on new years 2008, my family and I have begun recycling. The fair mother city has several easy access locations to collect glass, plastic, tin, aluminum, newspapers, and cardboard. So, I also carried this over to the Evang-e-dropping gig. It makes it a little confusing, collecting tracts, recyclables, trash and keeping them separate. I think this operation sort of inspired me to take up recycling both on the operation and at home as I have hands-on experience with how much crap we produce and dispose of.

New friends – To date, two complete total strangers who stumbled across this blog have joined me on the operation. I am honored that someone would join in with this, so thank you.

Least of these – Being out on the streets again has briefly put me in touch with our local homeless society, whom I once had deep in-roads with five years ago. My wife and I miss having a meeting place where we can meet on common ground. Maybe someday.

Ground control to major tom – About 90% of the time, I am solo on the operation. And that’s fine with me as I look forward to the communication with the CEO. And tract collecting provides ample time for that

Thank you CEO, for giving me the grace to maintain and celebrate the absurd. Just say the word and I'll drop this like Oprah on a baked ham. Otherwise, I look forward to our chat over tracts next week.

padawan #001: demo

2008-08-06T22:39:00.001-05:00

I am having a blast on the jedi padawan gig. It’s only part time, so I’m allowed up to 25 or 30 hours a week. I wish I could be there a full 40 hours. I really REALLY wish I could drop the pruning boy gig with Son & Dad Tree Service like a rock. Maybe in due time.

I joined this current project with the jedi master from day one. We started with a cruddy house and are transforming it into something livable and sell-able.

The first step in the process is demo (as in demolition). Destroying the old. Violently removing everything that is not staying. Taking it away by force.

Typical demo tools are: hammer, various pry-bars, and a sawzall. Sledge hammers and circular saws make cameos on occasion.

Demo can take several days, depending how much transformation will take place.

This week I found myself in “the zen” several times.

The zen: wearing safety goggles, ear muffs, and operating something loud and repetitive.

The CEO of the universe communicates to me during the zen quite often, even when the zen involved swinging a sledge hammer at a cast iron tub. That was a virgin experience for me.

I find it no coincidence that the CEO shows me the importance of the demo process during the zen so shortly after my hell and back experience.

I think he’s on to something.

to hell and back

2008-08-03T13:37:00.000-05:00

Excuse my brief internet absence. It was an accidental yet necessary hiatus which may continue throughout the future as I ponder and reluctantly observe my own carnality.

This secret agent is going through a deep cleansing from headquarters.

I have begun permanent maneuvers to remove a single root of life-long sins. I believe this to be a very necessary move to bring my family and I into the calling of our life. We have been in deep training for it these past five years of desert wandering.

Meanwhile, I have done some very un-agent b-like things such as: join a men’s group at a local church. Yes. You heard me right. The time is now. Also, I’ve subjected myself to another’s cleansing prayer ministry of sorts and discovered a handful of deep seated issues that are freeing me as of this writing.

Hell is a very lonely place. I don’t ever want to go back there.

During my 24 hour hell get-a-way I contemplated killing off “agent b” and thus disposing of this blog. I now believe that to be a knee-jerk reaction. But future reports might be more sparse as I purposely avoid family-ignoring devices in my life such as the computer. Hey...I’ve discovered things like: my daughter loves to sing and my kids are good with play-doh. I’m not too shabby with the play-doh either.

In the past, I have avoided the practice of soliciting blog comments. So I do not seek your pat on the back. But if the agent b files hasn’t helped anyone’s faith journey one iota, then maybe it’s time to wind it down. We’ll see.

Thanks for your time.

return of the jedi padawan

2008-07-22T17:41:00.000-05:00

My master plan is back on track with my starting a part-time job with my jedi master (the house flipper) this week.

I was fairly sure it might come back around again. And if it didn't, I would have kept volunteering for him in the afternoons as I found time. This flipper is valuable to work with, as he specifically teaches me many areas of the over-all flipping business as well as various trade skills I lacked experience in. I am convinced it was no coincidence that we hooked up.

This is the step in the direction I've been waiting for. Thank you CEO.

evang-e-droppings #016

2008-07-20T12:36:00.000-05:00

The offsprings joined me on the evang-e-dropping eradication operation this weekend. We netted an above average collection of tracts: 45. Last week I netted 50, and that was after being absent for the previous two weeks.

In some ways, I still hear no exact rhyme or reason from the CEO to carry forth in this operation. But something within me yearns for it. So I carry on, my wayward son.

In a weird roundabout way, I feel this is a form of worship to the CEO. I only know to explain this as follows:

One of the most influential teachers of my life was my high school photography teacher Mr. Byrne (and I've dubbed him this moniker because he looked just like David Byrne from The Talking Heads...and my teacher was a fan of his).

I was in Mr Byrne's photo classes for three years. And by the way, these were art classes with photography as the medium, as opposed to some sort of photo journalism based class.

Once we were studying some modern twentieth century artists. I remember Mr. Byrne teaching that the "art" behind Jackson Pollack's work was not the final product. His art was the actual making of his product.

The physical action of standing on a giant canvass slinging paint WAS the art as opposed to the canvass hanging in a gallery, which many might find ugly.

Call me nuts, but somehow I can relate. I feel that physically collecting evang-e-trash and recyclables and other trash IS my worship.

Or so I assume.

no hype please

2008-07-17T13:17:00.001-05:00

To add to my fledgling resume of writings amidst the world wide waste-o-time, I recently submitted a slightly re-worded (and retitled, by editors) report from a few months ago to Jesus Manifesto.

Join in or create a discussion there, if need be. Thank you for your support.

neighborhood updates 7.14.08

2008-07-14T22:44:00.002-05:00

OBI-WAN: My dear friend, mentor, and favorite grease cook Obi-Wan is going deaf. Fast.

We don’t know the cause, outside of the obvious (old age). I took him to a hearing doctor appointment over a month ago. They did a full hearing test and evaluation and concluded that he needs hearing aids.

Unfortunately, this venture is being funded by the Veterans Administration (VA). The doctor’s office should have duct-tape their results to a turtle’s back and send him towards the VA headquarters in Big Spring, two hours west of the fair mother city. That would have resulted faster results.

Instead, we wait by the mail box in hopes of correspondence from Big Spring, approving a voucher for a free special phone and possible hearing aid(s). And thus, I have vowed to call Big Spring (a special number given to me by the doctor’s office) every day until I have made a complete ass of myself, hoping to make it clear that Obi-Wan’s hearing is getting worse daily.

No wonder most Americans don’t want government funded, full coverage health care. The VA is our only home-grown example.

JENNY: Our 10-year old friend was eating lunch with us the other day and announced that she wants to get baptized. Out of the blue.

I think she occasionally attends a church with some cousins or a friend. And so I assume she has made this decision from her soft heart.

I confess, my repressed church of christ upbringing got all giddy over her announcement. Every christian troupe and denomination has their own identifying trademarks or over-emphasis on specific biblical passages. The coc’s is baptism.

I think I kept control of my pushy, inner child baptizer. Although I did mention to Jenny that she didn’t have to wait for any big special ordeal to fulfill this decision. Jesus was baptized in some dingy old river.

And the Sanfords next door have an above ground pool filled with algae.

THE SANFORDS: Day in and day out, the Sanfords are somewhat predictable. I haven’t seen too many surprises pop out from them in our five-plus years of living twenty feet away from each other.

Unfortunately we missed their big fourth of July bash which also serves as Frieda’s birthday party, as we were on vacation.

As I understand it, The Tiger and The Bulldog are STILL waiting for a court date due to their crime involvement from a year ago.

This is amazing. The judicial and justice system are ridiculous. I’m not hammering for these young friends of mine to get justice as much as I want to see them grow up and face the music. I know from experience that these things really work on The Tiger for the better.

But to date, they’re barely getting a slap on the wrist.

chucky

2008-07-12T13:46:00.001-05:00

There’s a new character in the agent b world. Chucky is the coolest guy I’ve ever met. Ever.

Chucky and I work together when I’m on the jedi padawan volunteer gig. He’s related to the jedi master and has worked for him the longest of any worker. Something like six years. And Chucky is only 21.

He reminds me of Hank on Corner Gas (Americans wouldn’t know, unless you recently found it on cable). Except Chucky isn’t dumb like Hank. For a 21-year old, Chucky is brilliant. He’s incredibly talented and knowledgable in all avenues of trade work. Yet he’s very mild mannered and friendly and not an arrogant jackass by any means. He's always available to teach me some trivial task that I'm too inexperienced (or stupid) to figure out.

And his subtle, confident, timely one-liners keep me on edge. I love it.

Chucky confided to me that house flipping and trade work is not his passion or forte. Instead, he’s real into automotives. He drives this cool old beater pickup truck with some loud spiffed-up racecar engine. He hopes to go to some school in Houston where he can become a certified mechanic as he pursues his dream to have his own shop and build race cars on the side for fun. But all of that pivots on his wife finishing her trade school studies. Plus they’re raising a few toddlers mixed in there somewhere.

Those of us in the westernized, middle-class culture idolize academicians who make book knowledge their identity. But over the years I’ve witnessed how most high school and college graduates are very shallow in both the common sense and street-smarts departments.

I tink my bottle of abby ale to the Chuckys of our world. You are often my greatest teachers and role models.

testimony #040

2008-07-08T22:25:00.000-05:00

It has been ridiculously too long since a testimony report. That's not due to a lack of them. More like my taking the CEO's handi-work for granted. Here's a random potpourri of things I thank the CEO for:

1)Being in Houston last week reminded me how pathetically little money Agent Wife and I make and live on. Yet we always have what we need when it's needed. Even unnecessary events like vacations. Agent Wife was flown to Canada on a cousin's air miles. How cool.

2)I love beer. Especially good beer. Like micro brews and such. And I've somehow had ample opportunity to try several as of late. Life is too short for one kind of beer.

3)Since age 16 I have wanted to drive a truck. I borrowed money for various house flipping tools (such as a truck) several months ago. After 3 months of looking, I finally found what I've dreamed of. And it's even my favorite absence of color (like this blog). I've never felt like a badass behind a wheel before.

4)Our garden is excellent this year. Killer crops of green pepper, tomatoes, spinach (now dead), okra, jalepenos, yellow squash, and sunflower seeds. Even our peach tree finally gave a good crop, first time in five years. Also, our pecan tree is looking good which is funny, as this year should be its off year.

5)I'm going to be a dad again in maybe six months. I still haven't wrapped my head around the thought of having three kids. They will outnumber us...

And I'm sure there's a bunch more that I can't remember now. Thank you CEO.

road trip return

2008-07-06T23:58:00.000-05:00

Agent Wife was retrieved from George Bush Intercontinental Airport Saturday so we returned to the fair mother city today.

The Millenium Falcon faired well. Although her weather-cracked tires need replacing badly, and the AC now only works on full blast (in conjunction with the power windows that don't work - it's freeze or melt, baby), she'll still kick your car's ass. She may look like a hunk of junk, but she'll outrun the empire.

And today she passed the 250,000 mile mark. There ain't nothing like her. But I admit...secretly I fantasize about owning a new(er) mini-van or gas efficient SUV (if there is such a thing) for our growing family. Until then, the Millenium Falcon remains.

*************************

As much as I despise Houston (the birth place of consumerism* and title holder of "America's Fattest City" for three years running), I actually had some good getaway and reflection as well as time with the kids (hell...I was full time Mr. Mom).

I met up with some old friends from the fair mother city ten years back. They were there at the very very beginnings of my faith journey, back when I battled depression thirteen years ago. Now he's a project manager for a high-end home builder and she's a children's pastor at a vineyard church. He offered me a job anytime I wanted to move to Houston. Which proves that Houston has so much economic opportunity that a jackass like me with no five-year resume to speak of can get a job by word of mouth.

Too bad we don't want to live there.

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In case you haven't read the most recent Agent Wife Files report, I direct you there now to save myself more typing. Basically...like usual, we have hit the ground running upon our return. Her friend's one year old child is back in the hospital. And there's yet another tragic death amongst the vast poverty culture we have inroads with. Her little friend Princess's cousin was murdered recently. Not to sound heartless, but I'm not surprised. We've known this kid since he was 9. He was either going to kill or be killed, or so it seemed.

CEO - help us all.

* - just my own musings and conspiracy theories, mind you.

toll road church

2008-07-03T10:24:00.002-05:00

More reflections from the Houston mega-empire landscape...

Being in Houston for the last week and few days, I've had to drive around on Beltway 8 a few times: once to take Agent Wife to the airport, then again last night to visit old fair mother city friends in the Sugar Land area.

Beltway 8 is a toll road. It was being built around the time I graduated high school here and moved for good, so I'm not overly familiar with it.

More than once I saw a few nice looking church buildings facing the toll road. I'm sure there are some back roads entry to these churches, but the toll road seems like the most likely route to get to them.

I assume these churches only further insulate themselves from the poverty in this city by their location. As if being located deep in the suburbs isn't enough. They are also located on a road that you must pay to use.

Just thought that was really weird, if not slightly disturbing. Any thoughts?

road reflections

2008-06-30T13:54:00.001-05:00

I took Agent Wife to the Houston airport early Wednesday morning. She has been with her family in Saskatchewan and is currently living it up with her cousins in Edmonton, AB. I miss her all right, but glad she's having a blast.

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Odd jobs seem to follow me. Which is all right. I don't mind it. I've done some painting and so forth for my mother while in Houston. Might as well make myself useful.

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In search of a birthday present for my step-dad I finally discovered Spec's: Houston's super mega-mart of micro brews. I was like a kid in a candy store. Too many to choose from.

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In recent days I was wondering if music would ever grab hold of me and inspire me ever again. It's not that it doesn't, but it's like the older I get, the more music has to really be something to really get me. Whatever that means.

My parents recently got some super mega cable TV package, proving that if you have 489 channels, that there really isn't anything to watch on TV. I did stumble across one channel that's worthy about 60% of the time: VH1 classic. Usually it's hair metal band videos from the 80's.

But late the other night I stumbled upon a campy movie from 1975: The Who's Tommy. I didn't get to see much, and I vaguely know of the story line to follow along anyway. Besides, I'm a huge fan of the seldom used rock opera format. I plan to write my own someday. But Agent Wife didn't think most people would be able to identify with an aborted fetus singing "who am I, what was I, meant to be, hell...I'm free" from the after life.

But something snapped within as I randomly found this cheesy movie with people throwing off their religious shackles singing "we're not gonna take it".

on the road...

2008-06-23T23:33:00.000-05:00

The agent household is on vacation for the next twelve days or so. A cousin of Agent Wife is flying her up to Canada for a cousin reunion while the kids and I stay put in Houston with my mother.

Houston: not exactly my vacation dreamland. But a change of scenery none-the-less. It's only fair, as I got a rare opportunity to visit Boston a year ago whereas Agent Wife was stuck in the birthplace of materialism and westernized whineyness that is my hometown of Houston.

She deserves a break. Watching our two kids is a juggling act. But add the other two she watches for pay and it's daycare nightmare around here. Go have fun up north, babe.

I on the other hand will be doing a few odd jobs for mom, such as painting, etc. I also hope to reconnect with a few friends, some of which I haven't seen in near 20 years.

All that to say: reports on these here files will be few and far between for the next two weeks. Thanks for reading.

celebration of the inanimate

2008-06-19T23:12:00.000-05:00

In accordance with my master plan, I recently purchased a pickup truck. This is kind of a big deal to me. Not only am I seriously making commitments to this plan by gathering the necessary resources, experience and tools, but...I’m 37 years old and this is the first vehicle I’ve ever purchased. Ever.

I’ve always acquired cars via other means: given to me by my dad in high school, married into ownership, quasi-inherited (which I sold within four months), and two cars were given to me as totally random blessings within a ten-month period. But I’ve never purchased one until now.

It was weird. Like, in some ways I didn’t know what to do. I shopped around casually for about three months. And I finally found exactly what I wanted in my price range after my mechanic gave it two thumbs up. I know how to purchase things where the price can be in question. I’m not a great haggler, but I know the gist of it, like refusing to get your heart set on anything, etc.

But little things, like I didn’t know the dealer took care of the license stuff at the courthouse. Duh. I guess that’s what “tax, title, and license” means. I’ve sold several cars to individuals and always assumed it was the buyer’s responsibility to do the title transfer, etc.

Also, the first afternoon it sat in my driveway I experienced a really weird american (or westernized) rite-of-passage, or possible celebration of materialism or something.

One by one, various neighbors came over to gawk, congratulate, or possibly celebrate that which is an individual obtaining a new vehicle. The Tiger and much of the Sanford clan, Mr. & Mrs. Mackey from across the street, even Obi-Wan appeared out of nowhere on his electric wheelchair to join in the hub-bub.

Many of my neighbors don’t get the option of buying nice things. So I really try not to flaunt anything that comes my way (not that I’d want to anyway). But since we live in an automobile-based society (US) and a truck-based state (Texas), it’s kind of hard to hide a vehicle on a driveway that only held one car for three years. Now there’s two.

It’s still weird, but I’m kind of thankful for my close neighbors to come out and congratulate me, as if I had accomplished something or whatever. I mean hey, they were the ones initiating this absurd celebration of the inanimate. So, thanks.

CEO – may this truck serve us and others well for years to come.

* - photo credit here.

life speak

2008-06-16T22:24:00.000-05:00

Christianity and its surrounding culture is funny. Who would have thought I’d ever say that?

For starters, we believers feel it necessary to prove to the world around us that we are believers.

I’m not suggesting we hide our faith necessarily.

I am indeed asking why must we announce our faith with our mere words? And clothing? And fish symbol thingys on our cars?

Are our actions and overall lives not representative enough?

Fletch once stated that the more bumper stickers and/or t-shirts a person wears claiming a certain point, that they are really just trying to convince THEMSELVES of this point in addition to trying to convince others that this is who they are (how's that for a run-on sentence?). I believe him.

How about...showing christ just by the WAY we live. The things we do. What we spend time doing and who with. Where we spend and place our resources. The business deals we make. The things we have and don't have and give. The words that come out of our mouth...and from our computers.

scenes

2008-06-15T23:55:00.004-05:00

This was another Sanford backyard BBQ bash, which come often in the summer months.

The occasion this weekend was a birthday party for The Tiger, Jessie's boyfriend, and some little kid.

the ironies of christian education III

2008-06-14T15:00:00.000-05:00

Part III: Embracing the world's success culture.

To be a successful college, it must produce successful students. And that success is always defined by what the world around that college defines as “success”.

Both “success” and “failure” can be defined a number of different ways. And probably none of the definitions are wrong. Who knows.

But I’ve always wanted to know how Jesus’ words “the first shall be last, the last shall be first” fits into our success-driven christian education system and its parent host, the christian subculture.

In the alumni magazine for my former university, which I reluctantly receive in the mail every so often, it spotlights those former students who are leaders in their arenas of life and so-forth. And it would be a dichotomy to spotlight former students who had a moral blemish, personal failure, or even chose to hide their good acts from men. Thus, the unrealistic expectation of the christian culture upon its people generates the inevitable hypocrisy label on christians who “stumble and fall”. The culture holds unrealistic expectations on its people, thus they must save face and play along.

I have no answers or solutions to this, except maybe to have my contact information deleted from my alumni university and hope to fade away into relative obscurity. I would never want to be their poster child for successful alumni anyway.

So like usual, the only practical outlet I have is sarcasm. I wrote this comedy piece of things you would never find in the alumni magazine:

Top 10 listings you won't find in the Alumni University's 'Exxperiences' section:

10) Education Graduate [student name here] currently works as the principal of Jackson Elementary in downtown Denver, CO and was recently placed on administrative leave after her creation of the 'Beat and Don't Tell' program.

9) Successful dance choreographer [student name here] has choreographed several well-known Broadway musicals. In addition to staging a few MTV award ceremonies she has recently choreographed a Super Bowl Halftime show featuring the sister of M. Jackson.

8) Piano performance major [student name here] has recently taken a job playing Scott Joplin's 'The Entertainer' ad nausium through a nasally sounding bull horn while driving an ice cream truck as he tries to pay off "these damn student loans".

7) [student name here] is the founder of 'The Rainbow Alliance Court of His and Her Most Highness' in Portland, OR. If you have to ask you don't want to know.

6) [student name here] of Ogden, UT was recently married. His first, second and third wives approve of their new family member.

5) [student name here] has recently been nominated 'Inmate of the month' by Leavenworth, KS prison authorities.

4) [student name here], class of 1991, lives in his parent's basement and is the manager of 'Intergalactic Trading Cards, Comics and Collectables' which recently hosted an autograph session with Jeremy Bulloch (you know, Boba Fett from 'Star Wars' fame??). He has yet to kiss a girl.

3) [student name here] is the president of Wells Fargo Bank's Ft. Worth division, serves on the board for Habitat for Humanity and a local homeless mission, has a beautiful wife, 4 excellent kids, lives in a big house, drives a late model SUV, involved in several high yield investments that you probably wouldn't know anything about, and is an all around bad ass.

2) Bible graduate [student name here] has created his own church, The Ascension of the Blessed Holy Moly Cosmos of Greater Awakenings, located in the isolated foothills near Ft. Davis, TX. All are welcome, especially if you are young, female and directionless.

1) [AGENT B] is trying to fade away into relative obscurity. Please leave him the hell alone.

the social club (rant #645)

2008-06-13T10:01:00.000-05:00

Thanks to my favorite humor blog for sharing this one.

"This is OUR social club parking lot...NOT a street! And please...join us this Sunday. All are welcome."

the social club (rant #472)

2008-06-10T23:38:00.000-05:00

The kids and Agent Wife were on the computer this evening web-camming with their aunt. So I took the rare opportunity to walk the dog alone.

In our neighborhood, there are about 13 churches within walking distance. Most of them are located on two major east/west thoroughfares. Those two streets are about one block apart from each other. So, I think there’s like 13 churches on a 24 block area.

I call it “church alley”.

We walked down as far as this one Baptist church. I’ve always noticed that they own a property that was once some sort of fast food restaurant. On top of it there’s a big sign that says “coffee house”. But I rarely see any cars there. I figured it was their special youth group hang-out place.

This coffee house faces the main north/south thoroughfare in my part of the fair mother city. It’s a pretty run-down main drag that was once a major commerce area back in the 1970’s and beyond. There are mostly dollar stores, bingo halls, a bar, and convenience stores now.

For the first time ever, I was up close to the coffee house and I got to peek through the windows. Damn. It was real nice in there. Tiled floor. Recessed ceiling. Track lighting. Cool furniture. Dark, but homey atmosphere. Like a real quaint little café hang-out place that wasn’t open for any real business. I don’t get it.

The only hours of operation I could find was a flyer on an inside wall advertising a men’s class on “Wild at Heart: Find man’s true life adventure” every Wednesday night at 7p in the coffee house.

But I looked at the parking lot. The entrances from the main north/south drag were chained off. The only way to this coffee house via car was to drive through the church’s parking lot, which bordered the coffee house.

My rant: why the hell have a big sign facing Main Street saying “Coffee House” if your parking lot is roped off? Like maybe this church was inviting the public to come...but not really?

Why the hell would you have the nicest looking quasi-business place in the entire neighborhood if it was just for your social club to use once a week? What kind of self-centered resources is that?

I don’t know anything anymore.

observe: exhibit "c"

2008-06-09T11:30:00.000-05:00

In case you, dear reader, thought that I have exaggerated about the christian dogmatic personality of the fair mother city over the last three years on these reports...

Here is a fair example from the local newspaper column section.

Granted, it was written by an elderly man wishing for the good 'ole days of 1962 in West Texas. And since life was grand for white christian men back then, I guess his perspective is legit. I guess.

So far, none of the articles ten comments stand with the writer's view. I'm particularly a fan of the comment after mine, that basically says: "yeah...1962...our local christian colleges didn't even allow black students back then. What did your Japanese visitors think of THAT?"

evang-e-droppings #015

2008-06-08T15:54:00.001-05:00

There was a new junior agent who assisted on the Evang-e-droppings eradication operation this weekend. He seems uninterested in social-club faith and very interested in realty dealings with affordable housing as the primary objective. Sound right up my ally.

In addition to the above average number of tracts collected (51), we also found: half a sheet of first-class “forever” stamps, and a $20 bill, which we split.

As stated before: who says agent work doesn’t pay?

We ran into Jones and got to talk to him briefly. I’ve only met him one other time way back in October.

The new junior agent asked me a good question: why do I pick up tracts? Or what makes me want to pick them up?

It’s a fair question and one I ask myself often. But I never know how to answer it. I guess I collect them because, no one else does. Or, the messy litter of evangelical aftermath is a lousy testimony. Or better yet, I’m embarrassed of the printed messages that people read on these, so the fewer that read them, the better.

Or all of the above.

I don’t know exactly why I continue with this operation. I do enjoy the outing. And when I’m out collecting alone, it’s decent communication levels are clearer to the CEO had I stayed home with two toddlers. So it goes.

I guess I’ll keep at it until something freezes over.

state of the union

2008-06-04T23:12:00.001-05:00

To those of you who have read these agent b files reports from a year ago and beyond, I believe I am a different person compared to back then. I think my faith is growing due to experience and choosing to not dwell on the world’s values that surround me.

There has not been any trials-of-fire as of late. Even our concern over funding the delivery of Offspring #3 is diminishing as we have high hopes of qualifying for a state health program. I no longer feel like a whiner in this desert ear of my family’s life.

I work for part-time hourly pay in a manual labor role with a local tree service run by a micro-managing version of Homer Simpson and his dad. And I’m fine with that.

I mow yards in my neighborhood like I did back in Houston when I was 14. Now I’m nearing 40. And I’m OK with that.

Occasionally I land a paying music gig for my niche act. Sometimes I wonder how my life would have evolved had I followed my heart twelve years ago and moved to Austin to follow these pursuits. But I’m OK where I’m at.

I have a semi-goofy sounding plan to flip houses in hopes of earning a better living while not being tied to a company’s schedule and possible alleviating some ounce of injustice in the process. I have financial backing, but little experience in general trades and carpentry. I scramble over to do volunteer experience-gaining labor in between other odd jobs and various agent and family duties. It seems ridiculous, but I have faith it will pay off. And I’m OK with this.

Occasionally I serve food with a local catering company to some of the region’s wealthier people. The patrons give me an aloof glare if they don’t recognize the food immediately or if I interrupt their conversation with a plate placement. I’m fine with this.

Agent Wife watches two small boys in addition to our own two toddlers three days a week. She teaches a class at a local gym twice a week and has worked the grounds for some wedding photographer friends of ours.

Agent Wife has a masters degree and I have an undergrad degree in an art related field. We’re OK with this.

We are OK with our lives because we have embraced our role and our calling in this life and have stopped comparing ourselves with the success-driven culture.

And I’m convinced there is more to this secret agent story to come...

the ironies of christian education II

2008-06-01T17:31:00.000-05:00

The hierarchy of sins

Maybe this is not so much an irony as it is a weird fact.

In all vast christian subcultures there is an understood hierarchy of sins. Christian schools and campuses are certainly no exception.

All christians state something to the effect of all sins being equal. But our actions and christian subcultures say otherwise. Fine. So it goes.

For example: being a homosexual is a worse “sin” than being an obese gluttonous pastor milking widows out of their meager earnings. That list can go on and on.

Christian institutions, such as universities and schools, almost write in the hierarchy of sins within their student handbooks. Random, undocumented examples that I’m pulling out of my butt are as follows: students are not allowed to have sexual relations with each other outside of marriage, students are not allowed to drink alcohol on OR OFF campus, etc.

Back in the late eighties, my alumni university had an underground joke that went something like...our school is the only place that a guy will get kicked out of school for sleeping with a girl. But if a guy sleeps with a guy he’ll get counseling. That joke is tacky and probably inaccurate, but it embodied the gist of this university’s culture.

Maybe the student handbooks of these universities should go all the way: ban gossiping, gluttony, idolatry and so forth.