Through sobs, a person very dear and close to me related a story of pain, hurt, and despair.  She shared with me her experience of living with an abuser.  For the past 6 months, she shared a bed with a man whom she feared.  She feared not only for her safety, but for that of her child.  And in an instant, the abuser had taken the child and vowed never to return her.  In a sense, the child had been kidnapped.

My only response was to drive and comfort and seek solutions.  And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past 3 days.

The time I spent back home was taxing – emotionally, physically, and academically.  The incident could not have come at a worse time – this is the beginning of exam week, after all – in my next to last semester at the University.  But in the midst of the pain and the strife, I saw hope.  And it came in the form of a Christmas tree.

I live in the northeastern neck of North Carolina.  We are very close to the beaches of the Outer Banks.  My emergency visit home included visits to Nags Head and Kill Devil Hills.  Saturday afternoon, exhausted and worn, I made my way out through the shifting sands to stand in the surf and stare out at the sea.  Yards before I hit the water, I noticed a formation down the beach.  It piqued my interest, so I ambled over to it.  There, stuck in the sand, was a tree worn by the sands of time.  It retained its roots, buried in the sand. A slender trunk branched out into knobby arms of driftwood.  And amidst its branches, there was a tinge of gold and crimson.  At its peak, a golden spiral perched.  And on a lower knob hung a rusty silver bell.

It was an Outer Banks Christmas Tree.  The tree of the beach.  I have no clue who adorned the thing, but it brought such joy and inspiration to me on the toughest of days.  This simple, magical wonder was a message from the Lord.  It was his way of granting me perspective.  He showed me beauty and he reminded me that it is he who creates it.  All things Good stem from the Lord.

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” James 1:17 (ESV)

This tree brought joy and light to a dark day in my life.  And I hope that it does the same for you.

“I’m here to see Pam and the baby,” I stammered. “I’m the photojournalist that she probably told you about? I’ve been spending time with her and Jeremiah over at the hospital.”

The man looked at me, suspicious.  After a span of several seconds, he said, “I’m Pam’s father. She ain’t here. The baby ain’t neither.”

He still hadn’t opened the door. I could sense his hostility and I knew that I was overstaying my welcome. Heck – I had no welcome.

Then I heard a more shrill voice beyond the door. “It’s alright – you can let him in.”

The man stopped a moment, as if he considered shutting me out. But then a thin frail woman appeared behind him. She placed her hand on his back, saying “It’s alright. He’s a friend of Pam’s.”  The man’s composure changed suddenly – and he opened the door.

–

This happened to me just last night.  I was a white boy with a camera invading a black neighborhood at 8pm.  My association with the University had left me disconnected with the real world.  While race doesn’t rear its head as a divisive issue in the Carolina community, it certainly plays a heavy role in the world beyond UNC.

This happened once before, during this semester.  I was driving through East Durham in the late afternoon, searching for an intentional living community that I hoped to spotlight in my latest photojournalism project.  This area of Durham was less developed than the surrounding neighborhoods.  Urban decay had set in years ago. Houses rested in shambles, cars sat abandoned.  And children ran in the streets.

I drove slowly, looking left and right up the roads for the house with the tall white columns and okra growing out front.  As I did so, I passed a group of eight to ten children – early-elementary-school-aged.  In my 2007 Hyundai, I was an uncommon sight.  The children saw me as I passed.  I waved warmly, hoping to receive the same welcome.  But that wasn’t at all how they responded.

First, they just stared.  Not a single wave back.  Just blank and empty stares.  Then one of them launched his toy car in my direction. Another yelled about the color of my skin.  Yet another hollered after me, “Get out of here, Honda!”

I drove around the corner of the block and parked. I turned off the ignition, placed my hands flat on the wheel, and let the cogs start to turn.  As the gears turned, I pulled out my Moleskine and started jotting my thoughts down.  These are my questions.  They’re pertinent.   Why would these children be so hostile towards a friendly smile?  What makes race such a divisive thing?  How will this play out in the future?  Will racism always be incubated in these inner-city black communities just as it is in white-run small towns across our state and nation?  If we strive to be a unified body, how can we allow such division to exist?

Afterward, I received a flurry of  calls, texts, and Tweets from concerned friends.  I appreciate your concern, and I thought it worth it to explain exactly what went down last Sunday night.  Here goes.

———————————————————————————————————————————————

It was nearly midnight when my fuel gauge hit ‘E.’  There was nothing around but fields and farmland.  I pulled off the highway onto the nearest exit, praying to find a gas station.  I hooked a right and cruised down the main street of some old, forgotten township.  Within a mile, I lucked out.

I pulled up to the pump and started fueling up.  Six gallons in, I heard a noise behind me.

An old, black Tahoe had pulled up right alongside my silver sedan.  Through the dark tint of the windows, I could see a young woman in the passenger seat.  But that wasn’t the source of the noise.

I heard the noise again as a man stepped out of the shadow of the truck.  He was a white, twenty-something fellow dressed in a wife-beater and shorts that dropped far below his natural waist.  I could tell he was saying something, but I couldn’t make out his exact words.

“I beg your pardon?” I (rather formally) said.

“Whatchu got in your wallet?” said the man.  This was the third time he had asked, and I could sense a tone of inebriation; whether from alcohol or drugs, I couldn’t tell.

“I don’t have a wallet,” I replied truthfully (I had only two days before swapped out my wallet for a fanny pack).

At this point, it occurred to me that this young man’s intention was to mug me.  I’ve always thought I’d be absolutely compliant in such a situation, valuing my life far more than a few Jacksons.  But for some reason, I decided not to submit.

“What you payin’ for your gas with?” said the stranger.

“Just my credit card – it’s all I’ve got,” I stammered.

“Give it to me,” he said, as he moved towards me.

His steps toward me should have warranted fear – and they did.  I had no clue if this guy had a gun or knife.  But I somehow remained obstinate.  I told him I was a college student on my way back to school.  I explained that I was just trying to get back to class, and my credit card was the only thing I had.  I shared that I had been at home on the Outer Banks celebrating my niece’s 4th birthday.

I don’t know if it was my appeal to his humanity, his doped-up state of mind, or the physical barrier that the gas hose created between he and I, but he backed off.  He stared at me for a moment, just steps away from me, then turned and got back in his truck and drove away.

I let out a gasp of breath as my heart pounded away rapidly.  I had nearly been mugged.  Or had I been mugged?  The only real difference was that the guy didn’t get away with my wallet.

So, that was my run-in with the mugger.  I don’t mean to compare my situation to that of folks who have been injured or threatened with a weapon and actually robbed of their possessions.  I only hope to illustrate evidence of God’s protection over us.  I’m convinced that the Lord was watching out for me last Sunday night.  And perhaps, in the process, some troubled wrong-doer’s heart was changed – I can only hope and pray.

In my last post, I went out on a limb, risked it all (chancing an excommunication from the SBC), and now what do I have to show for it?

Hopefully, a bunch of kind-hearted folks who want to share their favorite brews and bars with me! If that’s you, listen up.

I’m a big fan of food and friends – especially when the two collide. And now that I’m (going to be) 21, I can factor the forbidden (fermented) fruit into the equation!  So, use this genius scheduling tool to take me out to your favorite place in the Δ (Triangle). I’m here in summer school until June 15th. I’d love to share a meal/drink with you!

A 21st birthday is reason to celebrate! Right, America?  That’s what I’m hearing.  I’ve gathered that I should head out to a bar as the clock strikes midnight, and engage in a bout of drinking with my buddies.  What’s more is that I think I’m supposed to get black-out drunk.

Welp, that’s not quite happening.  You see – I will be 21.  But I’ll  be 21 and Baptist.

<insert Baptist alcohol humor here>

Before you get started – no, I’m not a teetotaler.  While that’s been the traditional Baptist line of thinking in regards to alcohol, I don’t think it’s entirely Biblical.  So, then … what does the Bible even have to say about alcohol and drinking?  J.D. Greear shared a bit on that recently.  I’ll leave it to J.D. to dive into the nitty gritty, so take some time to check out his post. It’s chock full of Biblical truth.  I will, however, spend some time reflecting on my own thoughts surrounding alcohol and Christianity.

Throughout the Bible, we see alcohol referenced.  We know that some of the disciples drank wine, and Jesus certainly had no problem turning water to wine at a wedding.  These are all very subtle acknowledgments that alcohol can be a normal component of human life.  However, the Bible also gives warning about the dangers of alcohol.  Take a look at Proverbs 23:31-35.

Do not look on the wine when it is red, When it sparkles in the cup, When it swirls around smoothly; At the last it bites like a serpent, and stings like a viper. Your eyes will see strange things, and your heart will utter perverse things. Yes, you will be like one who lies down in the midst of the sea, or like one who lies at the top of the mast, saying:“ They have struck me, but I was not hurt; they have beaten me, but I did not feel it. When shall I awake, that I may seek another drink?”

So, where do I stand?  I don’t think drinking alcohol is a sin. (Hope the SBC doesn’t excommunicate me!)

I do, however, think sin often accompanies alcohol in the form of idolatry. Idolatry is the trap-fall that we are most susceptible to.  When anything replaces God as our focus, that’s idolatry.  And that happens a lot with alcohol.  We’re underage and we want what we can’t have, so we disobey to partake in it.  We turn 21 and we want to drink until we black out!  We’re teetotalers and we spend our time condemning our neighbors for drinking!  Each of these three things gives us a glimpse into the diversity and prevalence of idolatry in our lives.  We lose focus on the Gospel, and instead seek out our own desires and personal priorities.

The take-away: the Bible is spot on to show us a balanced view of alcohol. It’s healthy to see alcohol as a regular part of life, and it’s important to know and be prepared for the dangers of it.  When it comes down to it, it’s a matter of personal choice.  Whichever side of the spectrum you stand on, just leave some room for grace.

[I'll do a follow-up to this post shortly.]

Take a trip back in time
to when the rivalry was born.
Chase was king at UNC,
and Harding had just been sworn.

It’s housed in the House,
but it’s not in the back.
Walk in, turn right,
it’s in 1921′s Yackety Yack.

I know a riddle isn’t supposed to be obvious, but I had to give it away in the last line to make sure SOMEONE would find it. I wouldn’t have wanted the ticket to go to waste. There was a pretty good turnout for the contest. In the end, Abigayil Harrison (@abigayil) won. It only took her 5 clues (1 hour, 18 minutes) to locate the ticket – so kudos to her!

Yeah – I know that NEVER happens. But it did.
I won a $500 technological masterpiece -
AT THE COUNTY FAIR.

But four months later, I sold it. I’d predicted the looming release of the iPad 2 and knew it’d be wise to liquidate. With the help of Craigslist and a DukeMed OB/GYN, my bank account balance grew by 5 Benjamins (or half a Cleveland by the 1928 standard). I slyly tucked my small fortune away into the recesses of my savings account and vowed not to touch it until the release of the iPad 2.

And now, the time has come. Apple released the iPad 2 just three days ago. And I’m faced with a dilemma: do I buy it? I think that was the original plan. But cold hard cash is a lot more alluring when it rests in your hand and it’s not tied up in a slick glass and aluminum case. I’m split on the decision. Both options are beneficial. But which should I choose?

Weigh in on the discussion below. I value your wisdom.

Why? I won’t be in Chapel Hill on Saturday evening. I’ll be in New York.

I signed up for an alternative spring break trip with APPLES a few weeks back. And we’re leaving at 6 in the morning on Saturday. That means no Duke game for me – at least, I can’t use my ticket.

I’m embracing my Carolina family and I’m offering up my ticket to a very lucky Tar Heel. Any UNC student is eligible. All you need is a sharp mind and dedication. I’ve designed a scavenger hunt of sorts. What are you searching for? My Duke ticket. It’s hidden somewhere on UNC’s campus.

I’ve written a riddle of eight lines, to be shared via my Twitter feed (@cbrentlane). The first line will be released at 9am on Friday, 3/4/2011. Every half hour following, another line will be released. By 12:30pm, you should have the entire riddle.  Of course, if you find the ticket before then (with only a partial riddle), you’ve still won the contest.

I hope you can find some joy in this. We’ve got a fantastic relationship with that school down the road. It’s one of both mutual respect and mutual hate. Take this opportunity to go to Saturday’s game. Be a part of the Carolina experience. Do your part by cheering on our fellows in their match against Duke. I wish the best of luck to the participants! If you happen to participate (at all), please leave a comment here. I’d just be curious to know how many folks this little contest reached. May the best Heel win!

Hark the sound,

C.L.

<Aussie accent> Ain’t she a beaut’? </Aussie accent>

She’s a Canon AE-1 – and her name is Alice.

She’s a recent acquisition of mine.  I got her for my ART 105 course at UNC – Introduction to Photography.  I’ve been trying to get into this course for a while and I’ve finally managed to secure a seat!  We’re two or three weeks in and I’ve got to tell you – I’m falling in love.

I really know very little about photography. While I did teach a club on it to some of the students at Jacob’s Ladder this past summer, I’m a total novice.  Words like aperture and shutter speed mean nothing to me. That’s what I’m hoping to remedy with ART 105.  In a semester, I’ll be a walking, talking photography know-it-all.  At least, I hope I learn something.

Why? Two big reasons. The first one is a joke – but the second one is real.

1. Everybody’s doing it.  Everybody and their momma thinks they can take a great photo.  But I’m so against that (because I’m a hipster and hipsters are totally against anything mainstream).  But I’m taking it a step further beyond that.  Since it’s hipster to go against the grain, I’m GOING AGAINST THE GRAIN OF HIPSTERDOM.  Think that one through.  Yeah – pretty clever of me, right?

2. I want to carry on my Granddaddy Lane’s legacy.  The man was a GENIUS PHOTOGRAPHER.  He always had his trusty Canon slung ’round his neck, wherever he went.  When I was young, he took me to the camera store and showed me all the cool lenses and flashes.  He even convinced the store keeper to show me how they developed the photos.  He bought me my first camera.

However, my Granddaddy lost a battle with cancer when I was in middle school.  When I finally began to develop a mature interest in the art of photography, he wasn’t there to guide me.  So, this is my tribute to him. I’m picking up this trusty camera and we’re going to make some art. I’m going to try to capture the beauty of his smile in every photo I take. Each time the shutter snaps, I’ll be listening for his laugh or waiting to feel the reassuring weight of his arm on my shoulder. While I know he’s not with me any longer, I bet he’ll probably be clambering along behind me in spirit, marveling at how similar boys can be two generations later.

This is for you, Grandaddy.