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Yesterday I got a new tattoo.

Four years ago I got my first tattoo, its a verse on the inside of my right wrist that says “Be not overcome by evil but overcome evil with good. Romans 12:21″

if you read my post from last spring about how I was thinking about getting a new tattoo, you will notice that pura vida was not mentioned on the list.

So here is what happened:
Last summer my college roomate and good friend Nate O’neill was killed while learning to ride a motorcycle. He was doing this to prepare for economic development work he was planning to do in the jungles of Brazil where the best means of transport is by motorcycle.
A few months before he died he got a tattoo while living in Costa Rica, it said Pura Vida, which is generally seen as a warm greeting, and the cultural motto of that country.

So after hanging out with some college friends that knew Nate, that I would get Pura Vida as my next tat.

What about the post from last spring? – More to follow soon.

The first 1,000 to pre-order Mark Driscoll’s new book Vintage Jesus, will get a signed copy of the book. Wouldn’t it be cool if Keller did the same thing, for his new book. Thanks – Kevin

Check out this link to see a series of photos chronicling the divide between the rich and the poor around the world.

Robbie has an interesting post about visiting a Zen Buddhist Center in Pittsburgh.

There have been a great set of posts over at set ‘n’ service about evangelism.

I stand in the valley.

On one side, I see the mountains where my father has lived. On the other side I see the mountains intended for my children’s journeys.

I see the mountains where my father has lived.

I see on my father’s mountains lush fields of irrigated crops, yet many are hungry.

I see on my father’s mountains roads lined with well decorated dwellings. Axioms hang on well tended plaster. Despite their air, a multitude are sharp and dangerous. Family are as strangers, picket fences are as ramparts, feet are as miles.

I see on my father’s mountains earthen cathedrals, which rise into the sky. Stone upon stone, they ascend, saying to the mountains that shelter them, “we are greater, and we will not be subdued.”

I see on my father’s mountains many who have fought, and struggled, to protect.

Those are my father’s mountains.

I stand in the valley.

I see the mountains intended for my children’s journeys.

I see on my children’s mountains many standing, but very few taking any steps. Emptiness is their footing. Charity has no forfeit. Virtue no sacrifice.

I see on my children’s mountains, cottages and castles. Few are homes, size is irrelevant.

I see on my children’s mountains, gatherings of men, where many speak but few listen, all wanting to be heard above the other. They praise themselves, and say “we are not our fathers.” They do not know their fathers.

I see on my children’s mountains lives lived with honesty and passion.

I stand in the valley.

I stand in the valley, I despise the impersonal cathedrals.

I stand in the valley, I weep for those who have many stories yet have no history.

I am my father,

I am my children,

I am both mountains, I am neither mountain.

I am the valley.

Today marks the 10th Anniversary of the Death of Mother Theresa. Shot in the dark most people care alot more about the new ipod touch, than they do about a Christlike expression of love.

So this is my first year where I will continue to be working in a church both through the summer and the fall.
Alot of exciting things are happening at City Reformed.

I just saw a video about the streetcar project in Cincinnati, they hope to be open in 2009, Imagine if there were a few strategic street cars put in Pittsburgh, it would be great. Here is a link to the video. If you think its a good idea pass it on.

Man do I love Lawrenceville. Bohemian, meets yinzer, meets Somalia.
Im sitting in Crazy Mocha, one local walks in and a few others notice, and greet him. Young Urban Professionals quietly read their Post-Gazette,while young college girls chat away by the front window. One guy walks in, he has tribal sleeves, gaged ears that look about as big a saucers, his pitchblack dredlocks barely miss the floor– He is warmly greeted, and gets prompt service.