LIFE IS A TWISTED fit of irony. That’s what I say to myself on some days. In fact, the more I think about it, I can’t seem to conclude otherwise.

Like times when I think about how a woman whom nobody wants is the same woman whom someone later decides he cannot live without. Or the faithful couples I know who try hard to conceive in vain, as countless teenagers make their way in and out of clinics on the basis of “convenience”. And while there are approximately one million suicides in the world each year, there are those like Janet, in the video above, who are desperately pleading for every ounce of breath that life would lend them.

I came across Janet’s plea last night from a buddy’s link. I told myself I should probably register to donate the following morning, then went to bed. Today I get a call from a 213 number, somewhere in Los Angeles. I don’t usually pick up if I don’t recognize the number immediately, but on this day something prompted me to do it.

“May I please speak with Martin?” said the soft, feminine voice on the other line. By the tone of her voice, I could tell she was young, Asian, and perhaps even cute. Yes, this is he, I said. She went on tell me how she was from the bone marrow registry and that I had given a sample back in 2004. Now I might turn out to be a match. Not a call I had expected.

“Oh cool. So, what does that mean?” I asked. She said something about having to fill out a questionnaire of some sort and then proceeded to explain two of the possible procedures I’d have to go through if it does turn out to be a perfect match. One was as simple as drawing blood or something like that. The other involved undergoing an operation to remove stuff from my pelvic area. That’s bittersweet, I thought. I hate surgeries. I am tired of surgeries. Please God, no more surgeries…

I asked her if she knew any details about the patient. “Her name doesn’t happen to be Janet, right?” No, she said. The patient is a 33 year-old woman. But she happened to catch the viral video on YouTube, and she said there were a lot more registrations today because of it.

After the conversation, I thought about what a coincidence it had been that I had just watched the video last night and wondered if I needed to re-register or donate, only to receive a call that I was a match no more than a day later. I got back home and filled out the electronic questionnaire. I breezed through most of the questions, especially the “sex” ones. (It was a simple “No” throughout.) Some of the diseases they had asked about I couldn’t even pronounce. By the time I had finished and submitted the form, I was rooting badly that I would be her match. Or someone’s match. What’s a few hours in the hospital and a couple days of pain if I can save someone’s life on earth?

I’m praying that I will be this woman’s match. I’m praying for Janet that she’d find her own match. But for those of us who are blessed with good health, I ask that we do our part to help those in need. As the girl told me over the phone, they are in dire need of Asian donors.

Please register here to donate today. It only takes a few minutes of your time. You could save a life. And you never know if you’ll be in Janet’s shoes or know someone who is.

In a little less than 10 hours we will have effectively reigned in the new year. We will have had a little more to drink than we should and make resolutions that we won’t keep. We will put our arms on one another and sing a round of Auld Lang Syne, reflecting on the year that was and how this year, for better or worse, will be a different year.

How will this year will be different? Who do you aspire to be? What new things do you aspire to accomplish?

I ask this because I’m not sure what to wish or hope for myself. The superstitious side of me used to welcome these even-numbered years because these seemed, well, not odd. Until 2008 came to shred that theory to pieces by proving to be the single hardest year of my life. I also used to welcome the Chinese zodiac, perhaps thinking that my fortuitous year would bode much fairer to its “rat” kind. Until I realized it was also the same year as 2008. (Maybe those are the years I should avoid? By, you know, living in a forest or something.)

One can neatly sum up my past five years as a series of “false starts.” Since I’ve graduated college, I’ve been at four jobs, in and out of three relationships, and in three different living situations. That’s hardly something I’d like to advertise to any prospective employer or wife. If you were to ask me where I see myself in five years, I would tell you that I’ll have either won the Nobel Peace Price or found residence next to a guy named Leroy on Skid Row. Looking at my recent track record, I wouldn’t rule out either one. The point is: I stopped trying to predict life a long time ago.

Yet for all its ups and downs and crazy turns, life has never for once left me complacent. It has never stopped asking of me, never stopped prodding me to grow, learn, examine and redefine all that I have tried to so neatly assemble. I have a lot more dirt, and many more scars now than I did five years ago. But I can tell you with great confidence that I learned more about life and the human condition in the school of hard-knocks than I ever did by reading about it at a public institution.

One of those lessons is that failure can be a good thing. In the first two decades of my life things came easy. I never had to apply strenuous effort to excel in academia, sports or friendships. These last five years seemed to make up for them. Never have I failed so much in life. Failure was what I ate for breakfast. Failure was what I smelled like after the gym. Failure was what I pissed in bathroom stalls. (Alright, I exaggerate a bit…I did experience some success too, but it just didn’t compare.) Little did I realize that failure was the very thing I needed to build my character and prevent me from chasing things that aren’t real. It’s the sort of thing that recalibrates your perspective in life: keeping you diligent, humble and thankful. What if I had succeeded in everything I attempted these past five years? I’d probably be an arrogant, self-serving jerk. Granted, a jerk with lots of money, but still a jerk.

In his restraining grace, God gives us failure to help us realize that success isn’t everything. That life isn’t about medals or money or respect. That we need Him. That what you want isn’t what you actually need, and even what you think you want isn’t what you want after you have attained it. The challenge for me then is to live a life that I would not regret 70 years later in my deathbed (Lord willing).

So, what to say about 2012? I think Winston Churchill said it best: “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” It’s about living life for a greater purpose than following a paper trail, about taking risks for the greater good of those around you and to continue trying even when failure is fresh. And if I have attempted these things in the upcoming year, then whether I succeed or fail, 2012 will have been a year well-lived.

Risk hard, love hard, dare to make a legacy. Here’s to another year of living–cheers.

-MY

I tried to capture the agony and tragedy of cold wind blowing into your lower body parts while making the trek to the restroom in the middle of the night. Can you feel it?

Stay warm, folks.

THREE MINUTES LEFT on the clock. Bears 10, Broncos 0. It’s been a rough three-and-a-half quarters for Denver, but Tebow has just completed his last five passes or something like that. Too little, too late? Fifty-two seconds later, the Broncos find the end-zone on a Tebow pass. No, this can’t be happening again…can it? The Broncos attempt a valiant on-side kick, but the Bears recovered. With no timeouts left, the Broncos are powerless to stop the Bears from simply running out the clock. Sigh, miracle averted…

Wait, did Barber just run out-of-bounds?!

Clock stopped. Another short run and the Bears punt it on fourth down. Broncos receive the ball with a minute left. Cue the bat signal–Tebow’s coming out with his cape. A few quick plays, a few long completions. First, he hits Decker, then it’s Thomas–like all of a sudden these gloves are dipped in super glue. Fourth down with about eight seconds remaining. Enter Matt Prater, the Broncos kicker, to attempt a 59-yarder to tie the game. (Um, that’s one yard short of sixty. That’s really, really long.) And the kick is…good (by about five yards)! You’ve got to be kidding me…are we really heading into overtime?

In extra time, the Bears win the coin-toss and elect to retrieve the ball. The Bears respond resiliently with several clutch plays including an amazing catch by Barber. Bears charge down the field and are in field-goal range. All they need is another down and the kicker has a very makeable three points. (Alas, I guess it’s too good to be true…) Hanie takes one last snap, hands off to Barber. He looks like he’s about to break away–wait, fumble! Scramble on the field, ball recovered by Broncos. UNBELIEVABLE. Now, Denver offense gets a chance to march down the field. And…

I don’t need to tell you the rest of the story. You know how it ends. Even Hollywood couldn’t come up with a script like this. Isn’t this stuff made of legends, things you might find in fairy tales or discover in movies? No, it’s real. I know it because I don’t own Madden 12 and I can’t mistake my TV images for a video game. I know it because I am staying up late on a work night to write an article about it. And I know it because, quite frankly, all of America is talking about it.

Indeed, I am just one of the latest and many to be swept away by Tebowmania.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! What is going on here?”

For those of you who haven’t been following this, you might be sounding a bit like Mr. Belding. Even if you haven’t been participating in Tebowmania directly (watching his games), you have probably been involved indirectly (engaged in conversations, news articles, or blogs). Chances are, if you are living in America and have any sort of access to the Internet and media, you have heard something having to do with a guy whose name rhymes with Lim Lebow.

So, what’s the big deal? Here’s the skinny: he’s a second-year QB out of Florida–a program that he helped lead to two national championships–with supposedly bad mechanics and lack of skill who is leading his team to a 7-1 resurgence after a dismal 1-4 start. And he’s doing it in dramatic fashion, with three wins in overtime and another three victories by a touchdown or less.

Oh, and by the way, he sure loves his Jesus. You might have heard it here or seen it there. All of which has sparked several debates on sports radio and TV stations across the country about sports, society, religion, and well, the intermingling of all three.

Whoa, blow the whistle–beeeeeeep! Timeout. All that sounds pretty heavy. I think we’ll need to break down the X’s and O’s and tackle each topic one by one.

Tebow the PLAYER

For starters, let’s talk about what we know about Tebow as a football player. He is a consummate winner. He’s done it all throughout his life–before all the national fanfare, before his Heisman award and two college championships, before his current string of wins in Denver. He did it when he was younger and he is doing it now. And he’s always been doing it in spite of criticism, when players and coaches would consistently deride him for playing out of position or not having the required skill sets to excel at the next level. It can be argued that Tebow’s ability to win is extra impressive because he is doing so in the constant face of adversity.

Tebow is a naturally fiery competitor. You don’t have to tell him to work hard, to put his body on the line for every play, to make decisions that would best lead his team to a W. He holds himself accountable for every completion, every miss, every play. He is a leader, not just by words but by actions. When his Florida Gators team faced a shocking loss to Ole Miss in 2008, he said: “You have never seen any player in the entire country play as hard as I will play the rest of the season.” Tebow would go on propel his team to another national championship later that year.

The talking heads all say that he hasn’t developed the tools to do the job right. By their accounts he shouldn’t be as successful as he has been. Tebow would be the first to tell you that he still has a lot to learn. I am by no means a football expert, but I do know enough basic math to differentiate between the winning and losing teams on a scoreboard. However you want to slice it, you can always count on Tebow to give nothing less than his one-hundred and figure out some sort of plan to eek out victories–even if they aren’t the prettiest.

Tebow the TEAMMATE

One of the things that could easily be lost in this whole “Mile High Messiah” talk is how much credit his entire team deserves. It would be easy to dismiss their contributions and efforts, if not for Tebow himself, who is always the first to deflect praise heaped on him and redirect it toward his fellow coaches and teammates. He’d say things like “My teammates and the coaching staff make me look better than I actually am.” It’s one thing to say it, but I think he truly believes that.

Let’s face it: when you are playing in a team sport, you cannot win a game single-handed. This is especially true in football, where every position is interconnected and affects the performance of the other. If receivers can’t catch, QBs don’t get the completion. If the O-line doesn’t block, the QB won’t have time to throw and the RBs won’t have holes to break through. Yet there exist many players who apparently didn’t get the memo. The NFL is filled with many prima donna stars who brag and boast of their contributions when they win and blame others when they lose.

You would never hear that from Tebow. By his leadership through words and action, he inspires his team to play harder and better–the Broncos love playing with Tebow. His athletic ability, along with his intangibles (personality and leadership), has changed the culture in the locker room. The Broncos might not field the most talent (see Packers, Patriots), but they believe they can and will win every game. And the entire team, from the head coach down to the waterboy, has bought into it. It is simply infectious.

Tebow the MAN and “Witness”

This is where the conversation really gets interesting. Religion has long been a divisive topic in America. Having a high-profile public figure who is very outward and expressive about his faith only propels the issue to the forefront. However, Tebow’s openness about his Christian faith and concurrent success have opened up the floodgates for dialogue between believers and non-believers alike.

For far too long, religion has been used as a tool by wayward politicians and crooked men to push their agendas. But with Tebow I never feel like he is trying to sell me anything or that he is anything other than what he’s expressing. He doesn’t come off as the super-perfect and “holier-than-thou” type. His humility and candor with which he addresses the public makes him rather likeable. He has been nothing short of gracious, even with his naysayers. If nothing else, I’d be willing to listen to his message simply because of his approach, even if I didn’t agree with it.

Look, I don’t know Tebow personally. I’ve never met him or spent a day with him. I do know that he does a lot of charity work, including overseeing his own foundation and building hospitals out in the Philippines. By many accounts, the man you see in the press conferences is the same man off the field and away from the spotlight. I don’t know what he is like behind closed doors, but I really hope this is true. (Read part of his amazing life story here.)

But you can’t tell me that Tebow doesn’t love God. And you cannot not respect him for his faith, even if you disagree with it. He is just someone who is sickly in love with Jesus. To watch someone love something that much…it’s inspiring. It’s like watching him reminds me how to love something or somebody the right way. Have I ever loved God in that way?

We always knock people for being hypocrites, for preaching moralism when their lips couldn’t be further from their lives. Why are we knocking the one guy who seems to be living what he preaches?

The Impact of Tebow on American Christianity

With all this being said, there are still many misconceptions that could arise. Here’s one that comes to the forefront of my mind.

Planking? That's so pre-Tebow 2011

In my 11 or so years of practicing the faith, I have only discovered how deep is the rabbit hole that leads to my own brokenness. The more I understand the Bible and fellowship with Jesus, the more I realize how I don’t think, talk, feel or act like Jesus. One would think that I’d have more answers by now, that my life would be more prosperous or successful or charming. If anything, it’s been more trials and difficulties. The more I read things like “he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me” and “whoever wants to save his life will lose it” the more I come to see that the Bible has a lot of hard sayings. Jesus didn’t mince words. He cuts to the core and exposes my pride and inner rebellion against God. It is easy to believe that this “Tebow-inspired” brand of Christianity means that once you convert you will become a winner (or that you are only qualified to be a Christian if you are a winner). After all, Tebow sure looks like he’s invincible, doesn’t he? The opposite could not be more true.

The fact of the matter is, Christianity is for losers. Some people say it’s a crutch, and it’s true. But the difference between the atheist and the believer is that the believer understands the reality and his need for a crutch, whereas the atheist denies it. Jesus is for people who are willing to admit that they don’t have it all together. As Don Miller says, “A beggar’s kingdom is better than a proud man’s delusion.”

Consider this my warning (and sermon). Jesus came to heal and love the lame, the prostitutes, the tax-collectors and sinners. And he ultimately died to pay the consequence of our mistakes, rising again on the third day to prove that he has power over death and sin. But he is not a genie. And he is NOT who the media has made him out to be: white, middle-class, Republican Jesus. Jesus is who he claims to be, even if his followers aren’t.

If you decide to follow him, life might just get a bit tougher. But everyone who ever became a Christian eventually had to ask themselves, is Jesus worth it?

The Test of Tim(e)

“It is unbelievably believable.” These words delivered from Heisman trophy winner Robert Griffin III could be just as fitting for Tim Tebow at this moment. Are we witnessing a modern-day David vs. Goliath story? He’s not supposed to be doing this, he’s not supposed to be winning, and yet it somehow miraculously happens week after week.

But there will come a time when the Tim Tebow magic runs out. When he fails, when he stops winning games. Certainly, I only wish him the best, but in some ways I am curious as to when that day arrives. Why?

A true test of character is not in how someone deals with victory, but in how he handles defeat. Leo Tolstoy once wrote, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” I often like to extrapolate the principle underlying this quote. Everybody celebrates in a similar fashion when they are victorious, but how do they cope with the sting of loss? Do they handle it with dignity and grace? Or do they reveal themselves to be a fool? Each person reacts differently.

From what I’ve seen so far of Tim Tebow, I have a feeling that the score at the end of the game won’t change him. After all, the most amazing thing about this story is not how he keeps winning, but rather how he’s stayed so cool about it through it all.

Here’s to you, Tim Tebow. GB^2

As a writer and student of literature, I have always been taught to look for subtext. “Not everything is as it seems.” It is always more than meets the eye, deeper meanings hidden behind people and places and stories. Connotations. It’s the subtle nuances behind words and the contexts in which they are placed that allow us to arrive at the same destination and come to different conclusions. When I apply this sort of thinking beyond books and into the realm of life, I tend to look at my life as a story. The idea itself isn’t much of a stretch–after all, our lives are punctuated by the very conflicts, climaxes and resolutions from which our art is derived. Nor is it a wrong to think in this manner–in fact, more of us need to be aware of our place in the bigger picture.

Rather, what I am mainly addressing here is the problem that arises when one is not only aware his life is a story but begins to force elements into the story that do not belong. In other words, you begin to imagine the progression of your life and determine proudly to construct a conclusion by which it is the only way your story can end. For instance, if I believe I am supposed to find love like it is found in fairy tales, then I will sit at the coffee shop and wait for the “love at first sight” moment. In this case, I will not allow love to happen, perhaps more practically and less “romantically”, through online dating, set-ups, or the like–though it could very well be that is where you were meant to find it.

The chief issue is this–you want to be in control of your own story. You demand the pen. You want to write it. You want to shape your own plot, be the captain of your own ship. Thoreau novelized it with his beat of my own drummer ideology. Granted, who does not desire this sort of freedom? I do. In fact, I live most of my days as though this is true.

The problem is we are not capable of the task. You and I are no more capable of writing our own stories than a puppet is in creating his own speech. There are many things that fall out of my jurisdiction. I cannot control the stock market, my health, or even the people with whom I’m living. There are so many factors that are connected to life, why things do and do not happen. (How much of my life is reactionary as opposed to initialized?) It is nice to think that I have some semblance of freedom, of self-determinism, but in the end, as Shakespeare so tenderly puts it, “All the world’s a stage / And all the men and women merely players.”

If so, then maybe the goal in life isn’t so much about trying to break rank as it is about discovering what our roles are in this grand play. Am I Horatio trying to play the part of Hamlet? Or have I been cast merely in the background? Our confusion and failures lie in the possibility that we have denied who we were meant to be, what we were meant to do, with the talents and passions uniquely gifted to us, and rather tried to indulge in fantasies shaped by comfort and safety. The issue is not that we are too ambitious but that we are not truly aware of our role and our purpose.

I once thought that being the captain was divine until I realized that I had no clue as to where I was going or how I’d get there. I was shipwrecked, before being found by a greater Captain, one who knows the way to True North and brought me on board to join his grand adventure.

Yes, I’m merely a sailor. It sounds less exciting than captain, more dutiful than daring. But I rather be a sailor on a ship towards paradise than command my own boat to wreckage. In the end, I trust that the beauty which I will have experienced in the journey and destination will prove my rightful surrender.

Yes…the sun. I hear it rarely makes an appearance up here, but it didn’t even take a day for me to find it. It’s the same sun that shines in LA, that I take for granted all too often, but here it’s peeking through to lend the place some light. It’s like the plants and trees rehearse so that whenever it appears, they are ready to reflect their wondrous colors onto the world:

I’ve only been here less than 24 hours, but I am already in love with this city. The weather, though a bit nippy, is crisp and cool. And the Seattle folks are unlike Angelinos–they are quite nice. They take time to make conversation with you, and in fact, welcome the opportunity to meet strangers. Smiles come on the faces of both the poor and rich, and hello’s are doled out by the dozens. There is a spirited current running through this city…it’s infectious.

Since my buddy Josh had to work, I took the community bus from Lynnwood to Downtown on my own. I went out looking for an adventure, for stories, and I found it not in the buildings or monuments, but in the people. Right as I hopped off the bus, on 5th and Pine, I saw a man on the street holding up a sign that read “help”and “jobless.” Caught in stride, and prompted by the Spirit, I went to strike up a conversation and perhaps offer him some food. I told him I was visiting from LA and asked if perhaps he wouldn’t mind giving me some pointers to the city. He responded sure no problem and told me his name was John. His friend Roger saw us talking and tagged along; we walked down the street for some Subway. We talked about the struggles with the economy and how hard it was to hold down a job. Then we talked about guns and how Roger shot a .45 magnum and how I couldn’t hit a thing with the magnum because the recoil was furious. John told me I needed to steady my wrist with the other hand lest the kickback might snap it. It was a rather enjoyable lunch with my two new friends.

I went on my way to Pike Place, home to the famous Farmers Market, and was able to visit the many vendors there who were selling homemade goods. The people were once again very amicable and probably sold me on some items because of their personalities alone. I could support the faces and names behind them. One woman named Lauri even gave me a map of the city and pointed me to the first original Starbucks down the street:

I got the exclusive gift cards that feature the original Starbucks logo that you cannot find anywhere else. I’m not a big coffee drinker, so it looks like they won’t remain in my hands for long…

Anyways, it’s time to sign off. The rain is about to hit the smooth streets of downtown–the sun was just here on loan–and I’m going to write for a bit before I meet up with another couple at a Thai place for dinner. If you ever get a chance, go visit Seattle–it rocks like Nirvana.

Thanks for reading, and keep warm in body and spirit.

-MY

The fact is, I am addicted to me. I am addicted to the idea that everything on this planet and every little incident that occurs must have something to do with me. (And if it doesn’t, then it’s probably not very important.) Did you know that there are 6.7 billion people on this planet? In fact, I hear we’re about to hit 7 billion soon. Yet I don’t live as though they matter or even exist. I spend most of my days focusing on things like what movie is next on my Netflix or what I would like for dinner. I say I care, that I lend myself to good causes, but every minute 15 children are dying around the world. Some from issues correlated with poverty like disease and hunger, some things we could possibly prevent.

As of this moment, I am doing nothing to help them. Is there something wrong here or is it just ME?

ME is a monster. It’s very subtle at first, in fact, he really begins to rear his ugly head only when you’ve become aware. But when you allow this monster to grow and take hold of you he can make you think things and do things that are not very noble. Even in the good I attempt, like feeding the poor or mentoring kids, this monster wants to steal from it and make it about me. Look at how virtuous you are, he whispers, you deserve a pat on the back. But I like to hear that, don’t I? That’s the hard part in fighting this addiction. One hand is ready to slay the monster while the other hand continues to feed him.

The solution is not to stop thinking about yourself. When I try to tell myself to do that–well, that’s called irony. Rather I’ve been praying lately that God the Father would give me his heart. I’m asking for a vision or passion that is much greater than my own glory or fame or comfort. Maybe something that will allow me to die to that monster so I can truly live. I am asking for a life that would impact people around me, to give to them, to help them make a difference in this generation for now and unto eternity.

I ask this from a desperate place and I hope it is granted. For this monster is greedy–it’s never satisfied. There is no removing him, only replacing him with something better. And it has to be Christ–there’s no other way. He’s my only out.

I ask you this because I had to ask myself the same thing. Without my realizing it, life had gradually become a long list of things to do: movies to watch, books to read, projects to complete, people I had to see. Somewhere in my adulthood the joy and freedom I had had in living and simply “being” turned into obligation. I started reading books because they were books I was supposed to have read at my age. Basketball became a mechanism for bodily health and exercise instead of a channel for fun and entertainment. Bills. Appointments. Everything became a numbers game.

Society has a way of inundating us with ideas that we’re nothing apart from our paychecks and medals. It tells us that we are what we do. It’s unfortunate that so many of us have our identities wrapped up in our work. But it’s been said that we’re not human doings, but human beings. God created us to enjoy him and the things he has created. We have been given passions and talents that bridge us in an ever subtle way with our Maker. I think we need to return to that. Not to shirk responsibilities or to quit our jobs, but to remember that life is meant to be enjoyed. Or…what are we working for anyway?

Do something that refills you. Challenges you. Grows you. Do something that pours into you and not the other way around. To end, I’ll leave you with this quote from the Dalai Lama who was asked: “What thing about humanity surprises you the most?”

“Man…Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.” 

Yet rare it is for a man to pour out his blessings to measure, and rarer still for him to do so in the face of suffering.

This year has not been easy. Through the thicket of personal and mental travails, some seeming to persist with no end, I had lost all hope and direction. Days when I didn’t know how much more I had to give. Feeling abandoned. Shipwrecked. Times when I felt and acted like a spiritual orphan. It was in these moments that I was challenged to give thanks still, and look up to remember the Father who has numbered and marked all my days in love.

It’s just nights like these when God seems to make my task easy.

This year I didn’t want a big deal. I just wanted to lay low for once. But love wouldn’t let me play the part. The many friends and family whom I’ve been blessed with did not let this day go in a whimper. From the co-worker who baked cupcakes (thanks Awu, resident birthday baker!) to the other co-workers who came bearing gifts (Bho and Davey–gentlemen, you are), and from the friends who planned an impromptu after-dinner celebration (and the friends who were willing to actually make it out) to my ever-supportive Mom and Dad with their fabulous dinner treat–it was a resounding declaration that God is lavish. He’s making it rain. Like mad. And if wealth is measured in love, I am truly one of the richest to ever walk this earth.

In spite of the few trials I have faced this year and in years past, I can truly say that my life is wonderful. To all the giants and heroes in my life–I am genuinely thankful for each and every one of you.

Some days I wonder who I am or what I have done to merit such divine favor. But more and more I’m learning that it’s pure and unabashed grace. And grace, much like gifts on birthdays, is something that you get simply for being you.

Thank you all deeply from the bottom of my heart,

MY

I didn’t know Steve Jobs personally. Unlike his neighbor, I never said hello or passed him while jogging. Nor am I an Apple fanatic. I do not own an iPad or iPhone or Macbook. I do have an iPod, but I purchased that about 5 years ago with the help of a huge gift card dangling over my head. I don’t hate Apple–in fact, I think its brand and products are rather cool–I just don’t plan on having Apple dominate every facet of my life anytime soon (well, until they come out with iGiveup).

Yet when the news about Steve broke out today I was stunned. This is the man who has shaped and steered our generation for the past decade. He has been at the forefront of every big technological shift and was featured on countless magazine covers. We knew him as publicly as the President. Now he’s gone, at an age (56) that leaves us wondering how much was left on the table.

Steve Jobs ensured that his memory will live on by the impact he had on those around him. His legacy is not defined only by his products or company, but rather in his thoughts and ideals. He is one who taught us to pursue our dreams with reckless abandon, to endure even when circumstances are dire, and to live everyday as though it were our last. He showed us what it meant to envelop the work of our hands in the passion of our hearts, knowing that in so doing we would never have worked a day in our lives.

Even in his passing Steve is teaching. His death reminds us that life truly is short. It reminds us that cancer is no joke. It is no respecter of persons. Neither the rich or poor are immune. Nor the young or old, black or white, famous or not. All it takes is one simple cell to do some wicked math before it starts dividing uncontrollably, and the next thing you know you’re going in for treatment and surgeries–or worse, your funeral.

Cancer is a great playwright of tragedy, and sans a higher being who has the final say and direction, we’d be tempted to think when looking at lives “short-lived” that there are many a story left without proper conclusion. But Steve would be the first to tell you that the tragedy wouldn’t be found so much in the number of days unfulfilled–it’d be resonant in the days that were left empty. Steve Jobs wasn’t without his foibles, but no one could deny he lived each day with purpose and passion. As hard as that is to fathom, his love might have possibly exceeded his brilliance. And as it stands that would be his magnum opus.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.