I do not think there has ever been a prayer over a chicken nugget dinner like the one I heard today.

Ever so often I am able to spend extended periods of time with just one of our many street kids. We will usually walk a lot while we talk. The setting is the same most times where we circle the two mile Sixteenth Street Mall route. As I think about it now, I will never cease to be amazed at how the hundreds of other people seem to disappear all around us as we walk and talk.

During one such time my friend and I talked at length about how God had created all things, including relationships. I told the story of Adam’s first look at Eve and how he went crazy over the perfection he saw in her. Our conversation might have been quite humorous on the street so I am glad that all the other people disappeared.

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“Wow, I can see!” These are the words that rang from her mouth when she put on her new pair of glasses.

Carol had no idea just how bad her vision was until she experienced the change in eyesight with the use of her new glasses. As we walked all the way back to her *squat she could not stop commenting on how incredible it was to be able to read the words on buildings, billboards, street signs, and much more. Carol was indeed thankful, not only for the glasses but, as she said, “For the whole Dry Bones team for caring so much about her.”

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May 1st 2006 marked the first time I ever participated in any kind of rally, and I have decided to share with you some photos from the event. I took my daughters that day, and it turned out to be a very special day for us as we learned more about our heritage, our rights, and our struggle to find our identity.

I’ll say a few things on each image to let you know the story.

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I just finished building a Lego replica of “The Healing of the Paralytic”. Later today I’m telling our Street Church kids this story and hoping to teach them a little about faith. I have all my little Lego minifigures hovering around a yellow house with a black tile roof. Inside is Jesus (actually it’s Han Solo – but it will work) and more people sitting on Lego stools.

A broken man with four friends. They wanted him well – so they carried him to Jesus. When they couldn’t get through the crowd they climbed the wall. They made an opening in the roof and then dug though the mortar and tiles until their was enough room to lower their friend down. Amazing.

There are miracles popping out all over this story. Jesus made the lame man to walk and he forgave his sins – and the sins of his faithful friends. Why? Because He’s God.

But my favorite miracle isn’t the one that’s the stuff of epic stories and headlines – it was the miracle of the four men whose faith in the healer and love for the broken moved them to dig through a tile roof for a chance to see their friend walk.

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“I have got some good news.”

“You do?” I replied.

“Monday is my birthday.”

I must admit I love it when my perspective is challenged. You know, when someone makes a comment and it causes you to see the ordinary differently? I think times like this keep my mind from numbing out. You know, it is like asking someone where the sky is. Most of the time they look way up and say up there. My reply is, I think it starts at the very end of your eye.

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Like Levi, I ditched last Monday… well, actually just a long lunch hour. I’m not really much of a rally person these days, even when it comes to things I feel passionate about—like immigration reform. But I put on a white shirt, as directed by the “A Day Without Immigrants” organizers. Never mind that it said “Canada” on the front… it was my nicest white t-shirt even if it was from across the wrong border. Within a few blocks of my office I was bustling along with 75,000 people chanting “Si, se puede” (“Yes, we can”).

Twenty years ago I was a big rally person, or at least I tried to be. My wife and I were in the streets of Chicago many weekends with a movement protesting an issue of injustice we felt strongly about. I have good memories of those events, and of a time in my life when I was awakening to God’s heart for justice for the oppressed. It set a new course for our lives that is still unfolding these many years later.

But I remember one moment during a demonstration which made me uneasy, and at rallies ever since, I’ve felt a little like a guy with a Canada shirt trying to chant “Si, se puede” and wondering if my grammar’s right.

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This month’s mural quiz should be a gimme for people in Denver–it’s on a busy street. If you ID the location you score a gift certificate for Blackberries Ice Cream and Coffee in Five Points.

Last Monday I ditched school. I didn’t go to City Park, where the majority of East High students go on their “off-period,” nor did I go to Starbucks or Chipotle. Instead, I found myself surrounded by 75,000 people waving American flags and screaming for acceptance, whether it was for them or for others. It was an immigration rally dubbed, “A Day Without Immigrants.” Now, sunburnt and in the newspaper (if you count the panoramic photos of the masses), I have the chance to reflect upon my experience.

Initially, I thought that this would be a great opportunity to get a 3-day weekend, enjoy the weather, and get some exercise. But by the time we reached downtown it became something different. I didn’t know what to expect. Would the march turn violent? Would we get tear-gassed? Would I be the only gringo there? My questions were soon answered, No No and No.

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We had our first week of T-ball practice with our kids from Joshua Station. It was of course a chaotic event! When I started this team I just wanted the kids to have some fun in an environment that builds confidence. However, it didn’t occur to me that all of our kids rarely have the attention span needed for focusing on sports. This is not just from being children, but stems from having experienced things in their lives that little kids have no business experiencing.

A specific example that haunts me on many levels is a five-year-old little girl who I saw walking aimlessly in the middle of the field. She was supposed to be at a station practicing her throwing. Nonetheless, I invited her over to try batting, and noticed she was distracted. I said to her, “You need to focus on this, sweetie. You need to put your hands here, and here, then look at the ball and swing.”

She turned and looked me in the eye. “Coach, I know, but I can’t focus right now. I can’t stop thinking about my dad. I miss him. Even though I know that when he and my mom used to fight he’d hurt her awfully bad, I still miss him. I just can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t focus.” She continued a little longer, and I was taken aback by her incredible sense of awareness at such a young age. I heard a five-year-old child articulate pain within a broken family the same way I’ve heard a fifteen-year-old articulate pain where divorce was occurring.

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