Reportedly, yesterday saw the birth of the 7 billionth person on earth. While I have a hard time believing that census records are so precise that we know exactly how many people are currently alive– in other words, that a specific baby was exactly the 7 billionth person on earth– still, this is a staggering number.

One that should give us slight pause.

Whether you are a young earth creationist or an old earth evolutionist or somewhere in between, still, the facts remain: world population moved at a slow, steady pace for quite some time before, within the last two hundred years (and especially within the last quarter century) exploding.

It was only in 1804 that world population first hit the 1 billion mark. (So, depending on where you stand regarding the age of the earth and the age of humanity, it took anywhere from 5200 years to several billion years for human population to hit the billion mark*).

Then, it wasn’t until 1974 that we hit the 4 billion point.

So, with yesterday issuing the 7 billionth person, one doesn’t have to be a math major to figure out the rest: the earth has produced 3 billion people in less than 30 years.

What these numbers mean and what my take on it is, well, I’m not entirely certain. But one thing is clear: we have to do something to either (a) stem the population growth, or (b) stabilize the infrastructure of countless countries in order to provide the resources that such a massive population requires and deserves. Most important, we are going to have to become better stewards of our consumption. As always, this must begin at an individual level. Meanwhile, local and national governmental policies will hopefully be put in place to help ensure that the global citizenry is doing what needs to be done to protect our planet and our ever-growing population.

Last year I read Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom, which had a subplot about population growth and the problems it presents for humanity. To be honest, it was the first time I had heard about population growth being a burgeoning fear. The idea remained in the back of my mind since then, but I hadn’t landed on it again until yesterday’s report about the 7 billionth baby.

Ultimately, I hope wonderful things for that young child, just as I do for the other 6.99 billion people inhabiting our planet. Meanwhile, I hope we will remain (or become) cognizant of the fact that the earth is a finite resource, a place with only so much space and so much fecundity, and that, if there are 7 billion of us on it, and if there are going to be billions more of us in the future, each one of us deserves the same amount of goodness, potential, and reward from it as the rest.

* Accounts on the age of the earth and on the age of mankind vary. Most scientific reports on the age of the earth put it at approximately 4.5 billion years while most young-earth creationist science puts it at roughly 6,000. Meanwhile, scientific approximation for the age of mankind (on a 4.5 billion year old earth) is around 200,000 years old, while, of course, young earth creationist science holds mankind to, like the age of the earth, be around 6,000 years old.

Yesterday my wife and I bought an autumn wreath for our front door. We also bought an exorbitant amount of candy. Both of these purchases were very exciting for my wife, as she is hugely excited about the arrival of fall and about the prospect of trick-or-treaters visiting our front door tonight.

Growing up, my family did not celebrate Halloween. Therefore, I’ve never found myself caught up in the emotionalism of the holiday.

I feel that changing this year, though.

Seeing how excited April is about these kids showing up tonight– the way she has been checking the weather forecast every hour and asking me, “So, how many kids do you think will come tonight? 50? Do you really think it will be 50? Oh, I would love for it to be that many”– something about her eagerness and enthusiasm has me buying into the spirit of the whole thing.

Tonight, as soon as we get off work, she and I are going to take candy over to our little buddy AJ and see him in his costume, then we will hightail it back to our house to prepare for the onslaught of trick-or-treaters. I confess: I am looking forward to watching these costumed kiddos scurry around the neighborhood in search of candy; I’m looking forward to seeing the smiles adorning their faces.

However, I’m looking most forward to watching the smile of the woman distributing candy beside me, the woman whose day gets made by something as simple as an autumn wreath on our front door.

A few months ago I wrote a post about why high school athletic rivalries are the best rivalries in sports. I’m reminded about that post today as my own high school, Wesleyan Academy, prepares for its state championship game in soccer.

I transferred to Wesleyan as a sophomore after spending the first nine years of my education in public schools. While attending Wesleyan ultimately became about much more for me, there was only one reason for my initial move: soccer.

Throughout the 90s, Wesleyan Academy’s soccer program was consistently ranked in the top 25 of the nation. Therefore, lots of players from the central part of North Carolina set their sights on being a Wesleyan soccer player. I, at fifteen, was fortunate enough to become one of them.

Those three years in a Wesleyan jersey played a large role, I now see, in shaping who I would later become. I learned quite a bit about loyalty, selflessness, and faith from that program and, moreover, from that school.

Every day I donned that jersey I was reminded of the great players who had worn it before me: the various all-Americans who had gone on to win and/or play in Division 1 National Championships, the guys who were playing professionally overseas, the guys who’d won countless Division 2 and Division 3 National Championship rings. Then, I would think of the ones who came before them, the ones who, since I didn’t know them by name– since they were old and grown with families of their own– were more like ideas, more like ghosts whose impact on the program could not be overstated nor readily articulated.

Today, I and my teammates, and all of those who came before us, are those same nameless ideas, those same ghosts, to a young Wesleyan team that is currently ranked 14th in the nation and who kicks off it 2011 state championship bid in a matter of hours.

Soccer defined my life for my first twenty-two years. Since quitting my junior year of college, I have grown further and further removed from the sport, having reached the point where I seldom think about or miss the game. Today though, as those Wesleyan boys pull on their jerseys and lace their boots, even though I will not be there in the stadium, I will spend my day proud to know that  a small part of me– a nameless, invisible part– will be out there on the field with them.

And whether they win or lose, or whether I ever meet a single one of them, one thing is certain: I am mighty proud of them today, and I am mighty thankful to them for maintaining a legacy that reminds several old guys like me of some of the happiest times of our lives.

On the heels of yesterday’s CS Lewis poem, and in light of my utter reverence for Lewis, I feel it in order to make today’s top 5 list a compilation of my favorite “Christian/spiritual” writers. This is a tough list to compile, as there are so many writers who have influenced my faith and my thinking (many of them in ways I’m likely not aware of).

After considerable thought, though, I have put together this list:

1.  CS Lewis
2. Don Miller (More than any book I’ve ever read, Blue Like Jazz reshaped my life and my thinking)
3. Anne Lamott (To me, Lamott is the pioneer of the grittier, edgier, more authentic shape today’s Christian writing has taken).
4. Tim Keller (I have re-read portions of The Reason For God so many times the ink of my copy has begun smudging and fading)
5. Thomas Merton (Seven Storey Mountain is the most exquisitively written spiritual memoir in existence)

Again, this was an incredibly difficult list for me to compile. If asked on a different day, I would quite possible have an entirely different list (although Lewis and Miller would remain in the 1 and 2 slots). Folks like Watchman Nee, Rob Bell, Tony Campolo, Jim Wallis, Rick Warren, Brian McLaren, Shane Claiborne, Cathleen Falsani, Susan Isaacs, Pete Rollins, Kathleen Norris, and Susan Isaacs (and likely, a handful of others who aren’t immediately jumping to mind) would all be under consideration on any given day.

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love –a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek–
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.

– “As the Ruin Falls” by C.S. Lewis

Truer words have never been written.

Sunday night April crawled in bed with a notepad and a pen. It was an old notepad she’d found in our spare room, and in it she’d accidentally stumbled upon notes she’d taken two years ago at church. The sermon that day had been on joy, and in it, our then-pastor Greg had spoken of how we would all do well to make a list each evening including two things: (1) the time that day when we felt most content, and (2) the time that day when we felt most discontent. Then, after reflecting on those times, Greg suggested that we pray and thank God for the times of contentment and ask him to help us sort through the things that had caused the times of discontent.

In her notes, April has Greg quoted as saying, “It is your responsibility to make space and time for God. If you do, then he will show up. Know that however he shows up is exactly what you need for that day.”

Over the years I heard Greg deliver many moving sermons, but for some reason, I remember the exact moment he said this. In fact, as April was reading the notes to me, I could already form the words before she spoke them.

That night, we took his advice. We listed our times of contentment and discontent. And then we prayed together.

Then, we did it last night, too.

And while I certainly do not feel my life is suddenly overflowing with added joy, I do feel my spirit being lifted by this activity and by these moments. And this is a good thing, because in my life right now there are some very disconcerting things taking place.

And I know I’m not alone in this; we could all use a little more joy in our lives, and I’m grateful that April stumbled upon Greg’s lesson on how we can go directly to the Source and find it, knowing that if we show up, he will provide us the very thing we need for that day.

Dear Carolina Panthers,

After yesterday’s big win (and my big performance), I felt it in order to express to you my sincere thanks for wasting my entire career. Unlike what some naysayers may think, I have thoroughly enjoyed spending my career making sub-par quarterbacks look like pro bowlers.

I suppose– seeing as I’m in the twilight of my career– I don’t mind that you’ve finally gone out and gotten me a real quarterback, but please know how appreciative I am that, for the first ten years of my career, you left me fending for myself with bums like Rodney Peete, Jake Delhomme, Chris Weinke, Matt Moore, and Jimmy Clausen.

I certainly didn’t want the Hall of Fame numbers I had the potential to compile; I didn’t want the Super Bowl rings I could have gotten for my team.

No, all I wanted was to carry an entire franchise on my shoulders for a decade, single-handedly making my team just mediocre enough that no changes in coaching and/or personnel would ever be made. That, and my own Bojangles commercial.

(You’re welcome, Jake.)

Sincerely,

Steve Smith

After finishing Chuck Klosterman’s The Visible Man on Thursday, I picked up Jeffery Eugenides’s The Wedding Plot to bring to the mountains for the weekend. I am about 150 pages in and really enjoying it. The story is compelling, but just as important, the characters are interesting.

In fact, the characters are so interesting that they got me thinking last night: would I like to be one of them?

You see, these Brown University characters (especially two of the primary three) are fiercely smart. Scratch that, smart isn’t what I mean. Intellectual is more like it. Consequently, as I continue reading their dialogue and their inner thoughts, I can’t help but be a tad envious at how much brighter these characters are than I.

So, I fell alseep last night asking myself if I would like to be the soft hearted, self-conscious, religious studies major Mitchell Grammaticus (bt dubs: the dude, upon turning in his thesis for his final religion course, had his professor gaurantee him a spot at Yale or Harvard Divinity School, or at Princeton Theological Seminary).

Then, I wrestled with whether I’d like to be the quick-tongued, highly sophisticated, uber-depressed Leonard Bankhead (whom New York Magazine claims Eugenides based on David Foster Wallace, although Eugenides patently denies the charge).

Ultimately, I decided I wouldn’t want to be either Grammaticus or Bankhead because, even though they do exemplify a stunning acumen, they aren’t– at least, to me– the stuff heroes are made of. And by that, I mean they don’t seem like selfless, world-bettering individuals. Granted, I am only on page 150, and it is entirely possible that by the end of the book Eugenides will have rounded his characters in a way that one (or both) inhabit these traits, but I doubt it.

Meanwhile, in saying that I don’t want to be like them because they aren’t “heroes,” that doesn’t mean I want my life to be that of John Rambo or Jack Bauer or even Captain Sully Sullenberger.

Instead, I mean that I want my life, whether it’s only for one or two people, to be life-affecting. I want to put others’ needs and wants ahead of mine; I want to exude the kind of personality that makes people happy to be around me; I want my words to build people up and make them realize their intrisic value. That, in my mind, is a hero: someone who puts others first, who makes those around him/her happy, whose words inspire in others a sense of self-worth.

By that measure, I lay in bed last night thinking of the novel character I would most like to be. A long list of names came to mind, but by the time I fell asleep, I had it whittled down to two:

1. Atticus Finch: Perhaps the greatest character in the history of literature, the selfless Finch stood up to racial injustice in the Deep South at a time when it could have cost him everything. Not only this, though, but Finch served as a model for how a father should speak to and raise his children.

2. Samuel Hamilton: Steinbeck’s Hamilton was a gregarious, kind-hearted man who was, most of his life, too passionate for his own good. He had countless great ideas, but he would hop from one to another before seeing the first through– ideas from which, out of his own carelessness, he didn’t profit while others did. Meanwhile, Hamilton didn’t care. All Hamilton cared about was the joy and struggle of living. Most important about Hamilton, though, was the lesson Steinbeck used his character to teach: that no matter how late in life, human nature always has the ability to determine who he wants to be; calling on Genesis 2, Steinbeck shows through Hamilton that if one wants to overcome his own flaws and personality and become someone new, someone he respects: “thou mayest.”

To me, these two characters represent the type of humble hero I would like to be. They both lived quiet, unassuming lives, and they worked hard to ensure justice for their communities and joy for their families. 

At the end of the day, I don’t know that one ought to hope for more from himself or from a hero.

(Note: I came very close to including Nicholas Sparks’s Noah Calhoun in this list. Mock Sparks all you want, but Noah Calhoun, though not quite as dimensionally drawn as Finch and Hamilton, serves as a very strong example of selflessness, compassion, and quiet confidence.)

With each new election year, the public gets treated to new political buzzwords. Often, these are just old ideas recycled in new ways. This year, we are being repeatedly smacked with this tasty treat: “Wall Street vs. Main Street”– both parties using the phrase in a way that implies they are on the side of “Main Street.”

Thus, Main Street is (one of) the new euphamisms politicians are using to represent the common man.

But that’s just what “Main Street” is in their speeches and sound bites: a euphamism. An idea. Consequently, when politicians bandy the word “Main Street,” few people listening actually envisage their own city’s Main Street; rather, they pull images from family-friendly films and from 50′s photographs.

I am just as guilty of this as anyone else; however, I am currently in Hendersonville, NC– the town my wife was born and grew up in– and it reminds me that there are towns left in America that still have thriving Main Streets. And these are not troglodytic, backwood backward-thinking towns, either. Rather, they are legitimate downtown thoroughfares boasting legitimate mom-and-pop local businesses: coffee shops, bookstores, restaurants, bars, music stores, bakeries, general stores, art galleries.

In a few minutes, April and I will go to Black Bear Coffee, a local coffee shop where I wrote several portions of my book High Points and Lows. The shop offers several different local newspapers (along with the NYT and WSJ) and features art by several local artists.

After Black Bear, we will likely eat at Mike’s on Main, an old-time drugstore turned hamburger and soda shop. Then, we will go to McFarland’s Bakery and buy homemade donuts and brownies. Finally, we will patronize the local bookstore– a bookstore which, last time I was here, was pushing books by local sons Charles Frazier and Robert Morgan and local daughter Ann Ross.

Donwtown Hendersonville is a functioning, thriving reminder that “Main Street” is not just an idea, that it’s not just a buzzword. “Main Street” is still alive and well in many towns across the country, and we would do well to remember that the common man which the term euphamizes deserves to be more than just a metaphor.

I spend so much time pining for new books by my favorite authors that when they are finally released, it becomes depressing to think that I am suddenly right back where I started: waiting (at least) two years for the next one.

And so it begins for me this morning with Chuck Klosterman.

For those not familiar with Klosterman, I suggest you start with his 2003 pop culture essay collection Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs to really get a feel for who he is as a thinker and a writer. For my part, when I first read SD&C, I was blown away by the way he unabashedly used vapid pop cultural touchstones as filters through which to make hugely insightful points about the human condition.

Here, in his latest, The Visible Man, Klosterman is taking his second stab at fiction. While I have yet to read his debut novel, Downtown Owl, I think it is safe to say that Klosterman has found his voice as a novelist. The Visible Man is highly engaging, and the insights he makes about human nature are dizzyingly thought provoking.

The book is about a therapist who finds herself treating a patient with a very unique situation: he, a former governmental scientist, has access to a “cloaking” suit that renders him invisible. Now, clearly the convention of an “invisible man” has been used countless times; but not like this. Klosterman uses his invisible character to act as a social scientist, a man interested in viewing human nature in its natural state (i.e. alone). Klosterman’s character (“Y__”) contends that the person we present to everyone– even our family and spouses– is not the real us. The real us is the person we are when no one’s watching. Therefore, it’s fascinating to watch Klosterman’s camera enter the rooms of those who don’t know someone is observing them.

Meanwhile, Y__, atop being invisible, is also deliciously smart. He is constantly whipping out original insights and witticisms that would never occur to the average person.

For instance, consider this: when speaking of a mercurial man he spent time observing, the invisible man (“Y__”) says to Vicki, his therapist, that everyone in North America is crazy; he tells her this is an inescapable, unarguable fact, seeing as it’s in our DNA. After not understanding what he means, Y__ tells Vicki that, outside of the slaves brought over against their will, those who came west to America  can be divided into only 4 categories: (1) those who were so fanatical about their religion that they were willing to risk their lives for it, (2) those who were so money hungry that they saw an ability to make a fortune, (3) those who were running from trouble, and (4) those who were so miserable they thought a potentially deadly trip would add excitement to their lives. He explains that anyone well-adjusted and capable of living a content life never considered leaving Europe to begin with.

I found this a fascinating thought, and the book is full of interesting nuggets like this.

Ultimately, the story closes well and, despite the fact that Klosterman uses Y’s therapy sessions with Vicky as the overarching framing device for the narrative, the book still manages to resolve itself in a satisfying way. Not an easy feat for a novelist.

So, if finding yourself at the bookstore this weekend, I suggest you flip through The Visible Man (or Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs) and see if you think Klosterman might be right for you. Meanwhile, for my part, I will begin my two year wait for his next offering.