I decided to review Coffeehouse Theology by Ed Cyzewski (published by Navpress) because I liked the title, which intrigued me, and I am very interested in the subject. After all, the purpose of my blog (www.danroark.wordpress.com) is using contextual theology to reflect on God in everyday life. It is my main purpose in writing Bible studies. Unfortunately however, Cyzewski’s theology is better than his organizational skills.

While the book is worth reading completely to cull out the theological gems, it is cumbersome to do so. The first four chapters are more like a synopsis of the last seven chapters, with the last seven chapters retelling the synopsis in different words with different examples. The author states at times that "we will cover this in chapter..." and will go into to that exact subject for several pages, covering it quite thoroughly - potentially eliminating the need for the chapter. Then the chapter itself restates the same ideas.

Examples of theologians with the significance of their contextual view are sprinkled throughout. His original premise is a solid one. "All theology serves the mission of God. It is the reason we do theology." "God is at the center of theology." Delving into contextual theology requires looking at theology from our own cultural context, at scripture in its context, tradition and its context, as well as the global church (churches of different cultures) and the different contexts.

The premise is distinctly relevant. But it does not take an entire book to examine the premise itself. As a practitioner of cultural theology, I was hoping Coffeehouse Theology would expand the boundaries of my own journey. Not merely a justification of my study of cultural theology. Chapters four and five on modern and postmodern ages, respectively, are interesting summaries of the ages, the former more so than the latter. The comparison of The Andy Griffith Show to The Real World show is extraneous and leaves the reader scratching his/her head.

All that being said, Coffeehouse Theology is worth reading for the insights it contains.

The only good thing about these dog days of summer - if there is actually something good about them - is that they lead straight to the beginning of school. When I was in school as I was growing up, after the glow of my birthday on the 23^rd of July faded, I was ready to go back to school. And now, the glow of my birthday shines a little dimmer. But I am certainly ready for school to start. For our teenage boys, not me.

When they start back to school, I will be able to have a regular work schedule again. Gasp! Real, honest to goodness office hours. It seems like it has been a year - instead of just a couple of months. But they were long months. The summer break is finally beginning to come to a close. Football practice begins next week. And with all three boys going into athletics this year, their school days will be longer.

I am almost giddy with anticipation. Anticipation of the somewhat cooler temperatures and the longer, quiet work hours that the school year will bring. I will be writing regularly, posting regularly, not to mention having time to read and simply think. I am almost cooling down just thinking about it. Almost.

Will there still be interruptions and unforseen circumstances? Absolutely. It’s also not like the boys will be sweethearts when they are at home. I am not that delusional. But I can pray that the regimentation of football practice and ROTC will teach them some discipline. Even if it is a little bit at a time. The affiliation with the Fellowship of Christian Athletes may help with that as well as being on the youth leader team at church. The youth leader team helps with the planning stages of youth activities.

It will be what it will be. And only God knows what that is. But at least I’ll get a lot of writing done. God willing.

What do you like or not like about school beginning again?

About noon on Friday, the power went out on our block. I have no idea if the outage extended any farther than our block. We have an old phone - with an actual cord - for occasions such as this. I called the electric company on the monster receiver. As always with automated lines, after I made my first choice between options, I was required to put in my account number. After which an odd sounding mechanical voice repeated the number to me and said "if that is correct, press 1."

Which sent me to the land of silence or bad music. Interrupted occasionally by recordings such as "your business is important to us, please stay on the line," "you will be helped by the next available representative," and the one I never believe, "a representative will be with you shortly." Over five minutes passed with messages playing periodically. At long last, following a "this call may be recorded for quality assurance" message, a representative answered the phone.

I explained that the power had gone out. She said she would be happy to process that request. She asked for the address where the power was out. I gave her the address, she asked my name, I told her, and she asked me to wait while she looked up the account. Which is what I do not understand. I put in my account number originally. Why did she ask for my address to look up the account?

Okay, I understand that she probably had to put in the address to pull the account up on the computer. But with the state of technology today, one would think that the account number would follow the phone call which is controlled, after all, by a computer. I can also understand that it might not be possible or feasible to do that yet. However, that still leaves my basic question: why did I have to put in my account number just to get to a list of options? Then again, there is not much you can say that is good about automated phone lines.

After I had lunch last Thursday, I was washing the dishes which, due to having teenagers, was anything used since the last time I washed dishes. I had just finished and turned the water off when I heard a bang upstairs. Since no noise followed the bang I assumed the bang was a result of my turning the hot water off at the kitchen sink and the water heater shutting off. I was only partly right.

I heard another bang. Then I began to be worried. Cameron, our middle son, was asleep on the couch, having been suspended from school for making a bad decision. I was planning to wake him up anyway to coax him into doing some actual work, but I did not intend to wake him up in a panic. After I yelled "what’s that noise?" I ran up the stairs to the water heater. The pilot light was already off.

About the time I reached the bottom of the stairs I began to hear water rushing. But I didn’t know where. My common sense fought through the panic rushing through my mind. I hustled back upstairs and turned the water to the water heater off. But the water already released was still going to have to run out. I could only hope and pray that it would not do too much damage while it finished draining. The poor overflow pipe was working overtime, but could still not handle the flow.

At which time I looked at the back window of the dining room with the blinds shut. Water began running down the blinds like something out of a Twilight Zone episode - like a flowing fountain. Not down the wall, neither above the window nor on either side. Just down the blinds. Cameron ran for towels and put them on the window sill and on the floor in front of the window.

I called my wife, Cyndy, at work to let her know what was happening. As I hung up and called Home Warranty of America to get a plumber out to fix the problem, the river had changed to a slow stream. Being Thursday afternoon, the plumber would probably not be out before Friday morning. The HWA rep had to call a plumber on their list, then the plumber would contact me.

While I waited for someone to call me, the running water was slowly flowing to a standstill. That is when signs of the incident began to show in the ceiling. Water began to drip from little holes in the ceiling so small they were undetectable if not for the constant bead of water giving away its location. And the bubble you may or may not be able to see in the picture began to form.

At that point I hoped that the end was near and it all would dry out, leaving the bubble intact. I can deal with a bubble that you have to look directly at to see. But if it bursts and peels it really looks nasty. And gets progressively worse. If it stays intact, I can buy enough time to plan for the expense of the project.

The plumber arrived Friday morning, assessed the situation, and ordered a new water heater. After lunch, when he had finished two other previously scheduled jobs on the way to get the heater, he returned and installed it. While he switched the two heaters, the water line was detached and we could not run any water. So naturally, I immediately needed to go to the bathroom and had a strong urge to brush my teeth and wash my hands.

We now have a new water heater. We can now move on to other misfortunes. In the meantime though, I will be able to use the bathroom, brush my teeth and wash my hands to my heart’s content. There’s a lot to be said for being prepared - having insurance, warranties, and faith. What could have been a nightmare was simply a short period of restless sleep. It does take a chunk out of the workday though.

Another way I take a break when I have to get out of the house or explode, is going to bookstores and browsing. Used book sales are a delightful bonus - I do not have to keep putting books back. When the day was not going quite as well as I would prefer, I took a trip up to the Gently Used Book Sale put on by C-FB ISD in the Trinity Valley Shopping Center at Josey and the Bush Turnpike.

Despite the fact that this is the third day of the sale, I still found some treasures that were a steal for the price. I should not have been too surprised. The books I am looking for are not usually the first to go. A lot of people use the book sale to stock up on their fiction for the year. I was searching for religious and church history and theology. Those who are looking for fiction and other genres still have plenty to choose from. There are seemingly endless tables of children’s and teen books for all ages.

If you have not had a chance to check out the book sale, do not despair. There are plenty of books left to peruse. It is well organized which makes browsing easier. Saturday the hours are 9 - 6 and Sunday 1-6. And if you go Saturday from 9-12 you can meet Ruth, your friendly NeighborsGo editor. Leave your comments on her post about the book sale after your visit.

Sometimes you need to take a break. Ordinarily for most of us, that is seldom an option. There is simply not enough time and too much to do. Personally, I’m always working, thinking about the next article, post, or larger project. Other than writing or theological conferences and the occasional weekend trip, I do not leave town much. With church, school, and DeMolay events, our boys get many more trips than we do.

Since I am working all the time, I seldom take a break. A break from writing means working around the house. However, around this time of year, winter illnesses make the rounds of the family. As luck would have it, I am usually the last and hardest hit. My body forces me to take the break I can’t make time for. Chest cold, head cold, drowiness, hot and cold flashes, the works. Not necessarily all symptoms at the same time.

With the weather switching from hot to cold incessantly, it is difficult to get well quickly. It would probably help if I could just lay around and be sick for a couple of days. But working at home means no place to hide and be sick. Emails need to be answered and sent, writing needs to be submitted, and calls need to be made. Not to mention being a taxi driver for three teenagers.

When I do get a chance to take breaks, they are in small increments. Usually less than, but no more than, thirty minutes at a time. If I do get that chance, I spend it reading. Magazines or newspapers in waiting rooms, the book I have in the car, anything to read. Or just being outside somewhere and looking off into space and contemplating things. Writing on a project that is on the back burner and not urgent. Playing guitar if there are no boys around to bother me. Conferences, while busy, are longer breaks. I get to think about things other than bills, chores, and deadlines. To me it’s a small vacation - as much as I’m going to get.

What do you do when you take breaks? What relaxes you? How do you "get away"?

I’m a people-watcher. I think it comes naturally, as a writer. Watching people not only helps me to observe how people act, but also helps me in the descriptive part of my writing. I grew up a voracious reader. Yet when the author would describe a woman’s features, I was not sure what he/she was describing. Most of the women characters turned out in my imagination to have a some semblance to my mother, grandmothers, or aunts. Fortunately, I had a lot of aunts so I had variations in features to choose from.

I began to watch people as a boy simply because I was fascinated and curious. As a teenager, I watched mostly girls because I was suddenly full of testosterone. I only watched guys for signs of what to do, or what not to do, to attract those girls. In college, as now, I watched people simply to observe. I have also stuttered since I could talk - which is part of the reason I am a writer - so observing was what I did best.

I am improving in my ability to describe people’s features. I will often turn to Cyndy and ask her questions about an actor or actress. "Would you describe her as a handsome woman?" "Would you call those stern features? And other similar questions. Honing my descriptive edge.

But when observation becomes focused, strange things can occur. I have walked into walls, columns, posts, and other immovable structures. One of my favorite games is seeing people from behind and trying to picture their face from their clothes and hair. Which requires seeing them from the front to ascertain how close I came to being right. Which includes missing exits or streets, or potentially having to brake suddenly.

I am also prone to get caught eavesdropping on conversations. I am not actually eavesdropping because I am paying more attention to what they look like when they talk and what their voice sounds like than trying to follow the conversation. But their perception is different and I get thrown a nasty look. I never know if the look I get is simply annoyance or because of something he or she said that she hoped I did not hear. Which I did not.

I have a cap I often wear that reads Writer (Be Patient). It cuts down on the stares and hopefully causes some smiles. There are still the looks of pity laced with jealousy. Everyone wants to be a writer on some level. Yet each person has his/her own opinion of someone who writes for a living. Some people think it would be "really neat." Most people think writers are a little weird. The cap helps with the looks. Now if I could just keep from walking into walls.

I know what Hell looks like. It is a maze of car repair center waiting rooms where everyone is waiting to get their car fixed. All of the rooms smell like tire rubber, gas, oil, and body odor, with a faint whiff of Pine-Sol. Also in all rooms is a man in a uniform that says "Bob" above the pocket and looks as if he just lost his wife and each customer is an alimony payment waiting to happen.

In one room the television is on The Price is Right with Drew Carey, loud enough to be impossible to ignore, and you cannot change the channel. The soup or coffee machine eats your money. The little freezer with the sign that says "Drinks for Customers - Only One Please," has not seen contents for weeks. The magazines on the coffee table you would not read if you were stranded on a desert island or, well, in Hell. But you read them.

Another room has the television tuned to the most irritating news channel, but there is a remote on the coffee table. You change it to a show you would really rather watch. It is an episode you have not seen. You really get locked into it. Then a cranky woman comes in and demands that the TV be changed to General Hospital because she is missing her stories. You will never see the rest of that episode of your show. The coffee is free, but was made last Tuesday.

In any room, the total of the estimate to repair your car is never less than $500, even if you only dropped in to get a tire fixed, and it is always more than you can afford. If you are fortunate enough to be in a room where they actually just do what you came in for, the receipt prints out with pages of recommendations of repair work you really, really need. In all instances, the presenter of the estimate assures you that if you do not do the $2500 worth of work they are recommending, your car will begin to deteriorate the minute you leave the service center. It will continue to deteriorate until you are left with the car seats, a steering wheel, and a bent key. And it has to be done immediately.

I have never been terribly fond of pawnshop owners. But I would rather pawn my guitar than take my car in to have it repaired. Needing money and being offered a fraction of the worth of a prized possession - not to mention being without it until I paid up - is humiliating. But it is not close to the feeling of being told that my world will collapse if I do not agree to sign my life away this instant. Do not take time to think, the work must be done now. If you take time to work it into your budget, it would be too late.

"Take a day to think about it and decide what you want to do, trade it in or sell it." As if those are the only options. I am a fairly intelligent person who has received 95% in persuasion on personality tests. But even I turn into a panicky mass of nerves when faced with a seasoned service manager. I begin to feel as if disobeying him could lead to total destruction.

But fortunately, the vulnerability is temporary. I maintain my sanity - however stressed - and manage to do the least I can to get my vehicle back in my possession. Within an hour I already had a plan of attack. It is not life-threatening if I do not get it all done this instant. Now I can gird my loins, take the car back in and tell them what I want done. After I have checked around at a couple of other repair centers. I may end up getting my car repaired and inspected. Which is a good thing. The bad thing is that I have at least two more rooms of Hell to go through before I get there.

The winter illnesses have finally made the rounds of our family. The boys are back in school for a while. So I actually have quiet time in which to work. But it has been an experience. When all three boys are under the weather in one way or another, the mass of testosterone pervading the atmosphere of our home transforms into a pathetic, whiny fog. The same teenagers who demanded that the world give them what they want because they deserve it begin pleading for us to make them feel better.

Now life is back to normal. When the boys are not pointing out our faults or telling us what they have to get right that instant, they are ignoring us. Theoretically that would lead to silence - which would be a good thing - but theories have no home in the mind of a teenager. Boredom, on the other hand, is a frequent visitor. With three teenagers in the same room, it also borders on the volatile. From outward appearance it would seem that screaming at, or hitting, one’s brothers eases the boredom.

With the boys at school I get as much work done as I can. While simultaneously finishing chores that were interrupted with bouts of acting as referee the evening before. And lots and lots of silence - wonderful, peaceful, introspective silence. Allowing mental preparation for the onslaught of sound that will burst through the door at 4 p.m. Phil Spector’s "wall of sound" had nothing on three teenage boys.

There are, however, good things about working at home. I just have to keep finding where someone hid them. Maybe with that other sock.

When you work at home - or for yourself, for that matter - calling in sick is not an option. There is no one to substitute for you. If you do not do it, it will not get done. However, unless you are living alone, there are still "co-workers" to assist in passing germs around. There are times when the family of the home worker actually are co-workers - even if unwittingly.

This time of year, with the house closed up most of the time, the air tends to be heavy with unfriendly particles aching to be a nuisance. In either case, home office or work building, the first one to come down with symptoms is pointed to as the culprit. Which, in this particular go-round during the past week or two, would be our youngest son, J.D. Cyndy and I usually keep on the outskirts of ailment - succumbing to only a few symptoms - because we follow our own advice more closely.

Our boys however - as teenagers are wont to do - throw caution to the wind. If they even grasp the concept of caution. They do not wear a coat until it’s below forty degrees. Even then it is most likely a sweatshirt. They are surprised when they get sick. Then they milk it for all it’s worth. Taking their temperature every half hour - announcing the results each time. Their temperament gets downright ugly. Which does not make for a pleasant work environment when someone is home sick each day.

Today everyone went to school or work. Hopefully, it will be the start of a trend. Just having time to think unencumbered is a considerable plus. But there is much to get accomplished and the first month of the year is quickly coming to a close. Dance, fingers, dance. Deadlines are approaching.