Tumblr (3.0; @joshualongbrake)http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/<p><iframe frameborder="0" height="844" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ur5fGSBsfq8?rel=0" width="1200"></iframe></p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17803015848http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17803015848Fri, 17 Feb 2012 21:35:43 -0600<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-new-york-public-library/new-perspectives-on-old-p_b_1233351.html">New Perspectives on Old Perspectives: How an Art Project Helped the NYPL Put Its 3D Stereograph Collection in Your Hands</a>: <p>Joshua Heinemann, whom I am honored to call a friend, wrote a great piece for HuffPo on his Reaching for the Out of Reach personal project and his collaboration with the New York Public Library. Both Joshua’s creativity and honor for the past run deeply in his words.</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17563390255http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17563390255Mon, 13 Feb 2012 14:13:08 -0600<p>Andrew and Christy Bauman, my friends from grad school and Mt. Rainier companions, lost their baby boy Jackson Brave to the damned hands of death this winter. Grace and peace to both of you, Andrew and Christy. Much grace and much peace.</p> <p>Dan Allender wrote this in response:</p> <p>May It All Be True</p> <p>We had this privilege to be with colleagues and friends at the funeral of their son Jackson Brave Bauman just a few weeks before Christmas. I sat with my wife in a lovely church with mourners who had come together for the sole sake of grieving with Christy and Andrew. Jackson Brave Bauman, their son, died before taking his first breath. He was perfect, except his heart stopped beating. His mother and father began the service carrying his teeny coffin down the aisle to the communion table where a plump brown bear, a toy meant to greet his arrival into this world, stood somber awaiting his departure to the earth.</p> <p>Everything about death is wrong. Everything. It is wrong even when an aged body that has lived well and suffered enormously dies; even when it is supposedly best to let go of this life—death is wrong. But it strikes the heart, as obscene, a mockery of all that is good and full of hope to see the body of a child dead.</p> <p>On each side of the communion table was a picture of Brave. In one photo his grieving mother and father held their beautiful, perfect boy. On the other side, his body shot from the angle of the head downwards was as if looking at a slumbering doll.</p> <p>We sat near the back of the church and I neither attempted to look around, nor could I stare exclusively at my feet. I occasionally took in both photos and the waiting bear. Each time I looked at the family portrait, I started to cry; when I looked at his sleeping body I wanted to rage. I felt like a metronome of grief and blasphemy.</p> <p>I love Andrew; I only know Christy from a few conversations. I like many had anticipated the immensity of goodness this young couple would soon know. My last words to Andrew about the coming birth were to remind him that Brave was about to ruin his life and he would never, excepting a few, regret the ruin because the joy he would know in being a father and allowing his son to father him through Jesus would make every loss and heartache worth infinitely more than the suffering.</p> <p>I had no idea how deep was the truth and lie of what I said. Is his death worth the agony and loss they will suffer for a lifetime? Is the privilege of being the one to carry him and watch him grow in the womb that became his tomb infinitely worth more than the suffering they will bear? To say, yes, is not mine to write. To say it is possible is only to speak of the remarkable hearts of his mother and father. It is possible that in a year, or a decade, their loss will be part of the scars they come to treasure as an emblem of the day they will be introduced and restored to their son.</p> <p>I only know how they grieved and spoke of their son. The service lasted over two hours. I have never been in an event where I did not know if I could bear one more minute; even more, I did not know how I could ever endure it’s ending. The words spoken by their pastors, friends and family, their doula, and the pastor who married them held little hope. They spoke for us all grief, confusion, anger, and above all the agony we felt for Christy and Andrew. They also spoke of the immense beauty of Brave and the courage of Andrew and Christie to hold, love, and cherish their little boy. There were moments in the accounting of his birth and the time of his advent when laughter incisively creased the sorrow—their humanity was not merely heroic, it was life giving.</p> <p>Mom and Dad sat on the floor below their son’s casket and we each, row by row, came to the front to place a flower on his casket and kneel to hold and touch his mother and father. Their faces were raw with exhaustion and silhouetted in sorrow. They wept, at times wailed. What was spoken over them and for them, for us, was a sorrow that didn’t deny resurrection, nor did it offer a hope to assuage the part of us that simply can’t bear hearing the body wail.</p> <p>The resurrection is the hope that allows our heart to bear a portion of the wail, courageously enough not to mitigate the horror, nor deny the hideous wrong of death. It is what I understand it to mean that we do not grieve as unbelievers do. Believing grief is meant to be deeper and angrier and more full of confusion than unbelieving sorrow. We must engage God who can and will give comfort; and could also have healed the heart of their son. How do we go to a God who offers comfort when the same God could have enabled the Bauman’s to escape the current need if only death had been swallowed by life?</p> <p>At the end of the service, Christy and Andrew spoke. It may have been the bravest public utterances I have ever heard. Christy began by saying, “In the last 3 days, we have aged 20 years.” We sat in awe as they each spoke of their love for their son and their cry to their community to not forget Brave. Neither offered us relief from the anguish, except in their goodness to grieve, full faced, raw, and unashamed. It was their stark and utter human beauty that made the loss not merely deep, but unbearable. The beauty and horror of their agony was too compelling to escape.</p> <p>And what I found myself saying, again and again, then and today: What if this is all a carefully staged fable? What if nothing of this is true? And at one level, even more disconcerting, what if the gospel is truer than I can comprehend; what if it is truer than truth?</p> <p>Soon after the advent of Jesus his mother and father fled to Egypt to escape the murderous envy of Herod. His soldiers had been told to take the life of any male child two years or younger. Mothers all over Bethlehem held the bodies of their sons and wailed. Did the story happen just as it is told? I believe it did. I heard the sound of a single mother wailing to know it is true. I know it now. I know how my body heaves and the limbic system floods my brain with both aversion and bonding in the presence of beautiful boy’s death face.</p> <p>Is it all true or a mere fable? Am I willing to bet my death and far more my life on a savior being born in Bethlehem and the advent of a new kingdom that seems palsied and powerless before such loss? This is what I believe. I saw a kind of humanity and goodness in the wailing that is truer to life than the pleasantness I encounter in most religious settings. I saw a beauty and care for life in the honor that baby boy received in talking about his face, hands, and the dreams of his mom and dad than I see at the height of celebrations of graduation or other accolades of honor.</p> <p>I don’t know how they will ever be able to enter another advent season and function in the flurry of holiday busyness and rush to get a last minute gift. But I know this—the agony of those mothers and fathers who lost a son to the cruelty of death will never be lost to them. And the hope that the Christ-child will return and ride a white steed to introduce them to their man-child Brave, will mark them each Christmas until the day they die.</p> <p>I can’t hold their grief as if it is my own. I will not remember each Christmas in the same way as they will and as those who walked each step of this Via Dolorosa of their suffering. But in remembering his death, I am again called to weep and to cry out in desire, no, desperation—May it all be true, Prince of Peace, turn our wailing one day into joy. Make my heart as human and beautiful as Brave’s mother and father. Turn our broken hearts to you. Turn our hope to your risen Presence. Tell us again the story of your birth, death, resurrection, and ascension and in the midst of grief bring us the scandalous joy that only your loyal love can provide. We confess you alone are our life and story.</p> <p>(source: <a href="http://www.poopedpastors.com/blogs/may-it-all-be-true/">http://www.poopedpastors.com/blogs/may-it-all-be-true/</a>)</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17277778708http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17277778708Wed, 08 Feb 2012 14:59:57 -0600<p>“Ok so ok. Uh, you and me and your two children, we were at my dad’s in Florida.”</p> <p>“Your dad’s place in Florida?”</p> <p>“Yeah, but he lived really far away from the airport. So, he had to drive us to a city closer to the airport, where I happened to have an apartment, where we didn’t live at. Um, but we were going to stay there for the night, before we flew out, with you and your kids.”</p> <p>“Ok.”</p> <p>“Uh, once we got there we had trouble finding parking, but once we found it, we took the kids out of the car, and the little girl ran away. So I went looking for her while you stayed with the little boy, which led me to an apparently really bad area. Where lots of things were on fire, but they were contained, but still on fire. And all of a sudden, zombies that were on fire started trying to kill me. But then some dude, who I don’t remember who he was, some sort of zombie slayer…”</p> <p>“Neat.”</p> <p>“What’s that?”</p> <p>“That’s neat. That he was a zombie slayer.”</p> <p>“Oh. Right. He was taking daggers, and he was throwing them at the faces of the zombies. (What’s wrong with me?)</p> <p>“Seriously.”</p> <p>“He had pretty sweet aim, and he would get them in the face and they’d turn to dust. (I’m almost done.) (What’d I say? Right.) But then the last one, he threw a dagger at his face, and his fire went out, but he didn’t turn to dust.”</p> <p>“The zombie?”</p> <p>“What? Are you writing down everything I say?”</p> <p>“Yes.”</p> <p>“Um, so then he came after me, and for some reason, the zombie slayer, wanted me to take this one on myself. He gave me a rusty sword, um, and the zombie dude came at me, and he wanted me to cut him, but I was too afraid. Um, so I just screamed really really loud. And that’s when he turned into Kirk Douglas. That’s when I woke up and Wikipediaed Kirk Douglas. We have zero similarities. I was hoping he was just yanked into movies, got discovered, but turns out it was a slow gradual process.”</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17240249024http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17240249024Tue, 07 Feb 2012 19:34:00 -0600<img src="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lz02sz3TRP1r0k171o1_500.jpg"/><br/><br/>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17186390504http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17186390504Mon, 06 Feb 2012 19:58:11 -0600<p><iframe frameborder="0" height="600" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/34884525?color=ffffff" width="1200"></iframe></p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17165895309http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/17165895309Mon, 06 Feb 2012 14:22:14 -0600<img src="http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lysfl867S21r0k171o1_500.gif"/><br/><br/>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16940972645http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16940972645Thu, 02 Feb 2012 16:53:32 -0600<img src="http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyscvtbIhA1r0k171o1_500.png"/><br/><br/>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16937517906http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16937517906Thu, 02 Feb 2012 15:55:05 -0600<img src="http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyp6mzYUlN1r0k171o1_500.png"/><br/><br/><p>different paces to the same places</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16850967085http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16850967085Tue, 31 Jan 2012 22:47:23 -0600<p>Terry Gross, interviewing Tom Waits in 2002 for NPR’s Fresh Air</p> <p>Terry Gross: Usually you write about godlessness. </p> <p>Tom Waits: Godlessness? Really?</p> <p>TG: Wouldn’t you say?</p> <p>TW: I don’t know about that. </p> <p>TG: The absence of God…</p> <p>TW: I don’t know. Do you think so?</p> <p>TG: Well some of the songs. Well one of them explicitly, like God’s Away On Business. </p> <p>TW: Oh oh ok well he’s away. He’s not gone; he’s just away. You have to understand he was on business. So, you know, a guy like him has got to be busy and looking after a lot of things.</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16769633625http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16769633625Mon, 30 Jan 2012 12:56:27 -0600<p>Every morning I wake up, get out of bed, walk to the kitchen, heat water, pour heated water through roasted cherry seeds, and drink the flavored water. It’s a bizarre ritual and I wonder if the future people will look back on us with bewilderment. Regardless, I’ve dialed in a very specific way to do this, insuring a consistent, pleasing result.</p> <p>Tools</p> <p>Capresso Infinity Conical Burr Grinder<br/> Hario V60 Ceramic Dripper<br/> Hario #2 Paper Filters<br/> Hario V60 Range Server (optional, but nice for making 16-24oz at a time)<br/> Hario Buono Stovetop Kettle<br/> AWS SC-2kg scale</p> <p>Process <br/><br/>1. Bring filtered water (tap water, depending on how far you live from your city’s water source and filtration plant, will taste of minerals) to a boil (212º) and preheat mug or range server.</p> <p>2. Wash the paper filter in the V60 with the hot water (an unwashed paper filter leaves a slight paper residue taste in the coffee)</p> <p>3. Weigh out whole beans on your scale before you grind <br/>20g of beans for an 8oz cup <br/>28g for a 12oz cup <br/>38g for a 16oz cup <br/>53g for 24oz</p> <p>4. Grind the beans. On my Capresso the grind setting for a V60 is a 7. Grind settings differ with each grinder.</p> <p>5. Dump out the water from the preheated mug, place the V60 with wet paper filter on top of the mug, add the grinds, put all of it on the scale, and tare out the scale.</p> <p>6. You don’t want to use boiling water for the brew, as it can scold the grinds. If you want to get very precise, use a thermometer and pour water when it is between 195º and 200º. If you don’t want to use a thermometer, let the water sit for 20 seconds or so, which should drop the temperature about 5 degrees. A thermometer is very handy for precision. A developed palette can taste it if the water is too hot. If you want to punch me in the throat for talking about having a developed palette, I understand.</p> <p>7. It’s bloom time. Blooming is simply adding an initial, small amount of water to the grinds, letting gas escape before the primary pour. I like to yell out “It’s bloom time, motherf*****s! (motherforests!)<br/> For 20g-28g of coffee = add 50g of water for the bloom (measuring water weight on the scale, not volume, thus it’s in grams, not ounces) for 60 seconds <br/>38g = 70g water weight for 60 seconds <br/>53g = 100g for 60 secs</p> <p>8. Brew - after the bloom, pour evenly in a small, clockwise motion at the center of the grounds. <br/>20g of coffee for an 8oz cup = 295g of water weight (total, including the bloom) <br/>28g for a 12oz cup = 415g water weight <br/>38g for a 16oz cup = 530g water weight <br/>53g for 24oz of coffee = 800g water weight</p> <p>The nice thing about pouring while measuring water weight is that you never have to worry about over extracting the coffee or over pouring your cup. It’s the perfect amount of water for the amount of coffee, every time.</p> <p>Another option is to toss a few spoonfuls of Folders into a Mr. Coffee brewer, hit the switch, wait a few minutes, and drink away. Much, much easier, and convenience is a wonderful thing.</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16611367587http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16611367587Fri, 27 Jan 2012 20:15:40 -0600<p>Hell would be to know, continuously, every act of violence that happens around the earth, every second of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year. Torturous. How much more excruciatingly difficult would life be if I knew everything? Omniscience is hell.</p> <p>And so I wonder, does God also preside in hell? I do not know.</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16492358983http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16492358983Wed, 25 Jan 2012 18:38:40 -0600<img src="http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyc22xvIv71r0k171o1_500.jpg"/><br/><br/><p>21 January 2012</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16443344719http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16443344719Tue, 24 Jan 2012 20:40:09 -0600<img src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly7vbfXBsj1r0k171o1_500.jpg"/><br/><br/><p>Andrew <br/>June 28 2011</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16306012325http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16306012325Sun, 22 Jan 2012 14:23:39 -0600<div> <p>“I believe every American of every background has been endowed by their creator with the right to pursue happiness.”</p> <p>Newt Gingrich in the South Carolina Republican debate, January 16 2012</p> <p>The right to pursue happiness? By God? Where and when did this happen and why didn’t anyone tell me?</p> </div>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16147788355http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16147788355Fri, 20 Jan 2012 11:52:21 -0600<img src="http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly2tofzlns1r0k171o1_500.jpg"/><br/><br/><p>Will in Westport, WA <br/>2009</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16151881033http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16151881033Thu, 19 Jan 2012 21:00:15 -0600<img src="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly2m38LSCs1r0k171o1_r1_500.png"/><br/><br/><p><a href="http://youtu.be/uKpNz-bjdvk">http://youtu.be/uKpNz-bjdvk</a></p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16141678417http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16141678417Thu, 19 Jan 2012 18:16:00 -0600<img src="http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly0gezYrtE1r0k171o1_500.png"/><br/><br/>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16073481083http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16073481083Wed, 18 Jan 2012 14:18:34 -0600<img src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly0efeYvbS1r0k171o1_500.png"/><br/><br/><p>N Pulaski & W Wellington</p> <p>Tried to start it and the engine shook the car then died.</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16071668986http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16071668986Wed, 18 Jan 2012 13:35:38 -0600<p>I transferred my blog over to Tumblr. All of the archives are still there, but the formatting is a little off, which doesn’t matter. I got rid of the comments and made room for larger photos that are responsive to your browser.</p> <p>Lastly, after writing on thelongbrake.blogspot.com and thelongbrake.com for 8 years, I am putting that name to rest for the time being and have switched my domain name to blog.joshualongbrake.com. A friend in college gave me the nickname thelongbrake. I’m very fond of it.</p> <p>I’ll keep writing. Thank you for reading.</p>http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16033753829http://blog.joshualongbrake.com/post/16033753829Tue, 17 Jan 2012 18:39:00 -0600