I want to be a hipster. Not that kind of hipster. A new kind of hipster. The original hipster.

You might say, “What in the non-mainstream world could you be talking about?”

The hipster subculture typically consists of white millennials living in urban areas. The subculture has been described as a “mutating, trans-Atlantic melting pot of styles, tastes and behavior” and is broadly associated with indie and alternative music, a varied non-mainstream fashion sensibility (including vintage and thrift store-bought clothes), generally progressive political views, organic and artisan foods, and alternative lifestyles. Hipsters are typically described as affluent or middle class young Bohemians who reside in gentrifying neighborhoods. – Wikipedia

Just like every new generation of young intrepid souls, a sector of the current “Gen-Y millennial” has created a lifestyle vibe in an effort to stand out and be unique. At the core, it’s the natural inclination and desire to make a mark on the world, but as each one before it, the “hipster” culture is just another fad that will eventually fade away and morph into another fad as a new generation arises. But who was this “original hipster?”

Jacob was the original hipster.

Not yours truly, but the Jacob of Biblical times.  Oh you thought he was just a lying crook who stole stuff that didn’t belong to him? His brother Esau would probably agree with you, but you’d both be missing the bigger picture.

Aside from being misunderstood, Jacob was stubborn. He was passionate. He was a fighter. How do we know this? Here’s the account from Genesis 32:

“And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall be no longer called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip. – [Genesis 32]

What would it be like to be able to say that you literally wrestled with God and then He broke your hip? But you were persistent, weren’t satisfied with the ordinary, wouldn’t give up until He blessed you, and wouldn’t give up until the breakthrough was made.

I’ve often wondered at what point during that epic all-night showdown that he began wondering, “Who exactly is this guy?” Historical Hulk? Ironman? Captain Canaan?

Jacob had just finished preparing a massive “don’t hate me” gift to his brother Esau out of fear for his life and family in hopes that Esau wouldn’t kill them all. Jacob gave explicit instructions to his servants to butter Esau up as much as possible before they arrived face to face. It even says that Jacob was “greatly afraid” and packed up his wives and kids and sent them across the river for protection while he stayed and waited for the arrival of Esau.

Isn’t that just like us? Fearing for our livelihood and making plans to thwart our imminent ruin as best as humanly possible? How many times have we done that in our own lives?

Then the crazy part happens. God shows up. Of course, like many of us, Jacob didn’t immediately realize it wasn’t Esau trying to strangle him to death. Only the fight or flight instinct kicking in, propelling him forward to fight for his very life.

Suddenly, after an entire night of wrestling he feels a sharp pain in his hip and realizes that his socket is out of joint. I’ve never dislocated my hip, but I’ve got to imagine it must be pretty painful. And that’s when he goes for broke and declares he won’t let go until he gets blessed.

That’s an incredible story. Jacob limped for the rest of his life as a mark and reminder of having encountered God face to face. The great preacher Jonathan Edwards once said:

“Resolution One: I will live for God. Resolution Two: If no one else does, I still will.” – Jonathan Edwards

It’s easy to get caught up in the trappings of the next big thing, but how do we anchor ourselves in the midst of the many shifting trends of our time? I believe it’s a matter of being intentional about where we set our hearts and affection. Every human on the planet has to choose where their affections will rest. For the believer in Jesus Christ, our highest affections must rest in Him.

I want to be known as this kind of “hipster:” the one marked by the uncompromising pursuit of God.

 

(Disclaimer: This post is not intended to bash hipsters or those who proclaim themselves to be such. I too drink only black coffee and wear beanies and plaid shirts. miffed? Inspired? add a wonderful comment below!)

The eyes of a heart awaken from a deep respite made mandatory by the perils endured in recent conflicts. Great were the obstacles to be climbed, secured, and overrun. None would allow themselves to be removed easily, giving back in full the measure by which they were assaulted. Scars and battle wounds were mere trifles in the light of the raging fury by which they fought for supremacy.

But the bear, the lion or the giant cannot prohibit the Warrior Heart from beating the drum of war and declaring the sound of a victor; the sound of a courageous man who is ready to conquer his fears and stand for his beliefs. He is not strong in strength alone, but in the strength of his will to never back down or retreat; a passion to protect his kingdom from the advances of his foes; a desire to drive his neighboring demons into the sea until they are vanquished; and a resolve to conclude every battle as the unquestioned victor.

The Warrior Heart is not a ferocious warmonger only; he savors the simplicity of a morning sunrise as a symbol of his own dawn of a new day. He appreciates the beauty of the turning leaves as a new chapter of his existence. He sings along with the melodies of the wind and waves, lending his own baritone mark to the script of their brilliant symphony.

But not for too long; on the distant horizon the battle flags of the opposing army are seen emerging above the hills. The Warrior Heart is not afraid though. Rising slowly from the lush foliage of his own hill, a grin of subdued yet eager anticipation spreads across his still ruddy yet war-beaten face. Much slumber is not a thing of the wise. The Warrior Heart knows.

It came quickly and deadly. Like a tiger crouching in wait, it sprung with such ferocity that few were prepared. Most were caught off-guard. Perhaps it was a testament to the unpredictability of nature, perhaps more so a fresh reminder of the unreliability of the national weathermen to keep track of the biggest storm ever seen in this modern age

And nobody saw it coming, or at least nobody bothered to care.

What began as a joyous celebration upon the sighting of rain clouds forming toward the east, ended in some sort of incomprehensible hellish nightmare that dashed newly raised hopes and buried them in mountains of rubble and ruined dreams.

It was odd how despair could breed desperation enough to drive a man to his knees to implore a deity he didn’t believe in to save him, yet after he surfaced and began treading water again, sent that same deity to the back of his proverbial burner.

Odder still, were the widely different reactions the same adverse circumstance could produce in those it affected. Some responded well, others poorly, but few ever just gave up outright before the fight began. Perhaps it was the freedom to shake a fist and roundly curse their own existence that generated strength to persevere. Perhaps it was merely an indescribable inner resolve that could never be explained but always could be counted on to rise up in the the hearts of at least a few brave and courageous souls in the hour of affliction.

Courage was that rare commodity of which very few had in abundance, yet in the hour of affliction it only took one determined stand to infuse the hearts of the weak. In the same manner that evil arose, so also did the hero with enough faith to stop it.

It was strange how calamity could knit together. Disaster made for strong thread. It was more a question of who could work the needles.

Stranger still, was how some could see light where only darkness stood. Fire attracted to itself. Perhaps it was more a question of who had the willpower to kindle it.

I’m in Houston. It’s three miles from the apartment to the coffee shop that has internet and the white chocolate mocha that I’m craving, but it’s raining during 5 o’clock traffic which has only exonerated an already pushy crowd of drivers.

These drivers are different than those found in Dallas. I’ve determined that they’re most likely second cousins with New York City drivers; they’re unafraid to use the horn for even the most minor annoyance. It seems an accepted practice though. Nobody sweats or loses their cool, and once disembarked they’re the genial, calm and collected classic Texan with plenty of Southern hospitality to spare.

Several wrong turns later, I finally arrive at my destination. The proclamation that ‘everything is bigger in Texas’ seems to take more precedent the further south you go; this coffee shop could easily house three of the shops from Dallas.

There are a few outdoors-inclined customers outside in the patio enjoying the light mist while seated under the oversized white table umbrellas. Inside, I’m greeted by the greatest expanse of bean community that I’ve yet encountered; a regular mecca of coffee drinkers, business people, laptops, and shoulder bags. A long narrow bar-like table spans nearly the length of the large open space, outfitted with electrical outlets underneath and two-dozen stools surrounding it. Nearly half of them are occupied on either side, almost all with an open laptop and a stack of study books. It seems summertime isn’t all fun and games.

I merge to the left side of the long bar to enter the line and look across the room to take stock of my surroundings. One half contains a large conference table and many smaller tables all occupied by clusters of suits and shorts. The suits are decked out in finely tailored jackets, gelled hair and and actively gesturing toward the spreadsheets on their laptops in intense discussion. The shorts are sporting hip arrangements of designer t-shirts, flip-flops and canvas shoulder bags as they chill on their own laptops that are heavily decorated with stickers.

The other half of the room is set up in several circles of stuffed leather chairs, love seats and side tables with a large ottoman in the center. This crowd is of a wide age range, some of the younger wearing headphones and earbuds, some of the older relaxed with a cup of steaming espresso and the day’s newspaper. All, however, have one thing in common that I’ve come to realize is part of the essential nucleus of the bean community: a cellphone.

Every culture and race is represented, but they all are either on their phone or just recently pocketed it after checking for new messages or notifications. It’s the “handshake” of this modern dialup connection, it’s what drives this whole central indoor crossroad.

I give my order to the smiling cashier who passes my yet-to-be-filled cup to the easy-going guy running the espresso machine. He confirms my suspicions of the Houston traffic relation to New York City, even though he’s from Kansas and claims that they win the award for the craziest drivers. Every city I’ve ever visited makes that same claim though so I just smile and laugh in agreement as he puts a lid on my drink. Coffee in hand, I navigate to a nice just-opened chair in the back corner; a perfect vantage point.

I look up from my own laptop several minutes later and find almost an entire new crowd gathered in their respective clusters and corners. Looking around for awhile, I notice others doing the same. It’s hard not to gaze around at the gamut of people here, it’s what makes this world so interesting. Every race, tribe, and color; all partaking of the coffee bean. It’s a viable peace treaty.

Take note world.

Gusts of heavy wind blow through my already-tussled hair as I get out of my car. Combing my shaggy mass with my fingers, I quickly pop my Texas Rangers brim cap over top of it to keep it down. I grab my laptop case and pat my pockets to determine possession of my wallet and phone before I shut and lock the car door. I’m at a vintage-hip coffee shop in the similarly styled metro city of Dallas known as Grapevine, Texas, and I’m here for the same reason everyone else is; it’s a cool place. And it serves fantastic coffee.

Walking from my parking spot toward the front sidewalk sitting area of the coffee shop, I’m thinking I look pretty fly with my just-washed and still-tight jeans and cool t-shirt. Probably not, though, but why should I trifle over such a triviality?

There are several tables and chairs arranged outside the shop and several loyal customers are seated around them drinking coffee and chatting amiably. I smile just slightly to those who look at me as I encounter the front door. I let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light source as I enter and nod to the employee whose friendship I’ve gained as a semi-regular customer. He’s a nice guy and he nods in return as I keep heading toward the back of the surprisingly large and long tube-shaped store.

It’s the people who make a place into a community. And this coffee shop has a variety of them. A middle-aged couple is sitting and chatting in the upholstered chairs near the front window. The barstools pushed under a wraparound shelf on the other side of the front chairs are empty, but they won’t be for long. It’s still only 4 o’ clock. At the square tables situated in the middle section of the store are more varieties of coffee drinkers; mostly creative types. The bits of conversation I overhear as I continue walking to the back point toward two amateur moviemakers discussing a new deal at the first table all the way back to a laughing group of college kids huddled around a small table playing scrabble while probably supposed to be doing homework. I notice there are new paintings on the wall opposite my habitual spot as a lady in a ball cap is working quietly on her laptop just underneath them.

Ah, my favorite spot is not yet occupied. Plopping my laptop case on my table, I head back toward the cash counter and gaze undecidedly at the chalkboard menus while knowing full well which drink I’m going to order; I always order it. I’ve only ordered one other drink, and that was the pretty-good mocha before I discovered the rich beauty of a raspberry chai latte.

The nice guy behind the counter already knows my name and order. I grab a couple of handout peppermints as I pull out my debit card. This place requires a signature on the receipt which I horribly mangle. No worries though, it’s not like it’s an autograph or anything.

“Mug for here, right? he asks. “Be right out.”

That’s another addition to the likable rawness of the place; who would actually sit down to drink coffee in a paper cup? It just seems absurd. One needs a mug and a table at which to sit to adequately appreciate the atmosphere.

Back at my table I unzip my laptop case and carefully remove my Apple MacBook Pro. My big oversized headphones come out next as I situate myself and my gadgets in preparation for a long sit. Free wi-fi is another attraction to the geek and business culture here. For me it’s the secondary reason that I come, or possibly the primary, but I try to be loyal to the in-house roasted beans that form the foundation of the coffee shop.

From my perch near the back I always sit facing the entrance and thereby gain clear view of incoming customers. It’s a male trait that requires one to never have his back to a door. It just wouldn’t be right if I was betrayed by my posse and shot in the back, would it? Completely outdated Wild West, I know. But regardless, it’s still the perfect place from which to observe life.

Communities from ages past gathered around the fireplace. Any establishment that offered a roof and a warm fire was the place to meet, swap gossip, and hear about current events. The roof has remained true, but in today’s modern comfort the centerpiece of sociality has morphed from burning firewood to roasted beans.

As I work on my laptop I look up from time to time and look around at the constant movement of this community. Stretching, I check my smartphone for new messages before taking another sip of my raspberry chai. It’s an interesting place. Somewhat odd, but a thriving one nonetheless. It’s a community built on the demand for beans.

Strange.

It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything substantial, something that I desire to change in the upcoming year. A writer’s gotta write! Otherwise he dies a little inside. As I’ve been gearing up for a new wave of writing, I’ve been looking at some of the last things I wrote or started to write.

This is a poem (I rarely write actual poetry) that I wrote on March 4th out of the depths of my heart. I didn’t quite understand it then, but looking back, it’s crazy how accurate it was then and now. It’s pretty rough, and still not finished, (are writers ever finished with their work!?) but out of the joy of seeing the faithfulness of God through the highs and lows since that time, I wanted to share it.

(Among other things, I was also in deep thought about the possibility of a relationship with Jessalyn at that point, hence the need for cryptic poetic expression I suppose! Haha!)

Heart is uneasy
Stomach a little queasy
A feeling deep within
Wonders when this might begin

Heart already knows
Simply watch it all unfold
What then, is this foreboding
An omen, or fear of failing?

Note minor frustration
Wisdom’s wit or lack of patience?
Progression seems far off
Underneath restraint of prior ruts

Heart wounded previously
Shrinks at thought of opening
Vulnerability was betrayer
Trust bestowed became traitor

Aftermath blurred truth
Wary eye kept on intruders
Childish innocence lost
Learned to bear cynical cross

Stumbles caused shame
Hidden deep for fear of disgrace
Refuge found in reclusion
Afraid venture would become coffin

Once branded an outcast
Desire buried in face of giants past
Dreams panned as too young
Diluted palatable for tender tongues

 

[Since this time, I’ve learned that this journey has been about trust and remaining steadfast in God’s faithfulness. Some of my best moments (first date with Jess, new car) and some of my worst times (biggest storms, darkest spiritual valleys yet) have defined this year, but looking back, I can see the hand of God moving me, hiding me, positioning me for His purposes. It’s an exciting time to be alive, y’all!]