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The craziest thing happened to me at the airport security in Phoenix. Security is never a problem for me because I am a pro. I strip off my metal and take off my shoes. I push my stuff and into the X-ray and step through the arch to the other side.;; Then I turn back to watch the conveyor belt spit out my bags. Not this time.

The man staring at the X-ray monitors stopped the belt and started laughing.; (Are they allowed to laugh at people’s stuff like that?) He called over another security guy and pointed toward the monitor, looking at him waiting for the laughter. After a second he blurted out, “His belt buckle says no mo ho!” The other guy stepped away laughing and said. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing those.” I was so shocked I didn’t even know what to say.

Now I know for fact there are only fifty of those buckles. I made fifty of them, and sold fifty of them. How can only fifty buckles get so much attention?;

I’m halfway through my flight to Minneapolis, and I can’t stand being strapped down to this seat. I just want to dance up and down the airplane. It’s so exciting to create something and watch it work.

Each day I see more and more that the world belongs to those who go out there and do it. There are millions of people doing nothing more than buying stuff and watching television. When someone turns off the TV and does something new, the rest of the world turns to see what all the commotion is about. It’s wonderful.

When I was in elementary school, I was so frustrated by the confinement of being a kid. I would read the Hardy Boys books, and imagine one day I’d get to travel the world, solve mysteries, and get a hot girlfriend too. Well I’ve traveled the world and I have a hot girlfriend. The mysteries are a little different. I’m trying to solve the problem of making the world a better place.

Now I don’t know if I will in fact make the world a better place. Actually, I don’t believe what I just wrote. I wrote that because people criticize me of being too ambitious and arrogant. I know I will make the world a better place because all things are possible with God. He’s not some magic fairy that anoints ambition. No. God is a ferocious Father that wants his children back. He alone can change the world. And I volunteered to help.

Last night a group of us went to see the David Crowder Band open up for MercyMe and Michael W. Smith. Last year I went on tour for five shows with Third Day and Michael W. Smith, so I was interested to see how the new line-up would work out.

As usual, the David Crowder Band was upbeat but prayerful. Normally opening bands are something you just have to deal with until the big boys get on stage. But the opening band was the only reason our whole group bought tickets. MercyMe is too vanilla for my taste, and Michael W. Smith is too tame. You could see it on stage, but even more in the crowd. Way too tame.

When I was on the road with Third Day for the Worship Together tour, the crowd was always involved. Those five guys animated 10,000 people out of their chairs. The stage was elaborate and enticing, even if you were in the rafters. It was just a darn good show.

The whole Christian music thing can be dirty. Too often, you are paying to hear celebrity vocalists lead a church service. You are expected to stand up and sing because you are obligated to God. This is a standard request at hometown churches, and rightfully so. But I guess if I’m going to pay $21 for concert, I want to be captivated and entertained. Call me shallow, or just realistic.

I don’t know what to think about singing other people’s songs. I think Michael W. Smith is a great guy–I really do. I spent five days on the road with him. But his concerts have become praise and worship karaoke. He’ll sing whatever is the most-requested praise song of that month. We left early, so I didn’t get to hear his whole set; but of the four songs he sang, he’d only written one of them.

Having a big name record your song is a thrill for a young songwriter. Last fall, my roommate kept me up at night recording a song in his studio–just ten feet away from my bedroom. I’d lie in bed staring into the darkness, an unwilling audience of one. Less than two months later, Chris Tomlin heard the song. He decided to sing it too and put it on his new album. Chris Tomlin will join Michael W. Smith for the second half of the tour. It’s a wild dream to imagine 15,000 people at each concert singing my roommate’s song. That’s just cool.

But I’m tired of flipping on the Christian radio station only to hear big names taking turns singing someone else’s song. There’s no artistic integrity in that game. Maybe I’m just an elitist.

I’m on a night flight from Chicago to Phoenix. This is the fifth time I’ve been at Chicago O’Hare airport this summer. I am listening to country music that’s getting piped through my armrest. I have a window seat and I have a view of the city lights beneath me.

Today was the second day of the 10th-year anniversary party for Life Teen at St. John’s in Westminster, Maryland. This afternoon I gave a talk to the teenagers and we had a lot of fun. A few of the folks in the crowd I saw last week when I was in Massachusetts, and here they are again, but this time in Maryland. After the talk we all stepped outside and had a good time visiting. It’s a big job to remember 100,000 faces I’ve met on the road. I truly do have wonderful experiences with people, I just can’t remember them all.

Once at my gate at the Baltimore airport, I hid in the corner and called my mother. I’ve been around new people for the past four days, and I just wanted to hear a familiar voice.

Half of my life is sitting with strangers in airport terminals. Everyone is anxious and pushy; it’s just not a pleasant place to be. The only happy time in the airport is when people arrive and their friends and family give ‘em hugs. But I only see that for fifteen seconds before I step outside to the curb and wait for the bus. I step onto the bust and I sit down next to more strangers until we escape into the parking lot.

I get in my car and make the sign of the cross. (As much as I travel, I am thankful every time I make it home safely.) I am too tired to pray any more than that, so I just turn my key and drive home.

A guy was hired to drive me three hours from New Jersey to Maryland. I said goodbye to all the people at Morey’s Piers, and then turned to the big and burly driver.; He introduced himself as Stephen from Bulgaria and he gently lowered my luggage into the trunk of the car.

These drivers and their cars make me feel awkward. If it were a limo, you’d be separated by the thick “privacy glass” to separate your two worlds. But this was just a sedan, so you hop in the back like a little kid riding with grandpa. He’s professional and knows not to make small talk with his client. But I poked him a little bit until he started talking. Why not? I’m not going to ride with a stranger for three hours.

He was raised in Communist Bulgaria. His childhood was fun and safe and never sensed anything was wrong. He explained that nobody had money, but he didn’t know that because nobody told him that. They didn’t have American television or magazines to make them greedy. He was able to come to America because he got lucky in a lottery system. So now he’s almost thirty, and he’s married to a lovely German girl he met on the pier in New Jersey.

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This afternoon I gave a talk at the 10th year anniversary party for St. John’s parish here in Westminster. Today was for all the alumni who’ve come through Life Teen over those years. My talk was this afternoon, then we had a big dinner then a time of prayer at the parish. The church was so beautiful and peaceful–you couldn’t help but pray.

The church itself has an interesting history. They had an old but small church on the main street in historic Westminster. In the 1970’s, they built a modern church up on the hill. Folks from the Church offered to store the old stained glass windows and statues that didn’t fit with the new look of the church.

A few years ago, they built a big big church that looked more traditional. So the town begged everyone to bring all the old church stuff from their barns and garages. One guy pulled two huge angels out of his hayloft. He ran them through the car wash to get rid of all the bird crap. All that was missing was returned and then placed in the new church. It’s quite pretty.

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Now I am here back at the home of my host family. All their are five sons who are college-age and older, so the house is loaded with testosterone. It’s a lot of fun to talk about cars for as long as you want and not have to change the subject.

Everyone has gone to bed, and I am alone here in the bedroom. It’s been a long few days. I look forward to going home, but I don’t miss it that much. Without Candyce there, I don’t have much of an emotional string pulling me home. My greatest comfort is God, and He is everywhere I go. I could never live like this without Him.

I got back here to my hotel room and VH1 had on “I Love the 1990’s.” I was a product of the 90’s, so kicked back on the bed to enjoy the show. I was happy to see Kevin from the original ‘Real World New York’ was one of the commentators.

I remember watching Kevin on the show when I was in the seventh grade. Nine years later, I met him and everyone else from all the seasons at the ‘Real World 10 Year Anniversary Special’. He said he was going to run for the New York state senate. I don’t know if he ever did, but it was affirming to know a Real Worlder could aspire for something beyond Hollywood.

I was disappointed that they credited Zubaz pants to 1996, because I distinctly remember them from 1992. They were off by nearly half a decade. The cleaning lady kicked me out of my room so I came down here to the hotel’s retro lobby. It’s not even; a lobby, but a bright glass room that would’ve been a “futuristic” gas station. The room is stacked with nifty furniture from the fifties, complete with a half dozen paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. It’s a time capsule of a more swank era.

For lunch I walked down the street to a casual Italian place. The place was empty, so I quietly took a seat by the window. The walls were faux-painted to look like a weathered Italian eatery. It wasn’t too convincing, but it was still good for the vibe.

Since I was the only one there, the radio made the most noise. UB40’s “Red Red Wine” came on, and I closed my eyes and imagined I was on a Caribbean cruise in the early 90’s. A rumbling Harley shook me out of my daydream, and I looked through the window.

The street was decorated with 1950’s-style metal signs wrapped with neon and flickering bulbs. Across the street was my hotel’s parking lot. For no real reason, there was an elevated astroturf porch nestled in the corner. On either side of the porch was a polished Airstream trailer. It was a tribute to the golden age of camping. I loved it.;

Sting’s “Fields of Gold” came on the radio and it brought back good memories of eighth grade. Songs can follow you through life. I can’t believe how much has happened in my life since I bought that Sting tape ten years ago. I looked down my straw to watch the Coke bubbles slip their way past the cubes of ice. I miss Candyce.