I don’t have a title for this post

I had a few thoughts that I wanted to share. Part of my reason for sharing is to think publicly. Hopefully someone might comment on the ideas. It is true I have resorted to begging for comments.

(I am joking about this.)

Continuing, I have been desiring to seek God for a new reason. First, I want to say that I don’t know if honest seeking of God for any reason is bad. What do you think?

I have, in the recent past, sought God because I wanted something such as provision or success with my goals. I did this out of the belief that right relationship to God would bring positive things. One thing that I think should be said is that these beliefs and actions were not obvious or outright, but subtle. Seeking for this reason didn't last long. Next, I remember seeking God because I wanted help with something. I wanted something to be fixed within me. I believed that God could do this. This is true, he can fix me. In any case this seeking did not last long either. Now I am trying to seek God with the desire to experience him or to personally know him, knowing that he will fix me as I am obedient to him. It seems that with this way God will work on what he knows needs to be fixed as opposed to what I want fixed.

I am also trying to seek him with the hope that whatever is in me that longs for things such as recognition, love, belonging, value, success, effectiveness, will be truly met in a healthy, productive, joyful, peace inducing way.

I don't want to do other things with the intent of fulfilling my desires and have the side effect be something bad. I heard a sermon by Dan Allender speaking at Mars Hill about how he was embarrassed because his daughter made a mistake at her piano recital. He was embarrassed because he was trying to use his daughter's success to give him a feeling of a high social standing. His daughter at 8 years old knew this at some level. She communicated it by asking, "Dad do you hate me?" This guy didn’t sit down and plan this out. It was all done by the time his daughter shocked him with her question. It all slipped his notice until it was too late. It is amazing that he even recognized it at all.

It seems to me that Abraham had a desire to have a son, and even a desire for God to fulfill his promise, which Abraham believed would happen. However, he acted in a way to fulfill this desire that had a side effect (which is really an understatement.) Not only did it lead to the boy Ishmael being kicked out of the protection and support of the house hold, it also lead, as some believe, to the modern Arab nations and the current conflicts.

I wonder what other more common “side effects” could be avoided by finding the fulfillment of my desires in God instead of other things?

Restored Bodies?

I was listening to a story about scientist that are studying the concept that the human body sends signals other than our five senses to our brains. An example is that some people who become paralyzed feel less emotion after their paralysis then before their paralysis. The idea is that human existence is rooted in the state of having a body. This is such a fascinating idea when it is compared to the idea of a resurrection. I know that some people who believe in the resurrection do not believe in literal resurrected bodies. But this seems that it would make sense for those who believe in literal bodies. It is like God designed people so that their bodies were an integral part of existence. And so he spoke like they will one day have their bodies restored. Perhaps he had some other reasoning but maybe he spoke this way because he knew that people would care, that people would want restored bodies.

Idols Entrap Me

I heard a sermon by the pastor of Mars Hill Seattle. He likened addiction to idolatry. My former notion of idols was giving a greater devotion to something than one give to God. As I understood, he illustrated that it also includes having a relationship with something that you should be having with God. An example of this might be having a relationship with food so that it gives you comfort and security, a relationship that should exist with God instead. This could lead to food addiction, but according to him, it starts with idolatry.

An important thing that he said was that an idol always lies. With food, the feeling is that it will make you happy, fulfill you, comfort you, possibly complete you, but what it does at its extreme is bring obesity, heart disease, guilt, diabetes, and dependance.

I just want to stop and think about which idols are lying to me regularly. Whether or not I act upon them, these lies barrage me. If I don’t identify them outright I become used to them and forget why they are lies.

Lie: If I seek and receive other peoples justification, I will be and feel valuable

Truth: If I seek and receive other peoples justification without self-esteem , I will be left wanting, disappointed

Lie: If I had the right clothes or look, I will feel good, desirable, valuable

Truth: I will be constantly seeking something that doesn’t exist, and be owned by my clothes

Lie: If I make something really great, I will have meaning and purpose

Truth: I will feel nice for a short time and then be exactly where I started

Lie: If I watch such and such show, I will be happy and forget my struggles

Truth: The problems will be right there all along, and there is a better way to address struggles.

Mr. Sandwich

Did you know that the sandwich is named after an English man who lived in the 1700s? I found it in the dictionary. I was looking at the word, as I often do with them in their written form, and I thought, why would anyone name something edible after something that would be so horrendous to chew such as sand? Just image sand in your sandwich. Augh. Well, it is named after a man, who would also be pretty awful to chew, though not as bad for your teeth

Bio-Immortal-ist

“I don’t know what to do,” Owen said to his friend Susan. Susan sipped her coffee and managed a dry, “About what?”

“Have you heard of a bio-immortalist?” Susan didn’t look up so Owen continued. “Well they are people who are trying to find ways to make people immortal. One idea that is really cliche is that when you die these people freeze your brain, head, or body. Then in when the technology is developed, they reanimate you. Don’t you want to be immortal Susan?”

“No”

“Why?”

“First of all it is so creepy. Second, I don’t want some freak of a scientist that I have never met, in some time period that I know nothing about messing around with my body, trying to put my consciousness back into it.”

“It’s called reanimate,” Owen interjected.

“Whatever. I don’t even remotely think that any scientist would be able to do it. But what it worse is, what if they did bring you back? What if they only half brought you back, Owen? What if you came back to be tortured by pain, regret and rejection from a society that you know nothing about? Did you ever think about that?”

“Susan...” Owen whined. “I was getting really excited about it. Why did you have to go and put all of that in my head.” Sob. Sob.

“Okay, I’m sorry Owen, just promise me that you wont sign up for anything without running it by me first. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Owen sniffed. A moment passed. Then, Owen chipper as ever blurted, “Do you want to go make a time capsule for ourselves to find in the year 2100?”

My Hair Story

How God has used black curly hair to save my life.
Well to be honest I am not sure that I can say “to save my life.” I wanted to say it because it sounds more dramatic. Truly, God used my hair to do important things.I was a child people called shy. I called myself socially scared, nervous, timid. I eventually came to think that the term shy was just an acceptable excuse. It was a cover up for a lack of courage. Yes, it was other things too. For me to be called shy also meant that I was socially ill-prepared. I didn’t posses the knowledge or skills to function comfortably around people. Although, I got by. One of the biggest truths that I was totally unaware of was the fact that to make friends I needed to merely talk to people. I had, for many reasons, developed the belief that people were friends with you if you were cool. I thought that if you were cool people would come and talk to you and be your friend.I thought this not directly but I definitely functioned this way. I saw the importance that people put on how I dressed, the kind of school supplies I had, the kind of lunch I brought, the way I acted, and judged how cool I was. If I was cool enough people would be my friend. It is true that nearly all of my friends came to me. I almost never pursued anyone as a friend. I acted with the belief that since I wasn’t popular I must not be cool. I though, “I need to get the things that the popular kids have, so that I can be cool too.” When I brought my lunch to school I was worried that kids would see what I had and tease me. There was nothing odd or bad about my lunch. For one thing, kids would make fun of anything. It really bothered me. It made me feel bad. I learned to do what I could to avoid being made fun of. For another thing, I never had name brand things. The cool kids did. I was worried that this might make people think that I was less cool. My response to all of this was I had a specific way that I ate. I put my lunch bag in front of me. I would stick my hand in and feel around. I would find what I wanted and pull it to the opening but not out. I would open the wrapping and eat from the lunch bag. Another funny thing is that I would assume that the other kids would think something was not cool if I thought it. For example I didn’t like crumpled trash. I was especially repelled by crumpled, used plastic wrap. So I would unwrap my sandwich at the mouth of my lunch sack and push the wrapper in. I would pull the sandwich out and eat it. I would get nervous if a kid looked as if he would see inside my lunch bag. Once a kid looked and saw that I was eating cheesy corn chips. He said, “Can I have some of your Doritos?” I was shocked. These weren’t Doritos they were some off brand. I was amazed that he didn’t make the distinction. (The chips were in a clear bag. I just thought that if someone was eating Doritos they would have be in a Dorito bag.) In high school life was pretty much the same I had a few good friends and that was about it, until I let my hair start to grow.I never had a hair cut that I liked. I never thought that any of my haircuts were cool. I have curly hair. This hair that eventually would be used for great things was initially despised. The reason is that all of the hair cut trends weren’t possible for me. When bowl cuts were cool I couldn’t get one. For the most part I had a generic short hair cut. Once I talked to my mom about it. She offered that I could go to a hair cutting place to get it styled. (My mom always cut my hair up until this point). I was nervous. I felt timid. The lady cut my hair and I enjoyed the experience. I liked my hair cut. I thought that it was cool. This was right before school started. And on the first day of school someone said sarcastically, “Nice haircut. Did you cut it yourself?” That was rough. I felt awful. Well, in high school I decided to grow it long. Naturally my hair began to grow into an afro. Some kids teased me. They threw paper in it and pencils at it, trying to make them stick. I was growing some thicker skin. Some kids gave genuine compliments. I did better at hearing the compliments and ignoring the teasing. I think though, mostly I learned to stop caring. I began to actively not care about being cool. The Lord is great. My longer hair brought perhaps a little popularity. But I didn’t care. At some point my rebellion hit a pinnacle. I chose to fully pursue as uncool of an image as possible. To me I was saying, “In your face cool kids. I wont be rule by you any longer because I don’t care about cool.” I learned to recognize a double standard. The kids who were popular often did things that were very stupid and uncool. Yet they somehow remained popular. This fueled my apathy.I enhanced my afro (by growing it longer and picking it out). I bought plaid clothes from the thrift store. I wore button up shirts, with clip on bow ties, suspenders, and the occasional pocket protector. When I had to get glasses I picked out thick black frames and put decorative white tape in the middle. I had people asking me, “Have you ever tried superglue?” To which I replied, “What? Oh my glasses aren’t broken it is a look I am going for.” The more I rebelled the more popular I became. I tried to be nerdy and people thought that it was cool. (It was funny to me that many adults didn’t get it. I remember one person said to my youth leader, “That poor kid he doesn’t even know that he is dressed like a total nerd.”)At this point I still didn’t have the tools to make friends. But my hair and the rest of my look got people talking to me. Without knowing it I began to practice talking to people. I also began to realize that I can say whatever I want and many times people will just go with it. I had previously thought that people were your friends if you said the right things. I didn’t know what were the right things. I didn’t know that people just talked about anything. You see for me other kids were like the president might be for most people. If you met the president what would you say? You wouldn’t want to say the wrong thing. You might not know the right thing to say. He might seem untouchable. To me other kids were untouchable. When I thought I though this I think that it was because when I would say something it must have not flowed with conversation or something because it seemed that people often ignored me. This contributed to my idea that I had to have the right things to say in order to talk to people.) It wasn’t until probably my junior year that I realized that if I want to be someone’s friend I should just talk to them. When this happened. It was like a flood started. I would joke and talk to people I would have never even looked at before. I became more confident in what I wore. And would wear things like ropes for suspenders. Sometimes my pants would be five sizes too big. And I had many more friends. It wasn’t for years to come that I would learn many other useful tools for talking with people. But God used my hair help me make the first step.

Benjamin

Benjamin was running. And he was a runner. “I don’t like running,” he thought. As he turned a corner, he noticed a gnarly cedar tree off to his right. The hill sloped up to its exposed roots and knobby trunk. The branches spread out in almost every direction. As the branches extended away from the trunk they bent up and down, snaking through the air. “Those branches would make a cool walking stick,” Ben thought. “And the cedar would smell so good. Maybe that’s why I go running, because it distracts me.” Ben sort of knew that he was in the habit of running from things but he wasn’t sure if this was a bad thing or not. “Maybe I just need healing or restoration,” he reasoned. “Maybe I am doing the best thing for myself right now. In the future when I regain my strength... Oh, I said, ‘regain’. What if I never had the strength in the first place, then I am just being a wimp right? I don’t know. I’m not going to think about it right now.” Ben carried a generic MP3 player for times like this. He put the earbuds in and listened to his favorite radio show.

The show was generally a science based show that isolated specific aspects of life and presented a number of stories on the particular theme. Today Ben was learning about memory. The story told of tests that some scientists had performed that showed that the human brain can only juggle a certain amount of ideas at once. The host of the show even went so far as to say tha...

Ben crouched down to retie his shoe and the earbud fell out. He rewound the story and learned that some scientists had performed that... “Wait, too far back,” he thought. The host of the show went so far as to say that the people with fewer options in life do better because their brains can make better decisions, considering that the brain is not required to juggle as many thoughts.

“That’s it,” Ben blurted out. “I need to cut some things out of my life. What can I start with? How about my TV? Yeah... Oh but I don’t want to miss PBS. Maybe I should eat the same thing every night. Or maybe I should stop running. Yeah that is what I’ll do. I don’t even like it anyway. Why do I even run? I need to download more episodes of this show. I should get a better MP3 player to. It is hard to see with this tiny screen.”

Rest with me

I have uncommon amounts of fatigue. When I work more than I should, stretching myself thin, I become weak. At these times I am very susceptible to discouragement, lies, and general bad attitudes. One specific time that I found myself exhausted, I chose to rest. Let me tell what happened.
I was deeply tired, though not overwhelmingly tired. I had short energy. I could easily muster myself up to do things. But I didn’t have a good store of energy. There are times when you push yourself hard knowing that you will recover and be stronger for it. That is not the situation that I was in. I knew that pushing myself to do too many things would tear me down.
So I began to rest. This was very difficult for me. Ideas popped into my head. I remembered tasks that needed to get done. Each of these things came with a strong sense of urgency. “Quick, go sew the button on Jeff’s coat before your forget.”
My rule was that I couldn’t do any of these things. I could watch videos, listen to music or the radio. I could write things down that I needed to remember but I couldn’t do them. Also, if I was able, I would try to just sit there.
I rested this way for about three days. Afterwards I felt refreshed. It is wonderful when resting achieves healing and restoration, but what I didn’t realize what was happening was that I was practicing. The next time anxiety came, I rested on the spot. Later when I couldn’t shut my mind off, I did what I had been practicing and relaxed.
Oh my goodness, I gave myself a sabbath and I didn’t even know it. In resting, I honored God by not overusing resources, I honored God by treating my body in the proper way by giving it needed rest. But what I also did was practiced something that can be used every day. I had thought that a sabbath was so that I could recover from 6 days of physical work with one day of physical rest. What I learned was that at least for me that that one day of total rest could be practice, so that I could rest mentally and emotionally within the other 6 days.

One of the things that kept coming into my mind was a societal notion that I need to work, work, work, bigger, better, faster. It was the idea that I always need to be achieving. I had to force it out of my head. Well to be honest I didn’t force it out of my head. For me believing the truth starts with not believing the lie. I find that if I fight or resist something in my mind it gets stronger. If I say don’t look at such and such, I have a harder time resisting than if I just stop looking altogether. When the lie that I had to be productive all of the time entered my mind, I ignored it. I denied its power over me by not giving it the time of day. Then I just though of something else.
It is an ongoing thing. I need to keep practicing. But I am glad. It is fun to rest when I truly can and it makes resisting discouragement and the like, easier.

Whisper

What is so interesting about the whisper? “Nothing”, some people might say. “It is just talking quietly.” But it isn’t. Whisper and notice that you are not using your vocal chords. Also pay close attention to the back of your mouth, specifically your tongue. Try to whisper without making the back of your mouth smaller.

It is so interesting that you communicate without using your vocal chords. What is also really interesting to experience is whispering in unison with a crowd. It has a soft powerful quality. I find that there are things that are flashy but have little power. There are things that less noticeable but have deep and strong power reserves. There are also things that seem powerful and are, and those that seem weak and are.

One illustration of this is motors. Some motors can spin fast but have no torque. These can be stopped before they get spinning from little more than a hand grab. Other motors don’t spin very quickly but nothing will stop them. They have incredible torque.

The large group whispering in unison was like a quiet engine with a lot of torque. Or it was like a smooth river that could sweep away a house.

I listened to an interview of Stephenie Meyer, who wrote the books in the Twilight Saga. She had a family that she loved. She had only decided to write when she had a dream that intrigued her. This dream inspired her to explore a narrative that became the popular series.

The interviewer asked her if she was worried about so much popularity, she is so high up that the fall will be great. Stephenie Meyer stated that she had such a wonderful life before the fame if it all went away she would be perfectly content.

She seems like a pleasant lady.

Word as Knife

In that clear state of imagination that comes in between sleep and being awake, I thought of the Word of God that is sharper than any sword.

“What is another way to say that”, I thought?

Perhaps it would be sharp enough to separate sub-molecular particles. I saw in my mind large ambiguous particles. These generally round particles were whirling around. “What is fine enough to slip in between these particles, and strong enough to impose upon them to stop their motion?” I thought that it had to be spirit that could maintain such an edge. I saw in my mind this spirit knife pressed against a bar of steel.

For some reason, I imagined the setting to test this knife was much like the steel racks that hold merchandise at a big box retail store, or what one might find at a warehouse. I thought that splitting sub-molecular particles would probably result in a release of energy. This mini-explosion would not be like anything that one might find with atomic energy, because steel is not volatile like plutonium is.

Skiing in Taos

I had a really cool friend. He and I were both telemark skiers, at about the same level. Chad invited me to go skiing in Taos, New Mexico. We had free passes for two days. I agreed to go. We were to sleep in the back of his truck. And we bought food from a supermarket to save expenses.

It was an enjoyable trip. We ate a lot of eggs and yogurt. Chad said that these were a cheap source of protein. It took about 6 hours to drive to Taos. The approach was a unique experience. The desert landscape had not even a trace of snow. For the most part everything was flat. These aren’t very good conditions for a ski trip but the mountains could be seen ahead so I held hope. We drove into town which is at the base of the mountain.

To understand my perspective you must understand my background. The kind of mountains that I am used to are more like what the Alps are like. There is mountain after mountain. One peak or ridge might start on top of another mountain. These mountains, however, seem to me like the ones in the bible. They are surrounded by desert, and just rise out of the plain. When the book of Exodus talks about Moses approaching the mountain it was probably something like what we were doing. Instead of an Israelite camp at the foot of the mountain there was the town of Taos. And instead of the Israelites worshiping a gold calf, there was a assortment of native american, new age, and hippie-style drug worshiping.

I had no clue where the ski resort was because there was still no snow. But we wound our way through the town and up the mountain. The road was laid along zig-zag valleys. It was a bit like entering an enormous fortress, one where you couldn’t just enter through a gate but you had to know the path, often hazardous, that made its way into the center of the fortress. After many hair pin turns and sections with a cliff on one side and a wall on the other, we had found the snow and the resort.

The first night we slept in the resort parking lot. The next morning we awoke, ate our egg and yogurt breakfast and hit the slopes. The resort at Taos was a unique one. It was one of the few resorts that banned snowboarding. This meant that there were plenty of moguls and the fresh snow wouldn’t get plowed off of the slope as quickly. (Snowboarders tend to destroy nicely laid out moguls because it is hard to turn a board on the same patterns as skis. Also many beginning snowboarders tend to slide down the slope on their edge, which is like taking an ice scraper to a frosted window, but on the slope.) The vision that kept snowboarders off of Taos’ slopes also incorporated a respect for the past. This meant that there were old chair lifts sitting right next to the new ones.

Chad and I did our best to find the good runs on unfamiliar slopes. We met a guy who was willing to show us around a bit. He skied alpine skis and could bomb hills at speeds that eluded us. We would meet up with him at the bottom and ride up the lift together. I think that eventually he got tired of waiting for us and just took off. Before that happened we got on the lift with an elderly man. He was a tele-skier like we were, but that was all we had in common. He had a pair of sun glasses on his face as well as a pair of goggles on his forehead. His long mustache and beard had a string of mucus that connected the two with this large protruding nose.

We started up a conversation. The elderly man, I don’t know his name, claimed that he knew Julia Roberts, who lives in Taos. He told us that he had written a song for her that was played on the local radio station. He then sang us the song. It was probably fourteen verses long and had all manner of pun, alliteration, and rhyme. The song was so convincingly sung that I fully believed him, after much skepticism.

Later, I don’t know how it came up but we began talking about smoking pot. The elderly man dominated the conversation. He began with saying that he would not be inclined to share a joint with anyone. He was just getting over the flu that he had gotten twice in a short amount of time. He had only had to go to the clinic twice for many years.

He then began an elaborate metaphor for how smoking a joint is like taking a girl out on a date. “First you bring a picnic. You don’t pull out one apple for her and one for yourself. No. You pull out the apple. Then take out a knife and cut her a slice, then you look deep into her eyes and tell her that you love her. So with the joint, you can’t bring out a joint for your friend and one for you. You have to pass it around. And that is why I don’t want a smoke, because I’m tired of getting the flu.” This is a paraphrase of what he said. He included more vulgarities.

So this odd gentleman decides to ski with us. He was older but not a bad skier. In the end he didn’t want to try to keep up with us any more. And as I said earlier, our guide liked to leave us in the lurch.

We ended a good and interesting day safely and went back to the truck. We chose to sleep in town tonight because it would be a little warmer. We also wanted to have dinner at a mexican place.

Driving through town we weren’t sure of where to stop. I tend to let people do what they want and I go along with it. This time Chad didn’t know what he wanted. So I suggested that we eat at a little place that looked a hole in the wall. We were the only non-hispanic people in the restaurant. To be honest there were only two other people in the place. A short old lady came out to us and took out orders. I had a fry bread chile or something similar. This lady walked to the back, cooked our orders and then brought them out to us. It was extremely delicious. I was very please that we had chosen this spot for dinner.

Later we found an empty parking lot to sleep in. We skied the next day and had a good time. That day a guy that rode the lift with us asked, “Do you guys huff herb?” We said no. And then wondered why he said it that way. We went to a school where pot was common and we had never heard anyone say anything like that before.

We made it home safely and had a good, if odd, trip.

Wet and Cold

Wet and cold are two relative terms. For clouds or cereal wet and cold is expected and normal, but as words describing my emotions it is not so. I love happiness as much as anyone. But I seem to be trapped in a valley with a thick fog moving in.

Wet and cold. Soggy socks after a pleasant romp through the snow are easily dispensed. Following a romp they are an ignored inconvenience. Soggy socks in the middle of an extended journey on foot are more than a burden. They are potentially a trip ending problem.

On my trip I am faced with wet and cold. A rubric cube is dry and click-y. It is a problem. I can’t solve wet and cold either.

I don’t want anyone to be discouraged. The Lord will solve it.

Sleep

I woke up this morning praising the Lord for my sleep. I have a strong cold. Rest is always so desirable, but sometimes so elusive. It is even more desirable when I am sick. One of my reoccurring fears is that I will be in great need of rest and I will be unable to rest. I praise the Lord for real sleep.
I have heard people call death the great sleep. for me to hear this knowing that the Lord is good, is encouraging. It is like death is not to be feared anymore than I fear I good nights sleep.

My baby skin

I begin many sentences with “It is interesting”. So here is another. It is interesting how most of the time it is easy for me to think that in order to experience a great life or life greatly. I must have certain conditions met. I get tricked into thinking that if I’m not healthy, well fed, have a comfortable place to live, and I’m living with purpose, then I won’t experience life as a great thing. But occasionally I understand that this isn’t true. Sometimes when I’m sick or in an undesirable place financially or emotionally I have a break in the clouds. For a time I see life as great, and I praise God. I am full of joy. At these times I have a lense into the idea that my life is not as dependent on my environment and the like as it seems. Maybe the skin on my common experience sloughs off and the fresh sensitive tenderness of my new life is exposed to unending life.

I think that an over emphasis on only physical needs forgets that it is not position that makes life great but it is God in one’s perspective.

Difficult

I was thinking about something that is hard or difficult. For example I was over hearing a professor speak with a student. I didn't hear what was being said. But the professor had a posture of sureness and confidence. I was remembering times when I was being taught. The teacher was encouraging me towards one particular thing. I had the perspective that "this is so hard." It seems that it wasn't nessasarily hard because it was more advanced or more complicated. But it seemed hard because it was far from me. Maybe what is easy to me is very hard to another, because what I find natural is very far from that person.

Re post

This is an old post that I like. I wanted to repost it.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 2008

hi

Hi
This is a letter to myself.
Dear Braden-boo
Remember that you are bankrupt. What I mean by that is that all that you have comes from God. So don’t get all weird like you don’t want to fully submit in your heart, to God, thinking that you are going to loose what you have. Look God alone gives contentment, happiness, peace and joy. So if you don’t submit who knows what kind of perversion of God’s gift you’ll create by clinging to what was good, but was good only for a time. Let go, have some faith, go where He takes you, to that amazing place, chill relax, chillax. Free your mind and the rest will follow, be color blind don’t be so shallow, oh wait that’s en vogue.
Bye b

Lament

I have heard that complaining can be distinguished from lamenting by the fact that the lament has an element of hope.

In a book that discussed Christian art, I was reading a critique that many art expressions deemed Christian a lack a realistic, or relevant acknowledgment of sin. I see a version of this critique in popular Christian music. I don’t hear songs that have the kind of lamenting over sin and its footprint that I read in books like Jeremiah for example. I personally don’t have the cultural niche for lamenting. When something awful happens I just want to get over it and feel comfortable again. I feel (whether self-imposed or not) pressure to have a consistent happiness. It might be captured by the expression, “I’m a Christian, I can be broken or anguished. Shouldn’t I have joy knowing that I’m saved?”

I want to say a thought about the pressure to be happy. It seems that I and those around me don’t have a cultural frame work to experience each others trouble. If someone approaches another with a phrase of complete despair, it is awkward and uncomfortable. I, speaking for myself, want to avoid it.

I feel pressure to think that if someone is suffering or lamenting there must be something wrong with that person. When perhaps in reality they are acting very appropriately in their context.

Maybe a place start digging the foundation for a right lament is in art things.

For the entrepreneur

I was thinking about a neat idea for a restaurant. It would be called The Sauce, with the tag line "It is all in the sauce." Each plate would come with five or so sauces and a few things that go well with these sauces. The thing I like about sauces is that a selection of ordinary ingredients can present a unique dining experience with an appropriate sauce. Also sauces can be made to have uncommon flavors.

Oh

I was visiting a church in my wife’s home town. At this church I heard a gentleman speak. He talked about the ancient cultural context of the Samaritans. It was noted that we don’t have the same notion about this people group as the first century readers did. We name things “The Good Samaritan”. That might be for us naming something the good taliban member, the speaker said. That is interesting. He could play an amazing alto saxophone.

Songs

One characteristic that I think should be found in church worship songs is truth recall-ability. What I mean by this is truth in song form can be recalled easily. Worship songs that contain biblical truths, stated clearly can be really encouraging in one’s day to day life. I know someone who told of being in a lightening storm at heigh altitudes. He told of how he recalled a song with the lyrics, “When I can’t see you I know you’re here.” This song bolstered him with belief. I like that.

I enjoyed a church that I attended in NYC. Their music was varied. There were some hip songs and some truth filled songs.

react vs. respond.

Though technically these words are synonyms, I am going to use them to designate between two general modes of human operation. I am going to set up a spectrum. On one end is the term react on the other end is the term respond. Although these ideas seem applicable to any action, what I am talking about more specifically is what goes into the way a person acts according to an event.

In the mode that I am calling react the way an event impacts the person's impulses and reflexes almost completely controls the person's actions. A good example of this is when on child hits another child and this second child cries out and hits back.

What I am calling respond is when an event merely informs a person's actions. Here the person has beliefs, philosophies, and purposes that also strongly inform the person's chosen actions. Two quintessential examples of this are when Jesus over turned the money changer's table and when he was silent before his accusers. The actions of people in the temple, the scripture he quotes at the time, his being God among other things informed his response. And in regards to the later example, though human experience would make one think that the tendency to shout at one's accusers would be great, Jesus fulfills prophesy by remaining silent. (I wrote another blog about this check it out it is titled: A serious post posted on: September 10, 2008)

The reason that I describe this as a spectrum is that I find it rare when adults act with extremes. It is usually in subtle and culturally accepted ways that people act more on the react end of the spectrum. One example of tending toward the react side is a proclivity toward doing what is easiest. Another example that I find my self drawn to is the pull and lies of consumerism, or the impulse buy. Consumerism tells me to be dissatisfied with what I have and to desire and seek other things. (It also encourages me to become addicted to, I think it is, the dopamine rush that occurs when I get something new.)

It seems to me that as a person matures their actions are more and more governed by responses. When a person's actions tend toward the react side of the spectrum, this might be a sign of subtle immaturity in the area of those actions.

I think this

I am not going to prove these thoughts but I think that it is fair to say and ponder these things.

It is interesting because with any person that I encounter I always need the sun for warmth and light and food for energy. The unfathomable greatness of the Lord is that with him, in his presence. I don’t need the sun for warmth or light. Within him is all of the warmth and light that I could ever want. He is a person who can supply me with my need and desire for warmth and light. His power and existence makes it so that when I engage with him I am coming upon a person that can fulfill all of the non person related needs and desires. For example when I want to fulfill my physical thirst I don’t go to a person I go to a fountain. But God is a being that I can go to for it all. I don’t know if that means now but maybe when we get restored bodies.

The How

How beautiful it was to see the man stitch the boat. I watched a man
stitch a boat. There is a fascinating method of making boats where the
boat is made out of a frame that is covered with cloth. I watched a
person (on video) sew the skin or cloth onto the frame. It seemed so

beautiful to me. The guy had a methodical confidence. He explained what

he was doing clearly in a calm and pleasant voice. He seemed to care
about and enjoy what he was doing. It was exciting, because this step
in the construction is near the end. The boat is almost ready to use.
I like that.

On a trip to Chicago my dad wanted to by me some paint to seal the
fabric of a boat like the one mentioned above. The paint store was
open at seven a.m. We walked through the door, maybe at seven fifteen.
An employee asked us if he could help. My dad explained what we were
looking for. The employee pointed to a can three feet from us. The
final cost was about sixteen dollars.

The "what" is a boat, cloth or paint and not so remarkable. The "how"
is lathered with beauty, kindness, sincerity, ease, accomplishment,
and satisfaction; aiding the former in becoming unforgettable.

cretin

noun

a stupid person (used as a general term of abuse).

• dated Medicine a person who is deformed and mentally handicapped because of congenital thyroid deficiency.

DERIVATIVES

cretinism |-ˌizəm| |ˈkritnˈɪzəm| noun

cretinous |-əs| |ˈkritn=əs| adjective

ORIGIN late 18th cent.: from French crétin, from Swiss French crestin ‘Christian’(from Latin Christianus), here used to mean [human being,] apparently as a reminder that, though deformed, cretins were human and not beasts.

I found this definition of the word cretin in the dictionary on my computer. I had remembered hearing it used in the Batman The Animated Series. I think it is a fascinating word. Like many contemporary put-down words, i.e. moron, retarded, etc, it finds its original use as a medical term.

If you look at the origin it came from a term meaning human being. As the dictionary states it was likely a reminder that these people were humans, not beasts.

How strange that this word started out with uplifting characteristics and intentions and moved to a term of abuse.

Words

It is interesting how important words are. I was reading. The content I was receiving was about the important of using words to distinguish between God’s way of doing a certain action and the world’s way of doing the same action. In particular the book was talking about love. It argued that the most appropriate word for passionate love when talking about righteous love is charity. He quoted the phrase “God is love” by saying “God is Charity”.

I am not entirely sure about his full argument but I find this example to be intriguing. It seems to me that there are so many experiences assigned to the word love that it can often be misunderstood and deluded. I don’t feel it necessary to provide examples of this, it seems very evident. Perhaps a different word would help people see the difference between love that is not distorted and soiled and love that is, or love that is shallow and love that is deep.

On the other hand it would require a consensus on the meaning of the word for example, charity. This would have to exist before substituting the word charity for love would be successful at making clear what kind of love is meant when it is stated that God is love.

The stories of my scars.

Do, do, do, la, la, la, la, do, do. As the world has spun on its slant axis, many odd objects have found themselves in violent encounter with my largest organ, these are The Stories of My Scars.

I remember a kid who had a shirt that said "scars are the tattoos of the brave." I always thought that this was strange and corny. Maybe it made its way into my unconscious and that is why I am writing about tattoos in my scar stories.

I have one last “tattoo.” At some point I learned that the process of getting a tattoo was to make a hole in the skin and deposit ink. This so very simply concept awakened the do-it-yourselfer in me. I proceeded to take a knife to my arm. Naturally it was my left arm. I am right handed. I deposited ink. It left a small mark.

I’m proud of it

I talk in my sleep. Some of the things that proceed from my unconscious are baffling. Others are a boiled-down, essence of my way. I am not sure if that is the best way to say it. I was considering saying an essence of me, but I am not sure if that is accurate either.

One of these “others” was a time that I was sleeping on the floor next to my wife. She was sleeping on an air mattress. I banged my hand on the edge of the air mattress, two sets of three times. My wife said, “What are you doing?” Then I said, “I am showing you that I love you." (Paused for 4-5 seconds) "Sorry if it’s obnoxious.”

I have no recollection of this event.

This Conundrum

My name is inconsistent. I am related to grass. The ebb and flow, the undulation of thin, almost white fibers tell a story. This mixture of tubes and long narrow leaves, scratch a portrait of me into the air. Any force causes the stylus to make another invisible mark. The wind or a squirrel moves me. The weight of the dead crushes me, that is, dead branches.

The grass has a neighbor that is a rock. He says he’s granite, but I think he’s sandstone. He brags that nothing can move him, nothing but large powerful forces. “Untold number of years would be required to wear me down,” he says. “You wont last a season. Send fire my way I don’t care. How would you like a good blaze?”

“My roots can burrow into your cracks and make pieces of you,” says grass. “But you are right. I am no rock. Like they say, the grass of the field is here one day and gone the next. How can I become more consistent?”

“I don’t know,” says rock. “You get pushed around by the wind, but you still make seeds. You even use the wind that pushes you around to disperse your seeds.”

“That is true,” says grass. “ I guess, when I get pushed around so much and feel so dependent on the weather, the soil, and the rest of my environment, I feel less valuable, less important.”

“Well, check this out, grass. I might not be easily moved or changed, but I don’t do anything, I don’t make seeds or grow or mature.”

“You do help with soil erosion so that I can grow.”

“Thanks, grass.”

“No, thank you rock. I just needed some outside perspective.”

The stories of my scars.

Do, do, do, la, la, la, la, do, do. As the world has spun on its slant axis, many odd objects have found themselves in violent encounter with my largest organ, these are The Stories of My Scars.

My Other Tattoo

I think that some people have secrets in their past that might shock their current friends. This is not one of those stories.

I have a beautiful stomach. So, I like to show it off. No wait, this is not how this story goes. I don’t think these things.

Okay, my younger brother (who guest wrote on this blog) was doing homework. It might have been calculus or physics. He had a mechanical pencil. It was a special pencil that I wasn’t allowed to use, his homework pencil.

One day for absolutely no reason he asked me if he could throw it at me like a spear. I thought why not, what could happen. As the pencil was gliding through the air that separated us, I stood still. “It will just bounce off,” so I thought. It did bounce off. But I felt a stronger pain than what was expected. Lifting my shirt I found pencil “lead” sticking out about an eighth of an inch. When I tried to extract it, I failed. It was really stuck. When it was finally removed it had a total length of perhaps a quarter of an inch.

I still bear the nearly imperceptible scar, darkened with graphite. I have to shave my stomach to see it clearly, which I do on the occasion because my stomach is so nice. What am I writing?

The stories of my scars.

Do, do, do, la, la, la, la, do, do. As the world has spun on its slant axis, many odd objects have found themselves in violent encounter with my largest organ, these are The Stories of My Scars.

I guess you’d say that I do have a tattoo. Or as the cool kids would say, “I have a tat.”

Okay this is way off topic but it was very funny. My brother and friend Aaron were listening to a Christian radio station late at night. The DJ sounded like he was related to Barry White with not such a deep voice but very wispy. He was talking about something where he said, “dude with a tude.” Then he proceeded to explain, incase his listeners didn’t get it, that “a dude is a guy and a tude is an attitude.”

So my tat is from the hard days of grade school. I think that it was third grade. These were the days of the number 2 pencil, or as I learned to call it, the number 2 weapon. Our classrooms were amply equipped with sharpeners that could give a pencil a skin piercing sharpness.

My class was divided by the cool kids that had Yikes pencils, the girls that had Lisa Frank pencil boxes and the other kids. Then there were kids like me who would use broken Yikes pencils we found on the playground.

One ill fated day came upon us. I think I was returning from sharpening my pencil. A boy who was called Dillon walked by me. Ow. His pencil plunged into the flesh of my palm. I still bare the mark of this confrontation.

a walk to forget

The morning was cool. Green and yellow leaves, spotted with brown, littered the grass. I found that walking on fallen black walnuts unexpectedly can feel very strange, or even turn an ankle. My toes were getting damp and cold from the morning dew. I was beginning to wish that I had worn something other than my cotton canvas shoes. I kicked vainly to get the leaves unstuck from my shoe. No matter, more leaves knocked it off and replaced it.

The bark on these black walnut trees sure was attractive. Wet, deep dark, pure dark were some adjectives that came to mind. My toes were getting too cold. So I went back inside.

This is a work of plausible fiction.

The stories of my scars.

Do, do, do, la, la, la, la, do, do. As the world has spun on its slant axis, many odd objects have found themselves in violent encounter with my largest organ, these are The Stories of My Scars.

Some lessons you only have to learn once, some you have to learn again and again.

I have had many personal rules, rules that I have imposed on myself for one reason or another.

I would make a game out of rules such as, I can only step one foot in each square on a sidewalk. I had a rule that I could only eat one bite of my birthday candy bar a day to make it last as long as possible.

One rule was that if I was using a circular saw to cut wood I had to wait to set it down until the blade had finished spinning. My dad told me of people who would set the saw on their thigh after a cut to give their arms a break. This is potentially very dangerous because the blade guard could stick in the up position, my dad explained.

At one point this particular rule became amended. I was using a portable hand planer. It will trim off the surface of a board and is meant to make fairly shallow cuts. It has three straight blades that are attached to a cylinder shape.

I was shaping a hand drum with it. This style of hand drum has straight tapering sides. I had been using the planer for some time and was worried that it might be over heating. I turned off the motor. I placed my left hand on the side to feel it. My left ring finger slipped just under the motor and into the spinning blades.

The emotional shock of trying to be responsible, considerate, safe, then finding my self at the mercy of a bloody mistake of only seconds and inches was almost the worst of it. This was a mistake. If I had only waited a few seconds until the blades stopped spinning, or had I not let my finger get so close... The worst of it wasn’t the pain, it didn’t hurt that badly. It was the embarrassment of making the mistake and the fear of being forced to own up to it with a trip to the emergency room and pay for the mistake with the price of the ER.

It didn’t shave my skin off in a wide area. The corner of the blades dug in deep. Most of my cuts up until this point had a flap of skin of some sort that I could close to help stop the bleeding. This one didn’t. I remember covering it with band aid, then with folded toilet paper, all wrapped in tape. It bleed through. Then I was worried that someone would see that it had bleed through and take me to the ER. So I change that bandage. This time it didn’t bleed through.

Now my rule is to freeze until the blade stops spinning. I don't always obey.

It’s all about...

I hear folks (Christian pastors, singers, others) say “It’s all about Jesus.” I know that such a generic statement is often tied to a very relevant context that brings it complete legitimacy. Other times or, to my recollection, many times this statement is flung into public hearing without a context. I think that people have a general posture of wanting to adore Jesus with a potent overarching statement. I think that people sometimes desire a phrase or idea that they can latch onto and use without the trouble of discerning whether it is appropriate or not. I find that a catchphrase such as this is assigned to contexts which render the phrase untrue.

To say “It’s all about Jesus,” without context is untrue. The word “it” has to refer to something. I think that the general assumption is that the Christian life is the subject of this sentence. I believe that to say that the Christian life is all about Jesus is simply not true. I find that there are many other things that make up the Christian life. Some examples are the world, sin, the other members of the trinity.

To say that worship is all about Jesus is, in my view incorrect. I think this was claimed in a popular worship song. I believe that worship is about Jesus, God as one, the Father, believers who offer worship, and other things.

To even say that Jesus is all about Jesus is untrue. He seemed to be all about the Father, if anything. But he also seemed to be all about sinners too.

What harm does this bring? I don’t know exactly. But, I believe that truth and accuracy are important. I advocate strongly for authoring one’s statements and claims. I believe that in all aspects of life one should assess and reassess what one is saying, doing, believing and the motivation behind these aspects of living.

Part of my belief in the importance of accuracy is the effect that it has on Christian witness. When I see Christians going around making inaccurate claims, many are found on Church signs, it makes Christians look unintelligent. (A quick disclaimer: I am not saying that I do this always. I am only saying that I believe it to be important.)

Tree, Wood, Lumber, log

For me taking a tree, removing the branches, and splitting it into boards is such an intimate, rich experience with the complex beauty that God created. If I had merely considered it a resource to be used, I would have bought wood that had been sawed by a machine, and dried in a kiln. The encounter would have been missed.

I sometimes get pulled into the idea that wood is a simple homogenous substance, but it is really a beautiful, complex teamwork of fibers, moisture, tubes, sap and the occasional bug. Different woods have a special snap when they are split. A find dust is dispersed into the air. The aroma of the sap is wonderful.

The Entire World

Sometimes people lie to their kids. It seems that this is most often dismissed as okay when the child asks an awkward question.

Imagine being a kid. There is so much that goes over your head. You want to learn and be included. You ask an honest question with complete sincerity. You get lied to. You remember this lie. When you are older you are confronted with the truth. This maybe the first time you started thinking that your parents are liars.

You are an adult. Imagine a child asks you a hard question. You don’t want to be transparent. You don’t think it is appropriate for the child to hear the full answer. You don’t want to lie. “But it’s only a child,” you think, “He might totally forget about it.”

I think Abraham told an amazing truth to the hard question that Isaac asked on the way to the sacrifice. The full truth was, Isaac was the sacrifice. Abraham’s answer wasn’t full disclosure. This difference between withholding information and deceiving is importing in avoiding lies. Abraham didn’t have to be totally open, but totally honest. His answer was a resounding truth. (It was also on topic. I don’t think that an appropriate answer to, “Where do babies come from?” is, “Christ died for your sins, son.”)

It may not have been difficult for Abraham to come up with this answer. It was the truth behind Abraham’s action. It was the truth behind pretty much his entire life. He left his homeland believing that God would provide a new home. He had belief that God would provide him a son in the first place. He had belief that God could resurrect his son. He believed that God would provide.

Wow. No wonder he was chosen to be a blessing to the whole world through his descendants.

Wild Grapes or Chemistry in My Kitchen

My lips itch. My hands itch too.

I found a beautiful wild grape vine. I saw grape clusters near me. I looked else where and there were more. This vine had produced richly.

I researched what was edible and found that all grapes are. There is a plant called moonseed that has fruit that looks similar to grape. It has a singular moon shaped seed, and is poisonous. The grape seeds are tear shaped and usually are more than one per grape.

The disgusting white of my supermarket bag veiled the purple of the grapes that were quickly filling it. Home I went. At first I used a blender and cloth to grind and strain the grapes. My hands itched. I was anxious that it was the wrong plant or I was reacting allergic. In an hour or so the itching left. I drank the juice will no ill effect.

Today, I pulled the grapes from the vine, my fingers purple. I looked at the white powder coating the grape. I’m told this is yeast. In places it was rubbed off, replaced by the shiny taught skin of the grape. Some of the grapes had bugs in them. These were shriveled or oozed dark juice. I was not living in a glass box. I was not living with industry imposed standards of no bugs. I was experiencing wild grapes. The bug free grapes felt hard with the tension inside. I was freshly experiencing the plant that becomes the drink that Jesus used as a representation of his blood.

This time I used a juicer.

“This grape juice is so acidic,” I thought, “That has to by why my hands itch. I wonder if it is as acidic as vinegar?” I remember the volcano experiment from grade school. The vinegar and baking soda mixed with a bubbling reaction. They were neutralizing each other. Carbon dioxide was produced. Did I remember right?

The little pile of baking soda blended in with the white ceramic bowl. What a stark contrast the grape juice made. It bubbled immediately. Then it turned blue. From purple to blue, I never knew. It really is a mystery. I wanted a drink, it made me think. I’m a part of grape history.