Williams Roller News Letter...

longing

2011-03-01T09:12:00.000-08:00

There is a thing that I have begun to tell myself, whenever I remember. When I am tempted to covet or long for something in a deep "If I only had this..." kind of a way, I think about what I already have. I say, "Is all that not enough, are you so selfish and greedy that you want those shoes or that guitar, or that look, too." I am not talking about desire in a casual way. I am talking about desire in a lustful way.

that is all

for now

I'm addicted?

2011-02-04T08:12:00.000-08:00

I have started a special diet that includes the tire- screeching, whiplash-inducing halt of sugar consumption. This includes fruit, honey and the like.

It is interesting how sweet other foods seem to become when I am not eating sugar. For example carrots, onions, and almonds seem much sweeter now.

well I would have never imagined that I would crave sweet things so much. It is unbelievable. I have never tried to kick a habit, before. At least nothing that I can think of that make me have such strong cravings.

but I seem to have more energy.

Sincerely

braden

January

2011-01-07T08:13:00.000-08:00

I have been very tired lately and I haven't written much.

I was at a birthday dinner last night. It was at a restaurant. We were all sitting at a long table when we heard the rhythmic clapping. Most everyone seated at our table started clapping too. The one with the birthday got excited. As the clapping approached it suddenly turned it was someone else's birthday too.

Then most of the wait-staff got in a line and did a really awkward line dance.

The end.

Walk with God

2010-11-11T09:32:00.000-08:00

The other day I found myself thinking, “I bet I would be good at.... I wish I could do that.” Then I though, “Then I could deeply serve and honor God.”

I remember back to when I was a freshman in high school. I was in Tae Kwon Do, testing to for my black-belt. Before the test, our teachers told us, “Listen, the Grand Master has seen and can do much more amazing breaks (we would break boards and bricks) than you can do. So don’t try to show off and then fail the break. Do what you know you can do.”

I think that there is an interesting comparison between this and in what I stated first. In what I stated first, I was wanting to do great things. I was trying to justify myself.

The thing is God can do, has done, and has had people do much greater things than me. If he wanted great things, he could easily do it. Instead what he wants is obedience.

Man, when I say that it sounds like obedience must be following all the rules. What I’m thinking is, didn’t Jesus say that the the way to sum up all the rules is to love God and love people? How can I fall in love with God? Or how can a person fall in love with God if they don’t know who he is?

I just heard a sermon that said this a different way. Immanuel means God with us. What other God lives with people? As far as I know they are said to be up in the heavens, or in holy places. This sermon was saying that our culture makes action the most important. So in churches people put their value in doing programs. The thing that is the most important is living with God in present circumstances.

Insects

2010-10-04T07:46:00.000-07:00

I had a desire to see the large historical changes in the earth such as the ice age and such. I realized that in one way I have. Compared to animals with short life spans, like bugs, I see great changes. I can imagine bugs that live less than a day saying things to each other, “scientists have rumors that there was a time when large balls of water twenty times the size of us fell and some people got caught in them and died.” And Zippy-The-Fly would say, “Dude, do you actually believe that? I suppose you also believe that the eternal frost is coming too?”

The first fly would say, “I saw one of the big balls of water once, they call it a raa-ine drup.”

“It’s a rain drop.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you saw it when you were a larva. You can’t remember clearly what life was like then.”

“You’re just jealous that I know more about this world than you do.”

“Than you think you know.”

“Whatever.”

NoNe

2010-09-29T15:48:00.000-07:00

Wow I has been a long time since I posted.

I have some Indian Clubs that my parents sent me. I say to myself, "I'm going clubbing tonight." They are used for exercise. Check out this old time writing I found on a Indian Club website. Sorry I don't remember which site it is from.

Indian clubs, along with other forms of rhythmic gymnastic exercises, were associated with “muscular Christianity,” a social gospel that affirmed the importance of physical fitness for mental and moral improvement. Proper physical exercise built bodily strength and, with it, character and righteousness—shaping young men for God’s work, and for the nation’s.2

Gymnastic exercises—ideally, ones that exercised all the muscles in a balanced fashion and combined all ranges of motion—were said to counteract the dangerous tendencies toward nervous exhaustion, moral dissipation, and spiritual decadence associated with modern life in the big cities. Moses Coit Tyler, who would become the first professor of history in the United States, explained (in the words of the fictional Judge Fairplay of Brawnville): “It is as truly a man’s moral duty to have a good digestion, and sweet breath, and strong arms, and stalwart legs, and an erect bearing, as it is to read his Bible, or say his prayers, or love his neighbor as himself.”3

In 1861, Amherst College was the first to introduce physical culture and gymnastics—including exercises with Indian clubs—as a required subject at the collegiate level.4 Physical exercise came to be regarded as a mark of manliness and a religious and patriotic duty. By 1901, 270 colleges offered physical education, 300 city school systems required physical exercises, 500 Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) gymnasiums had 80 000 members, and more than 100 gymnasiums were associated with athletic clubs, military bases, and other institutions.

Second Grade and Beyond

2010-07-29T07:10:00.000-07:00

You know when I was in the second grade we had to write a report on parts of the human body. I picked the brain. I remember a distinct feeling about it like it fit me. It felt like I was meant to write about the brain. Anyway, I remember writing the phrase, “I could go on and on.” I also remember my teacher pointing this out to my parents and I remember hearing them laugh, saying something like, “Why don’t you go on and on?” to which I thought, I don’t want to it would take up to much time and space on the paper. I cared too much about saving paper. I didn’t think that it would help the environment to save paper. I just have a personality that tends to be concerned that things will run out so I save them. This attitude about paper made it so that I would cram my class notes on to one sheet. To me that was what was important. I would look at other people who took pages and pages of notes and think that might be easy to read, but I only used one page. To me taking notes wasn’t a step in the process of learning material meant to be read during studying. For me it was only a requirement imposed by the educator that had to be met. I rarely studied my notes. They were also a foul representation of what I considered to be the drudgery that was public school. So I didn’t like to even look at them.

Spring

2010-05-23T14:00:00.000-07:00

A few days ago the weather was what I could consider, a pleasant. I got on my bike and started to ride. The cool humidity made the air tangible. The flowering trees offered delicious scents for me to sample. Peddling quickly, I rode without my hands. Gently, I stood up and carefully pinched the seat between my thighs. I stretched my arms out horizontally. I wondered what people would think if they saw this.

I was watching a young toddler. He is very tall for his age so I sometimes expect more dexterity from him than he is capable of. I picked a dandelion that had its seeds out, and blew them away. I picked one for him to try. He could blow but not with enough force. So he opened his mouth licked it then shoved it inside before I could do anything.

May

2010-05-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

I am listening to a sermon by a pastor from at a church called the Village in the Dallas Texas area. I am literally listening right now. Okay, I turned it off to write better. He was saying that many people developed an understanding of Christianity that was based around the idea that if you act as a good Christian by wearing the right clothes, avoiding certain words and going to church then things would go good for you. Then, he explained that people with this notion would loose their job, get dumped, loose a loved one, or something and their idea was shattered. Then they would leave church, stop praying, and possibly begin hating God. The pastor then said how really our relationship with God is not a contract because we have nothing to offer God. Everything we have is his already. We can’t make him owe us a good life by our actions. Instead of contracts God gives us a covenant which is more of an interactive relationship.

I guess that another way to talk about this is that a covenant is, like friendship, a dynamic experience. It exists in times of variety such as pain, pleasure, distance, intimacy, and so on. A contract in comparison seems more fixed. It seems to be unconcerned with contextual changes.

Mmmm interesting...

To Be Sure

2010-05-05T17:10:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about why so many societies have such a common aesthetic for dress and appearance. It seems that people would want to be accepted by the community, because in most times the individual needed the strength of the community for survival.

You know sometimes the title for these blogs mean something and other times they are just what came into my head.

It is the great equalizer. Do you ever sit down to start something, let say like a blog post, and here is comes the rumble? If you are anything like me you think, “Awe man, I just sat down. I don’t want to go sit down on that special chair. Can’t my body get in-tune with my mind.” But on the other end, I mean hand. On the other hand it is interesting to think that maybe the president of the united states is doing the same thing as me right now. Okay that is strange. Forget that part. It is interesting that no one is exempt, yet cultures like with everything else have different thoughts. I have heard that in Holland the toilets have a shelf that allows the user to “make sure everything is normal” before it gets washed away.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.

My Name is Braden

2010-05-01T07:04:00.000-07:00

My Name is Braden

Hi So, I was thinking about how it is interesting how people name the stars. They give them strange names. There are so many stars that have been named. It is kind of like adam naming animals.

My man hands are getting tired of typing. You know, some people who are older jump right in to the new technology that comes around and others don’t. I think it would be really something to live during the time, or in the cultures that didn’t have a swift progress of technology. It seems it unwittingly provides a potential wedge that could be placed, or viciously driven, between subsequent generations. I wonder what it would be like to hang out with the old people when what you were learning or had a grasp on, these old people had been doing for years. Of course, this would vary between individuals and cultures, but perhaps there would be a submissive respect from the younger to the older. Or might there be a haughty pride of youthful dexterity. I wa- wa- wa- wonder.

New Fresh Finally

2010-04-28T17:27:00.000-07:00

I want to be excited about God and life-ishness. I say that “ishness” part because if I said "life" I feel like I would be making reference to like fifty things when what I mean is maybe only one or two things. These being something like the parts of existence that perpetuate good, beauty, health, positive living. Okay that was four things. I want to be excited because I know so strongly and truly that the Creator that Abraham believed in is so much greater than what I know, the rules I hold to. Culturally people are afraid of many things but few as great as death. And religious figures and gods of sorts promise many things but none that I know of promise freedom from this fear, not only freedom from the fear but from the thing itself. I want to be excited to the remarkable, daring level that things such as suffering and pain do not rend it asunder, to put it poetically.

So I have been watching a show called The Woodwright’s Shop. I like it. A man by the interesting name of Roy Underhill is the main person behind it. He has a great number of uncommon hand tools. He also has many unheard of devices that have been beautifully invented to aid in very specific wood working tasks. One such tool is meant to cut square or any other shaped holes in wood. I think that many of these items were created in the early days of manufacturing and rejected for something that did the work faster. I like these old remnants. I think that they are beautiful. Sometimes it seems that cultures reject beautiful things for cheap, convenient, quick, disposable things. That is not an anti-technology statement it is a pro-beauty in the everyday statement.

Well I sincerely appreciate anyone who is reading this. I means that after so many silent days you still checked back here to see if there was anything new. Thank you. I overwhelmingly appreciate one such reader, my wife. Thank You.

Loving with Your Pocketbook

2010-04-07T09:18:00.001-07:00

I came here all ready to talk about the problems of loving through buying people things. As I have begun to think about it more I realize I must understand that the problems that I was about to lay out are from buying in excess rather than balance.
The specific case that started my musing is people who seem to only be able to show love by buying things. In this case, so many things are purchased that it is not longer enjoyable. What often comes with the excess of items, is a pressure to keep the items out of fear of offending the one who gave it. (As I side, I think that one of the ways that I would most want someone to show love for me is to seek the kingdom of heaven.)
What made me reassess my negative feelings was the thought that maybe people in general should show love to neighbors and strangers more through buying things.

Loving with Your Pocketbook

2010-04-07T09:18:00.000-07:00

I had a thought

2010-03-22T07:53:00.000-07:00

I had a thought while I was reading Psalm 121. It says "the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night." I was wondering why some one would be afraid of the sun or moon harming them. I can see that the sun may give you skin cancer but what could the moon do? I don't know why this Psalm says this.

I was thinking, however, that perhaps people were afraid of sun or moon gods that their neighbors believed in. Well, it gave me the idea that I should not be afraid of other people's gods. The things that people devote themselves to, "gods", that often I am afraid of are success, prestige or being someone, the ability to have physical needs met. I know that people in the culture around me "worship these gods". I get afraid that I need to submit to these things as they do to have a "good life".

I wonder if this is not almost an exact correlation to the ancient nation of Israel. Israel was surrounded by people who worshiped other gods. If I am correct, these gods were meant to ensure life-things: being successful, health, the meeting of physical needs. I can imagine that it would be easy to feel pressure to also worship these gods. No wonder God was like, worship only me. Maybe it wasn't just a jealousy thing but maybe God was trying to save Israel from extra work and stress of worship all of the gods, because He was all they needed. Not to mention that the other gods could not do anything.

Dude, I need, really need to stop being afraid of the false gods of the people around me. I need to stop feeling pressure to devote myself to anything other than God.

Authority

2010-03-12T05:53:00.000-08:00

I heard an argument in high school. It said that however many billions of people believe that buddha is god. How can multiple billions of people be wrong? I think that the point where this argument has traction is the idea that we all feel, see, and sense relatively the same things, how is it that we don’t all agree? I can seem to make sense that the majority must be right.

The problem with this argument is that it assumes that the only way that people come to believe something is by experience and reason. The truth is that people come to believe in things like buddha by authority also. In many cases large amounts of people believe in something almost entirely on authority and only a little bit on experience and reason. Some may have an experience and then have a set of beliefs that are based on the authority of the one experience, i. e. an epiphany.

A good example of how much people act based on authority is tradition. The trends of history have very strong holds on peoples beliefs and actions. Billions of people could be believing based on part tradition, part experience, and part peer influence.

Appeal of the Unknown

2010-03-08T10:38:00.000-08:00

I do know that often the unknown is scary for people. But I was thinking about how the unknown is sometimes used to make something seem amazing. I first thought about this when I was reading the Chronicles of Narnia. C. S. Lewis is very talented at making things seem amazing. He describes the inside of the earth and tells of living jewels. He doesn’t describe in great detail all about the living jewels. He creates the idea of it. If I try to tell someone else about it I can’t make it sound as cool. I think this is because what is cool is unknown. This is why the Narnia movies weren’t that cool. Take Aslan for example, C. S. Lewis can say something like, “Aslan was as big as small elephant, and his mane was like gold with light flowing from it.” But when a person tries to pin down the unknown of what that looks like it will always diminish.

Another example is an anime called Rurouni Kenshin. The main character is a swordsmen. The story doesn’t introduce him as an amazing character. He is a humble wanderer. But everyone knows that he is a legendary fighter that no one can beat. The story doesn’t give much information about his past except in glimpses. The unknown aspect makes it so enticing. I find that my imagination spins a much more exciting tale than the story portrays.

The First

2010-03-04T11:05:00.000-08:00

I was reading about the book of Genesis. The part that I was reading talked about how Cain murdered and then was afraid of being murdered. He acted wrongly toward one but wanted protection against being treated as he had treated another.

So he was fearing something that he started. I was trying to think of something that I had started that I was then afraid of. I imagined being a kid and doing something out of impulse and then being afraid because I didn’t know what I was doing. Once a kid was yelling in my ear. I wanted him to stop and I was angry that he did that. I punched him in the stomach. I just meant to do it lightly, as a warning. But he started crying. It made me scared. We were in fifth grade. Sometime in high school the kid brought it up. I totally didn’t know that I would start something so big. I wonder if Cain had a notion of what was going to happen.

Also think about how he was the first murderer. If no one had been killed or died yet, I don’t think that I would know what it was. He knew that dying existed but did he know what it would look like and how much violence it would require? Did he say to himself I am going to kill him? If not, it shows how much tangible evil can come from some seemingly small evil impulses.

Remembrance

2010-03-01T06:10:00.000-08:00

I went back to my roots just now, that is I looked at old blog posts. I found that I have diverted from my original pattern of writing. I used to write them more as, my title indicates, a news letter. I also wrote in a more train of thought, sarcastic way. You know I used to have a teacher that said the word pattern like, patter-en. It was a little interesting. Also she used to say calvary instead of cavalry.

So anyway, let me give some news of what has gone on in my life. I had a hang nail last week. JK, although I really said TTYL to one of my roommates when he was leaving and it was like I was asserting myself as competent in this age of cellular telephone devices. I was saying to him, since he is quite a few years my junior, “Yo D-diddy dawg, I’m not too old yet. I am teeming, (Oh, teeming sounds too intelligent,) Uh, I am full of cool. I can reduce words to their first letters. I can keep up with the pace of technology. I am a man. I have an arm that can reach out in love for the latest Apple product. I have legs that can be shorn with the latest trend that is fed to me by people that care almost nothing about me except that they want my money.”

Yes, I can say all of that in only four letters. Although not really because what I wrote kind of makes me sound like I think that all kids care about is the latest trends and whatnot.

So I wrote the title of this post as remembrance. I was thinking back on the childhood that I participated in and I remember an oak alter in my parents church that said, “Do this in remembrance of me” on it. I wonder how much they paid for that thing. They sure are getting use out of it. I am sure it is still in the same place now.

Well, I’ve got to go. Change your clothes, but don’t change your attitude, (unless you have a bad one).

Love

Mr. Sir Braden Joshua MacIntosh Lorenzo Caravaggio Williams Junior, the Battosai (just K I have never used a sword)

Sabbath Revisited (Time)

2010-02-25T11:57:00.000-08:00

Sabbath Revisited (Time)

Waltke quotes Heschel, who says, “But time is the heart of existence.” And later “It is a triumph frequently achieved by sacrificing and essential ingredient of existence, namely, time.”

Is time the heart of existence? I have often seen myself as fighting against time or waiting for time to do it’s thing (pass by). When thinking of time, I have a difficulty understanding it. What is it? It’s measurable. Is it a substance? I can’t conceive of a world without time. Perhaps that is what is meant by time is the heart of existence.

I have personally thought of time as being the change of physical things or as Heschel puts it, space. Without consistent change, such as day/ night, rivers, waves, would people have developed a time sense. If I think of a spot in outer space where no matter exists, I guess that there is still time there because of the changes in energy passing through that space. It seems that time is bound to the existence of space. So I, being a form in space, have time bound to me as much as I am bound to time. So it does seem that time is an essential ingredient to existence. Yet I, or other space that excludes me, am an essential ingredient of time.

So what did you think of my immature musings on time? Am I crazy, boring, or a genius who just doesn’t know it? Do I need better organization skills, or better grammar? Is this not your topic of choice? What would be?

Write me a comment. Thanks for reading.

Sabbath

2010-02-23T10:45:00.000-08:00

... It can be inferred from the creation narrative that the Sabbath is a day to recognize and celebrate the significance of time. We are not just creatures of space but also creatures of time. As Heschel observes, “Technical civilization is man’s conquest of space. In technical civilization, we expend time to gain space. To enhance our power in the world of space is our main objective. Yet to have more does not mean to be more. The power we attain in the world of space terminates abruptly at the borderline of time. But time is the heart of existence.” Participating in God’s rest gives us significance as we reflect on what we have done and allows us to participate in something eternal.

In the imitation of God’s rest, we find our sustenance in God and the true meaning of our labor and God’s good creation. Again Heschel comments, “To disparage space and the blessing of things of space, is to disparage the works of creation. the works which God beheld and saw ‘it was good’... Time and space are interrelated.... What we plead against is man’s unconditional surrender to space, his enslavement to things. We must not forget that it is not a thing that lends significance to a moment; it is the moment that lend significance to things.”

This is taken from:

Bruce K. Waltke, Genesis (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001) 73

Quotes:

A. J. Heschel, The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Modern Man (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1986) 3

Disposable Culture

2010-02-16T12:01:00.000-08:00

Often I don’t notice the increasing trend of making products disposable. Where does it come from; the desire to make and buy things of a small enough value that they are easily discarded? Why is it desirable to make one time use items, so that after it is used it is worthless? Some things that come to mind are convenience, laziness and cost. It seems easier and cheaper to throw something away to reuse it. If it is out of sight, it is out of mind.

When I think of disposable, I think of diapers, plastic bags and bottles, but one thing that a person doesn’t think of that I would argue is definitely disposable is teflon coated pots and pan.

Teflon is quite a remarkable material. It really reduces friction. It can withstand fairly heigh temperatures. The problem is that when it is coating a pot or pan, a metal utensil will scratch it and scrape it off. I am pretty particular about using only plastic utensils on teflon, but even I forget on the occasion. I am sure that there is someone out there who never uses metal on their teflon. However, it is my estimate that by far the majority of teflon users use metal and scratch their pots.

I know that many people believe that the ingestion of teflon will cause health problems. The most notable that I can remember is the accusation that eating teflon pieces will contribute to the development of Alzheimer's disease. I don’t know the validity of these perspectives but it does seem to me to be some reason to avoid using a extremely scratched pot.

An amazing alternative to the disposable teflon pot is cast iron and steel pots and pans. They can be seasoned to become non-stick. My experience is that they work very well in this way. They are easy to clean, and can be scrubbed vigorously without worry. It is true they are not meant for the dishwasher. But I have a steel wok that I use often, for many types of dishes. To clean it I just use a scrubber with water and then towel dry. Another great thing about these types of pans is that they can be handed down from generation to generation. If they get rusty, they can be lightly sanded and re-seasoned. Another thing is, cast iron puts small amounts of iron into the food which the body needs for healthy blood; compared to teflon which the body doesn’t need at all.

I Like It Hot

2010-02-14T14:03:00.000-08:00

I have been talking about eating with purpose. One thing that forces me to slow down when I eat is having my food hot. I can clearly remember times when I was frustrated at my lack of sensual satisfaction because my food was too hot to pile into my mouth. I was so impatient that I burned my mouth. Then I whined because of what I did to myself. Had I paused and used the time that the food was cooling to change my attitude, I would have had a more satisfying perspective and I would have been able to enjoy the taste of the food without a burnt tongue. So, serve it hot. The temperature will make you slow down. Whether or not you use the opportunity is up to you.

I Live Like I Eat

2010-02-11T03:51:00.000-08:00

I have a desire to live with the same intention that I have been talking about eating with. I am tired of an entitled mindset that doesn’t fleetingness of the luxury of American living. I want to be mindful of the wonder of my touchscreen ipod that can among other things instantly access information from all over the world. At the same time as this I want to be aware that it can easily become utterly insignificant in eternity depending on what I use it for and why I use it.

I want to be thankful for the heat that is in my house. I don’t want to have the attitude that if I am cold I should be able to turn up the heat, as opposed to merely wearing a few more layers. I want to acknowledge that what I have is a gift, things such as safe housing, clean drinking water, and delicious food.

What I am talking about is that when I engage the physical and non physical aspects of the world, I want honor God. I am starting with what I know, that is inanimate things. Perhaps I may work to relationships.

A Festival Everyday

2010-02-08T10:13:00.000-08:00

I wrote earlier about eating with good intentions. I talked about eating in a more regimented way that makes the focus of eating a method to thank God.

It seems to me that the many festivals in the old testament did this sort of thing. Think of the Passover. There were very specific items on the menu, even down to the spices. Everything at the table had meaning. The bitter herbs were to remind the eater of the hard toil in Egypt, for example. The people participating in the festival were not supposed to eat blindly, merely to get to the next thing in the day. The were meant to eat and remember, to eat and think.

There are two interesting things that I want to talk about. One is how the menu is not just oriented around what will taste good. There is the unleavened bread. That sounds tasty. But even a bitter taste has a purpose in the meal. It is important in learning a lesson. What bitter food do I have that I could eat to remind me of some hard thing that the Lord has delivered me from? Maybe I could then eat something sweet to remember God’s forgiveness.

The second is, the bitter herbs were meant to remind the eater of the hard life in Egypt. Yet when the nation of Israel was wandering in the wilderness they kept saying things like, “We would be better off in Egypt. At least we had melon and other foods there.” The Lord gave the nation a tool to help themselves avoid this attitude. Durning the Passover, the eating of the bitter herbs was supposed to remind them of how bad Egypt was and to not go back that way, not to mention that the whole Passover festival was meant to remind of how bad Egypt was and of God’s miraculous rescue. I feel astonished at the nation’s actions. Not only did they have this tool, but they were eating bread from heaven, manna. They didn’t even have to work for it.

Although I feel astonished, I am a human too. I act like this. I let my mind tell me that things in the past that were bad (like sin) aren’t that bad. I also get calloused and forget to recognize the wonderful things that the Lord gives me. I also forget that the Lord gives me wonderful tools like the bitter herbs to help me live rightly. Like the nation of Israel I forget to use these tools. I want to learn. I want to change I want to use the tools and have a festival every day.

Eating Like a Pagan

2010-02-05T08:45:00.000-08:00

Eating seems to have a special significance. I have heard this expressed before with the logic that since the first sin was committed with food, eating must be significant. Beside that, there is the fact that the Lord chose to use a supper to remind us of his sacrifice.
With this in mind, I would say that since the time that all foods were declared “clean”, it isn’t what one eats (within reason) that is important, it is more of why one eats that is important and how much one eats. I want to talk about two reasons for eating that are reasons that the world eats. This is what I mean by the title of eating like a pagan.
The two reasons could be seen as on a spectrum. On one end is abject eating, eating only to sustain one’s body. This reason for eating ignores that food is made beautiful and that the various flavors are meant to be enjoyed properly.
On the other end of the spectrum, is eating only for pleasure. Personally, I find this way of eating to be just as empty as the other. It encompasses having a criteria for food based only on taste. Also the eater is eating to have a taste-oriented sensual experience. I find that when I eat for this reason I end up overeating because I want more taste pleasure. I think that this reason for eating is the most common in American culture. At fast food places the flavor is amped up regardless of the effect on peoples bodies. Many pre-made foods at the grocery store are loaded up with sugars, fats and salts. These items taste good but in such high quantities are causing major health problems.
I heard a sermon at Mars Hill, Grand Rapids. The speaker was talking about praising God. The illustration was for everyone to eat a piece of chocolate. The word savor seems to best capture the aspects of this exercise. The idea is to avoid anything like shoving the food in your mouth and swallowing. This task requires time and focus. Most people are in the habit of eating without thinking. When the pleasant taste hits your tongue you absorb it. You pause and enjoy it. Then you think of God and his love for you. You think about his kindness and how he provides for you. You thank God for this pleasure, for the ability to enjoy it.
I think that there is a reason for eating that is for the body and rightly enjoys taste as a gift. I find that when I eat like this I am enriched. My body is nourished and my attitude and perspective are too. I eat less and am satisfied more.
It might not always look like the sermon illustration. It might involve praying before meals. I think that perhaps this was what praying before meals was originally intended for when it wasn’t a trite religious act. For many perhaps it still functions this way. At the core it is thanking God for what you are eating. This will naturally take many forms.

Enchanted Food

2010-02-03T09:03:00.000-08:00

I remember reading something that C. S. Lewis wrote about perverted sexuality. He was making an analogy to food, saying that it would be strange for us to find a culture that put a hamburger on stage and slowly uncovered it, like a strip tease. I don’t mean to dismiss the point that he was making, but I would argue that American popular culture treats food in a way very similar to this. Television commercial producers make food and the eating of food look sensual. When people actually eat food it doesn’t look like it does in ads. Advertisements also make food look ideal. A hamburger purchased at a fast food chain never looks like the ad. It is not that the chain serves substandard food. It is that the ad is overly idealized. People have bought into this idea of what food should be. That is why all of the oddly shaped produce is filtered out of grocery stores.

In my opinion, these tricks that are used to sell food do the same thing that most, if not all, advertisements do. They make the consumer associate things like happiness, fulfillment, and sensual experience with the purchase and consumption of the product. Of course this is a lie. It can’t offer these things. It may deliver a form of them, but it is always fleeting and encourages more consumption.

I don’t want to believe the lie. I don’t want eat food with the intent of receiving an existence or experience that God wants to be giving me.

Your Rod and Your Staff, They Comfort Me

2010-02-01T15:58:00.000-08:00

Often a rod is used to beat, or a staff to harshly correct. A Staff brings up images of power or force. How strange for a psalm writer to say that a rod is comforting. I think that the first thing that comes to mind when I think the word comfort is fleece, or something soft, embracing or flexible. A rod is hard and unyielding, yet it brings comfort. Well, I think of how I have heard that when the nation of Israel was first given the law, a set of 613 laws, it was received with joy and gladness. This was the case because the law was seen as a gift of how to live rightly. Perhaps the rod is like this; the shepherds correction is a wonderful lesson on how to live rightly.

I think that a shepherd’s staff would also be used to defend the sheep against any predator that might be seeking a meal. No wonder the psalm writer called the staff a comfort.

Lord thank you for your rod and your staff they truly comfort me.

A Drink

2010-01-30T06:43:00.000-08:00

I was thinking more about the metaphor of the Lord is my shepherd. I really like the idea that God leads me to places where the water is quiet. I know that some people are really talented in business and succeed well in a capitalist system. But sometimes I feel like a sheep who doesn’t even know were to go to get a drink.

I imagine that a sheep that is out in the field might think that the food is good and it would eat gladly. At some point the sheep would find a dryer patch of grass and start to get thirsty. I can totally see the sheep starting to get worried because its thirst is growing. It might raise its head and ask its neighbor, “Are you thirsty, because I am?” The neighbor might reply, “A little.” The first sheep would start to get nervous and the next thing it would know the flock would be moving. It might start to freak out thinking, “Where is everyone going? I need to get to some water.” A little later it would find itself next to a calm stream drinking. Chill out Bway, Bway, a cool drink is coming.

The Path

2010-01-28T15:36:00.000-08:00

I went to college in the cold town of Gunnison, Colorado. Except for a rare event, when the snow thickly covered the ground it stayed throughout the duration of winter. During such a winter the snow blanketed a field that separated multiple buildings on the campus of the college I attended. Like ants following a scent, the students followed the same path across this field.

In the summer, although there were not regular classes, enough students took the path that their shoed feet wore away the grass down to the dirt. Each summer the grounds crew re-sod the path and posted barriers with the intention to deter people from walking the path. This never worked.

Fresh snow kept summer-shoed students from walking the path, but only until someone came who didn’t mind the cold slosh of wet shoes or until someone came with boots fit for pounding down virgin snow. Once the path was made, enough feet trod it so that snow was smooth hard and slick. When a line of student were on the path they looked like cows who make the same kind of paths through the snow to their food source.

This snow path was great, except for two problems that came with it. The first was, as I said, the path was slick so that if your foot hit the edge of the path it would slide down into the powder, filling your shoe with snow destined to melt and soak your foot. The second problem was when I was traveling one way on the path and another person was traveling the other. This wouldn’t be a problem on a wide path but this path was as narrow as two shoe widths. One beautiful time my opponent quickly chose the powder and let me continue with dry shoes. But then there was the time when the motivation of Robert Frost, to chose the road less traveled, was not strong enough, and my opponent was not straying. Neither I nor my opponent wanted wet shoes. With out pausing we grew closer to each other. It was a game of winter- snow- path chicken. This second problem was once avoided by someone who stomped down a diversion. I walked out onto the other path and everything was fine. But this time the other path was too far away. I lost the game. Admitting that I was a chicken I tried to tell myself that I did the right thing over the complaining shout of my cold feet.

Like Sheep

2010-01-26T16:21:00.000-08:00

I love the metaphor of the Lord is my shepherd. It paints such a tangible picture of the relationship between a believer and God. One aspect of this picture is the sheep.

We really are like sheep. I have heard that sheep will follow a leader off of a cliff. This idea brings to mind all of the odd groups, and many cults that are lead into cliff like situations.

Do you remember the people that were obsessed with the hail-bop comet? In one sense, it seems like these groups are indicting believers along with themselves, after all, the bible has some very strong and controversial things in it. I guess that a initial response would be to play down these elements. But the problem seems to me to be that people are following something other than the shepherd. To play down the bible would make it seem that the problem is whether or not the leader or teaching is popular or common. If you look at champions of the truth throughout history, many were indicted in their respective context. So it seems that the strong controversial aspects of these groups is not necessarily the problem, but that these groups are not based in truth. They are not following the truth who is the shepherd.

I don’t have a title for this post

2009-12-21T10:55:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-12-18T19:02:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-16T18:33:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-15T09:09:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-12T10:29:00.000-08:00

“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

2009-12-10T08:34:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-08T08:18:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-07T05:29:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-01T15:15:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-30T11:54:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-27T05:50:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-20T06:20:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-18T10:53:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-15T05:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-13T05:59:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-12T09:31:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-09T07:43:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-08T06:11:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-06T16:19:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-04T08:39:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-02T06:34:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-10-30T05:50:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-26T08:12:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-22T05:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-20T10:46:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-19T10:44:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-17T16:18:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-15T18:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-13T05:39:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-11T10:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-09T05:55:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-07T16:45:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-10-02T07:52:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-30T13:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T07:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-26T12:40:00.000-07:00

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.

Don’t puke in that bucket.

2009-09-25T04:33:00.000-07:00

I have phone anxiety. I sometimes, being faced with the need to contact someone, email because it is less personal, less confrontational. I am allowed the false comfort of putting off the development of my social skills, the maturity of personal issues and the other unknown but extensive benefits of verbally encountering another person.

Stretching often has the appearance and initial affect of being undesirable. (What I need to do is not look at the struggle but the result of engaging the struggle. Doing this also makes it so much easier to choose joy.)

I have heard of a creative way that some people have used to redistribute money. This way is as simple as a group of buckets that receive money from people who want to give. People who need money go to the buckets and take what they need.

I think that this is a neat, creative method, but what I think should not be left behind is the challenging method of getting people to give money or resources directly to each other. I think this forces people to address fears, insecurities, and worries.

For example one might be afraid to admit need. One might be embarrassed to give . People tackling (perhaps even choosing joy in) these struggles can be helpful for many. Those who experience the struggle can grow and those who witness it may grow also.

Listen

2009-09-22T13:10:00.000-07:00

Oh, Frankie and I had quite the battle. I have been, as of late, getting off of my bottom to engage in some stick to teeth combat with a snake. My friends and supporters have informed me that the Frankster was not just any old slithery fellow. He was a real life aggressive Blue Razor. Please don’t mistake the similarity of his name with the very non deadly razor cell phone, or the potentially painful but not venomous razor foldable scooter. Frankers can pack a serious bite, and grow up to eight feet long. He has a very intimidating grey-ish blue color. He rattles his tail as a defense mechanism.

It was exciting. Frank found his way into the garage. I was using a long thin piece of wood to coax him from behind two stowed tables. I was jumping and yelling, “Oo!” He was slithering and hiding. He didn’t flee. I didn’t flee. I finally carried him with my death wand and placed him in the most humane way possible on the ground.

He tried to hide in the front of the car. His slender head poked through the holes in the bumper. I jumped in triumph with my muscles bulging.

The stories of my scars

2009-09-20T17:38:00.001-07:00

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 brother graduated high school in the mid 1990s. He went to college. My world was still filled with Ninja Turtles. In college he had his ears pierced. I remember thinking that getting a piercing was very cool.

Some how I had the idea that you could pierce your finger or toe. I had already pierced my fingernail. It wasn’t legitimate enough, my nail piercing.

In the cold snowy winters, after a while of playing, my toes would be numb. I felt that this was the perfect chance to pierce the edge my toe.

I had heard of people using safety pins to pierce their belly buttons. I just used whatever pin I could find.

Fortunately I am not a tough guy. The pin, being pressed into my toe, hit a spot a little too deep for my comfort. So I pushed it through the outer part of my skin that has less feeling. I never planned out how I would leave the pin in place so that the hole would heal. I think I just took it out because I knew that it wasn’t deep enough. I know I tried this between my toes and thumbs three or four times.

So to be completely transparent these aren’t really scars. They did leave scars at the time but they have been erased.

Scars that have been erased, scars that have been erased...

Apples and Oranges

2009-09-18T06:17:00.000-07:00

The Art Prize is coming to Grand Rapids, MI. It is here, really. A 30,000 Pound Chair that will have a matching table is being installed atop of a downtown bridge.
This competition is being hailed as a great competition. It will bring art from around the world to west Michigan. It is judge by the public. It has a non-traditional method of admission. There is no jury or submission of slides. The artist has to get in touch with a local businesses within the perimeters set downtown .
This seems good. Anyone can enter. It frees the artist from the system of critics and the art elite.
I think that the art prize is what the art world doesn't need. ( I don't think it is harmful, but it doesn't help the situation.) The problem with art today is that there is no clear distinction placed on what is made. I have read art criticism books that speak of judging art by one context or another. But very few people care to take the time to find out what is behind different forms of art. I have heard phrases like, "I just don't get it", or "I don't see how that's art".
If one goes to an art museum a 3,000 year old artifact is just down the hall from 50 year old oil paintings. These things are divided by period but it lacks true distinction. It is all termed art.
In Grand Rapids at the Frederick Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park, the roughly 2 story Da Vinci horse is just down the path from welded I-beams. There is no attention given to the motives, intentions, or general context that these radically different objects have been created with.
Art doesn't need less distinction but more. Painting and sculpture needs something other than being thrown together with dancing, and music in a category labeled "The Arts". I would like a distinction between splatter painting, technical realism, and 30,000 pound chairs, not because I think that some art should be excluded or discouraged but rather that these things that people are making should be set into context. How can the megalithic sculpture and the still life painting or the installation be judged in the same contest for a very large sum of money?
Perhaps critics, professors and artist do give distinction, but I'm not sure that the general public (who will be judging this contest) does much thinking, if any, about art. Perhaps in freeing the contest from the critics and art elite, one is taking the art out of the hands of the people who care about art and into the laps of people who don't.
I am critiquing this contest but the issue seems bigger than one contest. It encompasses terms like "The Arts" and institutions that tear artwork out of it's context with little clue for the viewer what the work is all about.

The stories of my (brother's) scars.

2009-09-15T06:24:00.000-07:00

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 (brother's) largest organ, these are:

The Stories of My (Brother's) Scars.

my brother (Braden) and I used to bike a lot together growing up. we would go out into the hills or build jumps in our yard. it was much fun. one day we decided to bike into town, which is like a 2 mile ride. he was leading the way and i decided that i would try and ride as close behind him as possible in order to draft off of him. it was going really well. i was concentrating intently on the back of his bike in order to stay close but not run into him. we were almost into town, and the next thing i knew was all of the sudden his bike had slowed immensely, i reached for the brake, but it was too late. i ran into the back of him. i felt a sharp pain in my finger and looked down and saw my finger beginning to bleed. it had gotten pinched between my bike and his bike. fear and panic began to well up in me. "braden!" he looked back with a surprised look and proceeded to lead me to the mcdonalds which was just a little ways away. he told me to wait outside while he went inside to get something for my finger. i waited and waited, for what seemed like forever. my finger dripped and dripped blood onto the sidewalk. people walked by, looking at the puddle of blood in discust. i think i probably ruined some peoples' lunch... i felt strange, bleeding there onto the sidewalk, not knowing what to do, not sure where my brother was, people walking by and looking yet not doing anything about this child who was bleeding by himself. finally my brother came out. we wrapped my finger in toilet paper and rode back home.

Oh, I can totally hear his young voice yelling, "Braden". Thanks for the Story. I remember there was a guy in the bathroom for a long time and I couldn't get in it. I should have got some napkins from the counter. I didn't realize I was gone long until I saw that puddle of blood. "Oops", I thought, "Let's get out of here."

Thanks Again.

Waste not, want more. We're Americans.

2009-09-13T06:06:00.000-07:00

The pages feel remarkably new on a 14 year old copy of the magazine Family Circle. The pictures have an unnameable quality, I can’t pin point it, they just look old. Some times a hair do or old looking clothes dates the publication, but mostly it is something else.

The car ads sell “new anti-lock brakes”.

There are many happy, beautiful women smoking. I don’t find cigarette ads like I used to.

I read an article about reusing items from around the house. One reader wrote in to share a great use for the plastic part at the bottom of 2 liter pop bottles. What? Oh, I had completely forgotten how pop bottles used to have a black cap shaped piece at the bottom. I remember that they were hard to get off.

Do you remember that?

none

2009-09-12T16:24:00.000-07:00

Jeremy asked me “Are you egalitarian?”

“No,” I said, “I’m head/body.”
What is head/body like? Well it is not complementarian or egalitarian.

Complementarian is a master-servant relationship. Egalitarian is two colleagues.
Complementarian is two separate people, one ruling the other. Egalitarian is two separate people, co-leading somewhat democratically.

Head/body or headship is a mystery of two people becoming one, being lead by God, the Spirit. Complementarian and Egalitarian are modeled by governments and human institutions. Head/Body is modeled by the Father and Son.

I think that it is big

2009-09-11T14:01:00.000-07:00

I have been listening to the audio book “Jesus Wants to Save Christians” by Robert Homes Bell, Jr. and Don Golden.

It is a book that rejects American Imperialism by, among other things, comparing it to Pharaoh’s enslavement of the Israelites.

A simple review of the line of thought is: the people of Israel were slaves under an oppressive system. The Lord opposes oppressive systems such as Pharaoh’s Egypt. The Lord freed Israel and taught them how to live a non-oppressive life, culture, system. In the time of Solomon, Israel had become the “new Egypt” - an oppressive system like the one they were rescued from.

Solomon even used slaves to build the temple. He became an arms dealer, importing and exporting chariots and horses. While this oppressive system existed, Solomon and the people rejected God. Because the Israelites rejected God they were lead into exile.

Later, Israel had taken the law that was to teach them how to live, and made it into its own oppressive system. Jesus came to free Israel and the world from these systems.

I don’t remember if this is in the book, but what is so amazing is that Jesus not only offers freedom from sin, he offers co-heir-ness.

God’s way is not communism where people are equal and ruled by a leader.

God’s way is not a democracy - equal rights, equal voice in choosing the leader.

On earth, men cling fiercely to power. People crush insurrectionists. People kill colleagues, friends and family members for positions of leadership and power.

Early Americans at least believed that people were competent enough to choose the one who would rule them.

Jesus goes way beyond this in saying that we (the church, the saints, the believers) will rule with him and even judge angels. This is far beyond even the loftiest goals and aspirations of human systems.

Jesus offers us the opportunity to live in this system.

As I post this I understand that I am talking in general terms that can be problematic. My goal is to illuminate the outstanding notion of reigning with God.

Slackline Living (balance)

2009-09-03T05:29:00.000-07:00

This is about being grateful.

I find it so fascinating that if you are reading this blog it is more than likely that you were born rich. I was born rich, filthy rich. I had candy on a regular basis. I had so many toys that it became amusing to destroy them. (Honestly I never broke my toys on purpose, but it seems that many of my peers did at some level.) I got new shoes every school year. I always had a warm coat, always a full stomach. I went to school.

What are the implications of being over privileged from birth? A heightened tendency towards selfishness, greed, un-thankfulness, becoming jaded are a few of the tendencies that I see. Now read that list with the knowledge that I don't have much to compare it to. I haven't spent much time with people that haven't grown up rich. Perhaps people who are living in situations where basic needs aren't being fully met have an equal infusion of everything on that list. I imagine that Jesus has a few things to say here. I apologize for not doing the research to put them here.

I listened to a book that said that the wealthy have what they have so that they may use it to help those who don't have.

What I am going to attempt I heard from a man named Shane Hipps. He told me to experience something in this way: Eat a treat like it is the last one you will have. (I might add, like you have never had it before.) Take the pleasure rumbling in your mouth and move it to your heart. Feel thanksgiving.

What I think that I am going to add is to do that often, to all of the rich things that I regularly encounter. I don't want to forget that I am rich, or worse to begin to think that I need or deserve it or that I earned it. I do want to enjoy it fully and healthily.

eah?

2009-09-01T16:25:00.000-07:00

Hi , this is not that interesting but it is something to think about. It seems to me that some pastors come up with the topics for their sermons primarily by looking at issues in life and then finding scripture that addresses it. Other pastors primarily look at scriptures and try to apply it to life issues. I can recall effective and ineffective sermons from both approaches. Can you?

another shift

2009-08-31T09:55:00.000-07:00

I find that a subtle shift in emphasis or perspective can make right action quite a bit easier. One example of this is found among the screeches, muck, and discarded chewing gum of the NYC transit. When riding the subway my eye would occasionally prick my mind with an inquiry. "What was on that ad.?" or "What was scratched into the wall"

Once I inched my way toward the wall careful not to touch it for fear that its surface contained something such as, disease. I was right in thinking that the wall gave support to some unknown danger. I was foolishly clueless, to the fact that the real danger could do something much more significant than merely harm my body.

While scanning the letters I was given a hand. I had caught wind of the wretched stench that was not wafting up from whatever was decaying on the tracks, but from whatever was decaying in some one's heart, and was recorded on this wall.

Oh, but temptation had grabbed hold of me. I told myself, "Don't read, Don't read." The prohibition was fuel for the flames. The glutton, Temptation, was growing fat.

I read it. I opened my mind and soul to it. My guilt flowed.
Then to my mind, like a simple clear note, came the words, "Remind yourself of this before you read something next time. When curiosity is strong be firm in your memory of the possible and likely result of looking. And don't say, 'Don't read,' say, 'You don't want to read that."

It worked I didn't read another vulgarity. I wanted to at first. Upon remembering, I didn't want to. I didn't have to fight, to struggle against desire. I had realigned my desire with right desire, it was resurrected.

Love

Long time coming

2009-08-30T16:45:00.000-07:00

Daily I am faced with the choice to seek instant pleasure or do work; to have fun or to slave away.

What is wrong with this perspective? What a dull out look on life.

Dear, really the choice is to seek a cheap, temporary thrill or to work towards the creation of a life building pleasure-joy. One will let me feel good quickly and leave me addicted and wanting. The other will take time but will last and cause real good.

I am speaking generically, but I am thinking about very specific things. For me the "cheap" thing is anything that does little more than tickle my senses.

Proportion is important.

I want to spend more time investing.

The stories of my scars

2009-07-13T14:01:00.000-07:00

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 am a skinny fellow. It could be said that in my younger days I enjoyed squeezing into tight spaces. The spaces in between cars or behind couches became a venue to showcase my talent. This talent is one that I have little responsibility for. My genetic disposition, or as some may call it, being born in the sign of the bean pole, warrants me little, to none, of the credit I so longingly sought by squeezing behind things.

At one such time, I began to squeeze behind the couch. A sharp pain met my right foot. I quickly sat down on the carpet to see why my foot hurt so badly. I found a large and wide cut with something white (which I assumed was tendons) inside.

Calmly and collectedly I said, “Dad will you come look at my foot?”

He looked at it and off we went to the emergency room.

a pat on the back

2009-06-29T08:57:00.000-07:00

I was proud of myself today. I love taking things that are rejected by people, set out as trash, and giving them a new life and purpose. I love fixing things that are being neglected because they are broken, I love giving usefulness.

In the barn there was a wheel barrow (as a kid I thought it was "wheel barrel") with a flat tire. These kinds of tires are like car tires, they have no tube. The tire seals against the rim. So to fill the tire a seal has to be made. If a large portion of air is forced into the tire, the air itself will force the tire to seal. All I have is a small bike pump. So I tied a string around the tire and put blocks of wood to squeeze the tire. It worked. Squeezing the tire was enough to make a seal. The wheel barrow has been rescued.

A View of Depression?

2009-06-18T06:29:00.000-07:00

I am not sure that depression is exactly what I experience but I wanted to make an attempt at communicating what I do experience.

It seems to me that this trial that I am experiencing is maybe the hardest trial. If I had experienced something like a great job loss or another tragic event, I could rejoice in the Lord due to my relationship, experience, and foundation in him throughout the event. My trial seems to be a loss not in terms of my environment such as my job, car, or family. It seems like a loss of my relationship and experience of the Lord. I am left clinging to the foundation. This might not sound too bad because of my use of the word foundation. What I mean is that what I have is logical, and intellectual ties to the truths of the Lord. My experience has come to counter these ties (truths). I seek to think of good things, or to take it to the Lord in prayer, my experience is worry, fear, anxiety without material cause and without warning. I try to seek relationship thorough prayer but my emotions and body makes me wholly unable to see the validity in any activity, including prayer. I am left as I said before, clinging to the intellectual truth (which suddenly seems very impotent) that prayer is valuable. It seems that one type of trial is when something tragic happens and “all is well with my soul” because the Lord is unmistakably present. And my type of trial is that nothing tragic has happened but it feels like the Lord is no where to be found.

To be accurate the tragedy of my trial seems to be the haphazard condition of my emotions. Another troubling aspect is that I find myself constantly fearing a usual trial, that is the external trials given above. The thought is that because I can’t handle the non-trial, I will have no hope in the trial. I have always believed that I had nothing to fear because no matter what happened the Lord was with me, helping me. I know this intellectually but I have a strong worry that it will feel like he isn’t there, like it seems now.

The Smell on My Bike

2009-05-29T13:55:00.000-07:00

It is not really my bike, but I ride it. The tires are slightly flat so that they make a funny noise when I ride. My weight slightly squishes the tube. These poor man's shocks give me a smooth ride until I grimace when the rough Michigan road makes me hit the rim.

As I ride, I smell. Riding on the current of the wind, the smell of lilacs fills my environment. It transforms the air into a sweet dessert. I ride through fruit preserve spread thickly on toast. I can feel the coarse, pitted surface of the toast against my tires. I struggle to pedal through this viscous air.

I am suddenly hit by exhaust that fills my face. Now I am riding once again on broken roads through polluted air.

Whaaat?

2009-05-19T16:06:00.000-07:00

I was looking for a synonym of anxious, one of the options that I found in an electronic thesaurus was “having kittens”.

I am totally having kittens over my exam this week.

Check out these one’s. I am really in a lather because of that money issue, thing.

I’ve never been in a dither all my life, I’m cool as a cucumber. I am really on tenterhooks about my trip to the dump, I hear there are rats.

As the Sway Calms

2009-05-18T10:44:00.000-07:00

It feels like having an addiction to something, in this case a stable footing, then realizing that you don’t need it or want it anymore. What I love more than the fulfillment of an intense, hard to resist, desire is when the desire ceases. I find I don’t even want it. I am happier without it. On the slackline I come to the place where I let go of control-freak-ish- ness. I first tried to force a handhold out of thin air; I now relax my hands by my side, or, on the occasion, I tuck them neatly into welcoming pockets. It is a nice experience.

What begins as a shake becomes a sway. The shake feels like the ground betraying you, a sabotage of your safety. It seems “how could anyone do this?” And, “I won’t be able to do this.” This is an uncontrollable shake. It is interesting because one has to accept the shaking to proceed. At some point the shake dies down or is converted into something that feels like a close friend. This is when the addiction starts. It is a spectacular feeling, to overcome the shaking enemy and to “hang out” with the bounce, the sway, the feeling of floating. I find a desire to revisit the transformation.

The close friend is the movement of the slackline. The movement is no longer out of control but is predictable, even is used to maintain balance. I become fond of the manner in which I can move the slackline under my center of gravity. Movement used to be and enemy now is it the handhold or foothold that I was grasping at before. I was grasping wildly at the air for something that was always there touching me. I wanted something to walk beside me, but what was needed was the very thing that was under me.

Funny Times

2009-05-14T17:23:00.000-07:00

I was balancing with the consistent sway and bounce of a slackline that was set up in the front yard. Across the street, standing as a timid pair, two siblings watched. "Hi", one said, "What are you doing?" "Walking on this," I replied. This was a small girl talking. Her brother, who appeared to have gained some confidence almost yelled, "Are you crazy?"

I said back, "Maybe a little." The ran away.

Save me a piece of that corn for later

2009-05-08T06:41:00.001-07:00

I heard on the radio about this guy that thinks the world is on the brink of a change. He was saying how when people are living in history the general perception is that every change is slow. There are people that point out the real history does move slowly sometimes but is broken with periods of great, quick change. We are about to experience one of these he says.

I wonder what will happen? What will the future hold?

The Stories

2009-05-05T15:31:00.000-07:00

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 have a scar on my right hand, my first knuckle of my first finger. When I was I don’t remember how old, my grandmother on my mom’s side died.

I used to deal poorly with my emotions by hiding them. I did this because I thought that it was a more masculine way.

My grandma sent us awesome packages. She sent one for each of our birthdays and one Christmas. Toys, underwear, pepperoni, halva, and clothes were among the lot. She would make us kiss her on the cheek. She gave us Sen Sen. They were little black breath things that plowed my taste buds with flavor. She had couches that were covered with plastic. It was first at her house that I saw ice water in the refrigerator. I didn’t understand why anyone would put water in the fridge when you could get it out of the tap. She had a TV in the kitchen. I miss my grandma, but not in a pitying way, in an love filled fondness way.

She was diagnosed with cancer. When I found out that she had died I went walking outside. Behind my parents’ house were windows, not installed in anything. One was broken with shards remaining in the window housing. I looked at that window and felt some sadness. I thought, “This idea is very foolish, you will be ashamed if you do it.” I was very ashamed, but it was too late. I had already punched the glass. What made it worse was I had cut my knuckle badly. A small flap of skin hung loose. It really bled. I was very worried that I would be “caught” having done something so stupid and feel even more ashamed. I wasn’t. No one asked me how I got the cut. That is my scar.

The stories of my scars.

2009-05-05T14:36:00.000-07:00

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 have a scar on my thumb. I was carving a portion of wood. I divided my thumb into portions, two portions. One was big, one was small. I have the scar.

Part Two!!!!

2009-05-03T12:32:00.001-07:00

I didn’t wimp out. Gerald, my own brother went without me. He took his friend Melvin.

Gerald and Melvin were as prepared as they could be. The first lucky rock that was chosen was a bad fit for the job. It was too small. A new rock was lifted and the excursion went off with out a hitch. I hear that the experience was quite surreal insomuch as the water was calm at such depths. After a time or two in the water, Mitch, I mean, Melvin decided to try an attempt at retrieving a white thing at the bottom. When he resurfaced the was holding is hand up, it appeared he had grabbed the white thing.

Some bystanders had an amazed look. Gerald saw that it was his own thumb that Melvin was holding. The tip had been cut nearly off. Gerald gave Melvin a towel, I assume to wrap his wound with. I don’t know very throughly the details of the rest of the story. Gerald drove Melvin to the hospital. I think that Melvin was fairly out of it. Can you imagine someone walking out of the river with a cut like that and walking up to you to show to you it? I think that the current spun the rock around and hit another rock with little Melvy’s finger between the two.

A Story Part One

2009-05-02T13:57:00.000-07:00

This is a true story. The names of the individuals involved have been changed to protect their identity. There is not an interesting reason for this measure, I just think it is kind of cool. This story is one of brave reckless abandon, daring thrill seeking, quick thinking and excitement.

My brother Gerald and I were enjoying a pleasant summer. We had discovered the edgy thrills of the new white water park that had been built on the Smunnison river. This park was built for the benefit of white water kayakers. The otherwise mild river had been sculpted with concrete and rock into two nice holes. The water made a wave that kayakers would surf. The upper was smaller, the lower was bigger, and both were deep. I kayaked them a little, but the real fun started when we saw some kids taking running leaps in to the middle of the rapid. A half a second or so later the kid’s head would bob up.

The first jump was pretty scary. The water was really moving and it was cold. Once we were in, we were hooked. After plunging deeper than expected the current would grab us and sweep us down stream. For me, jumping into water when my head is submerged and my feet don’t touch creates an intense feeling of being in the depths. It makes me feel small. It can be a thrill to be suddenly aware of one’s limits. Generally speaking after a period of exposure this excitement wears off and confidence replaces it.

This was our situation. We, Gerald and I, were caught day dreaming. I should really describe it as some thing more along the lines of scheming. We wanted to get to the bottom of the approximately fourteen foot deep water. A large stone would pull us down. We would be wearing goggles and nose plugs. Yes, we were planning to be “safe” by wearing a life jacket so that we would be whisked away to the surface once we let go of the stone.

I never did it. I didn’t muster up my courage to embark as an explorer, a pioneer into the new territory, the unknown that was buried deep at the bottom of the lower hole.

I sometimes look back with curiosity at how my life might be different to this day had I gone for it.

I didn’t wimp out. Gerald, my own brother went without me. He took his friend Melvin.

to be continued...

The stories of my scars.

2009-04-29T09:52:00.000-07:00

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.

There used to be a driving range so near our house that we had golf balls in plenty. I knew that golf clubs were to be used on grass and not for hitting rocks. Although we had one club that was designated the ignoble fate of a toy to my siblings and me.

As a child I had little awareness of the proper usage of things. I wanted to hit rocks with a baseball bat, not being concerned if it was dented. I wanted to crush rocks with a hammer. I didn’t have very much discrimination about which hammer I used. But I knew to only use the special club on the dirt. As an odd unrelated fact, I even knew that the special club was a wedge.

One day as my sister, younger brother and I were talking turns hitting some balls in the front yard. I wanted to be on my sisters other side. I was standing behind her. I wanted to stand in front of her. I was impatient. The other side seemed so great. Did I mention that I wanted to be on the other side of my sister? I remember thinking that I should wait, that I shouldn’t move near my sister because she was about to swing.

That day was the day that I most resembled a deer. I really resembled any earth bound creature that might find itself caught with the decision to go ahead or go back. I was the deer that kept running right into on coming traffic.

The golf club sent me running inside to my mom after it took a divot out of my left cheek. I sat on the kitchen counter asking my mom if I could see what it looked like. My sister was crying, I think, saying, “I’m sorry”. My poor sister. I wasn’t even crying anymore. She had the worse of it. They were my first stitches. I think that my mom saved them when they were removed.

I didn’t realize at the time that, I should be safe not only for my own sake, but also for the sake of the person who might accidentally cleave my cheek in two.

I'm Sorry

2009-04-28T17:43:00.000-07:00

In my days, quart. cent.( that is just over a quarter of a century)
I've been bent in the way that would say that if a person sins against
you, you should forgive them. Now I say hate forever, just kidding.
Really, I believed this to be an event. My brother called me a hideous
freak of nature (he really did once) (okay to be fair I don't think
that he knew what it meant, we were very young). So my role was to
forgive him right then and there.
Now I think that forgiveness is not one mystical event, but a choice
that is made at every point of rememberance. This choice might include
something along the lines of refraining from thinking negativily,
avoiding hating, maybe praying for the other, thinking of complements
toward the other, planning an act of goodwill, punching the air... in
excitement of your accomplishment of forgiveness.
Bye love b

Hole

2009-04-24T18:25:00.000-07:00

Why is it that when you take the word "hole" and stick it on the end of another word it makes the word so much more vulgar. For example take the word cake. That is a pleasant word. I think I'd like a piece of cake, maybe a carrot cake or a bunt cake.

Nobody says, "You stupid cake," or "Shut your fat cake." But add hole to the end and it is terrible. I can't even say it on this blog, the producers won't let me. Then there's butt hole, or dumb hole, or meanie hole. You don't think that's vulgar? Try saying it to a cop the next time he is tasering you, (or pulling you over for those of you who are less rebellious.)

it is good to sit up straight

2009-04-24T12:42:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that I have periodically known people who like the association towards something maybe even more than the thing itself.

I have had professors that speak with a sense of authority, as if the words proceeding forth from their qualified, experienced lips were a quintessential experience in scholarship. I have had other professors that spew words that are evidences of intense scholarship. The former reject a students verbal reference to a popular media during an in-class discussion, only to moments later stoop to equally banal behavior. With these one has no way of knowing what will be looked upon with favor and what will not. It seems one is drawn in to a posture of trying to please this professor who sets the standard. The other professors seem to be more interested in the information, and less in the image.
Have you had professors like these?

Skin on Frame

2009-04-22T06:57:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to make a kayak. It is a skin on frame style. I took a tree that no one wanted, maybe it was pine. I split it with many wooden wedges. I used a circular saw to cut it into planks. With the two long planks that are the gunwales, I tied the ends together. With a short board I opened the planks, making the general kayak shape. The part that is challenging is bending boards for ribs that make the hull shape. I don't want to make a steamer. So I might make a form. An interesting thing that I learned is that the keel on a skin on frame boat is called a keelson because it is under the skin and does not touch the water.

I was cutting the earth yesterday, when I looked at some handsome worms. What if there was a super hero that had a worm arm. It would be kind of clear, it would stretch and contract, it would expand and shrink, I think that it would be pretty disgusting. Bad guys would run just because it was gross.

Short

2009-04-20T13:26:00.000-07:00

I went to a concert sometime back, the Ralph Stanley band. For me it was one of the best concerts that I have been to. The band probably had a terrible time. The sound person according to the musicians was extremely incompetent. They continually complained about the sound. I loved the show because they all were such skilled musicians. I think that it is interesting that I could have loved a show that they probably hated.

Down South

2009-04-19T09:23:00.000-07:00

I have been found staring, neck bent to glimpse the odd, disfigured, idealized figure of Christ suffering on the cross. My young mind, proud with my perspective that Jesus didn't stay on the cross. He rose from the dead. "Why do they leave him on there?" I thought. I probably looked around to see the other characteristic that I was unused to in an environment such as this, that is in a Roman Catholic church.

I am not intending to leave a judgement, but rather an observation. I have as of late come to an understanding of a possible purpose for an icon of a suffering Christ. I have been reading about suffering Christians in El Salvador. I see now that a person, even myself, could feel helped to an unknown degree, in an unknown way, by the reminder that Christ suffered too, that Jesus suffered for me. Perhaps this would come in a visual form. If an entire people were poor, oppressed and suffering, perhaps this visual aid would be found in the common area of a church.

Thanks

Thoughts

2009-04-17T08:51:00.000-07:00

It is so interesting to me that people preach sermons that are little more than stories. Often it is a stretch to connect the story to scripture. At some churches the story incorporates contemporary culture, at others not so much. I have visited what may be called seeker friendly churches that incorporate current film clips and popular songs, and do have high attendance. Many of the churches that I have visited are a little short on biblical teaching.

I attended a spoken word performance by the former lead singer of Black Flag, Henry Rollins. For more than two hours he captivated the audience. Many sermons last thirty minutes or less with the reason that people can't listen for longer.

I want to see churches engaging contemporary culture with solid, interesting, and deep biblical teaching. I don't think that it is enough to merely tell a story that is intended to illustrate a biblical principle. I don't think it is enough to merely bring popular culture into church to make it feel relevant.
What might be as alluring as Henry Rollins is a deep teaching blended with interesting culture.