I get angry at small things on some days. For example as I am typing right now the computer has a delayed response between my typing and the appearance of the letters on the screen. The rage roils each time this delay causes me to respond clumsily in my typing progress.
I could turn off the BBC Wales radio station, but listening to the spoken Welsh language is more important to me than a smooth typing experience. So, I must move forward in jerky movements, and feel my rage rise steadily as I continue to write. Of course, I realize that I probably need to do some "spring cleaning" on the computer, but I don't have time right now.
Why am I like this right now? The small series of tragedies we have experienced are some months back. Shouldn't I feel better now?
Asking myself this question brings my mind back a few months. A lying, treacherous church leader stood close to my face, and suggested his treachery should be overlooked, and there was no place for disussion about it. To bring it up for discussion meant that I was not "moving forward, but choosing let the experience define me." At one point in the conversation he exploded in rage, and growled, "there's something deeper going on here." I suppose that was some sick Pentecostal way of getting out of being held responsible for one's sins - turn it around and accuse the other person of some deep problem which you pretend to divine by spiritual discerment.
Why is it that I am raging within lately? Did I pick up this sickness by being in the same contagious space as other sick leaders for too long? No, I know that's not the answer to the question.
The answer lies within me. I have the rage, and although it may be exaggerated by this season of stress, it lies within me nonetheless. Hopefully I have learned the lesson that it is wholly evil to lead others from the deep need to control, and that the rage which rises from a lack of control is sourced from below.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Getting Past My Cochlea
These are the times I feel trapped in my body - or, is it that my body is trapped in my experiences, and unlike my mind and heart can not escape?
She talked along. She talked a long time. I listened. I am sure that I listened longer than she talked. She was having fun talking, and unknown to Einstein was the fact that fun is the ingredient which compresses time. Fear holds the power to stretch time - especially the fear of being trapped in a monologue disguised as a discussion.
Along came another talker. Different than the first, but not different enough.
Now I was looking out through my eyes. I listened, but I wasn't really hearing. The words which passed beyond the cochlea, and into my auditory nerve were random snatches of the monologue. "I'm having a hard time with...unfair to treat me...smells bad...don't you think?" I was thankful that monologues have rhetorical questions. If you occasionally nod your head, you can appear to be paying close attention.
Actually I wondered if I really appeared to be paying close attention. The monologue became white noise. The white noise became unsufferable. My whole body was screaming at me, and rebelling at the fact that I remained in the presence of this incessant static. I wondered if the screaming of my mind was visible on my facial expressions. How long would it be until my body started shaking? I was beginning to feel the subtle body quakes of pent up tension deep inside me.
Many people say I am a good listener. Why was my listening being shortened? Why was I unable to hear all that was being said? Is there something about a monologuer which compresses the listener in me, and shortens my patience? Or could it be that I am still struggling with the stress of past treachery? Could it be that the failed, and lying leadership I have had to submit to and endure has caused me to struggle with listening for this season while I recuperate?
This Why Man Blog is all about questioning these personal responses and asking myself how they relate to my experiences in the last year. The extension of this questioning is to ask how abusive leadership effects myself, and perhaps the church as a whole.
I know I am a good listener, but it is not as true now as it has been in the past. I am sure it will return. The stress of this season is the primary reason for the difference in my attention span and patience. So I ask myself, "Could it be that Christians are not good listeners because their leaders are know-it-all blabber-mouths who speak without knowing, and judge without inquiry? Do conclusion jumping Christian leaders bring stress upon the church? Does that stress create a congregation of bland-minded, short-tempered, poor listeners who can not handle anything which does not fit their enjoyment experience?
I feel less the listener today than a year ago, but I am committed to being a good listener. I know my mind will stop screaming soon enough, and I will begin to hear a large percentage of the words once again. My monologuer is not the problem. I am, but the problem I am has been stretched by the abuse we've endured. Or so methinks for now. If you disagree, I might not hear what you have to say for a few more months.
She talked along. She talked a long time. I listened. I am sure that I listened longer than she talked. She was having fun talking, and unknown to Einstein was the fact that fun is the ingredient which compresses time. Fear holds the power to stretch time - especially the fear of being trapped in a monologue disguised as a discussion.
Along came another talker. Different than the first, but not different enough.
Now I was looking out through my eyes. I listened, but I wasn't really hearing. The words which passed beyond the cochlea, and into my auditory nerve were random snatches of the monologue. "I'm having a hard time with...unfair to treat me...smells bad...don't you think?" I was thankful that monologues have rhetorical questions. If you occasionally nod your head, you can appear to be paying close attention.
Actually I wondered if I really appeared to be paying close attention. The monologue became white noise. The white noise became unsufferable. My whole body was screaming at me, and rebelling at the fact that I remained in the presence of this incessant static. I wondered if the screaming of my mind was visible on my facial expressions. How long would it be until my body started shaking? I was beginning to feel the subtle body quakes of pent up tension deep inside me.
Many people say I am a good listener. Why was my listening being shortened? Why was I unable to hear all that was being said? Is there something about a monologuer which compresses the listener in me, and shortens my patience? Or could it be that I am still struggling with the stress of past treachery? Could it be that the failed, and lying leadership I have had to submit to and endure has caused me to struggle with listening for this season while I recuperate?
This Why Man Blog is all about questioning these personal responses and asking myself how they relate to my experiences in the last year. The extension of this questioning is to ask how abusive leadership effects myself, and perhaps the church as a whole.
I know I am a good listener, but it is not as true now as it has been in the past. I am sure it will return. The stress of this season is the primary reason for the difference in my attention span and patience. So I ask myself, "Could it be that Christians are not good listeners because their leaders are know-it-all blabber-mouths who speak without knowing, and judge without inquiry? Do conclusion jumping Christian leaders bring stress upon the church? Does that stress create a congregation of bland-minded, short-tempered, poor listeners who can not handle anything which does not fit their enjoyment experience?
I feel less the listener today than a year ago, but I am committed to being a good listener. I know my mind will stop screaming soon enough, and I will begin to hear a large percentage of the words once again. My monologuer is not the problem. I am, but the problem I am has been stretched by the abuse we've endured. Or so methinks for now. If you disagree, I might not hear what you have to say for a few more months.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Why am I so Sleepy?
For centuries revivalists have been speaking about the church being asleep. It has been a common theme to speak about the need to wake this sleeping giant. I have heard this so often I yawn when I hear it again.
I have been sleepier than ever lately. I am having a difficult time reading without wanting to visit the land of Nod. That is not a good thing for a Pastor, or a Teacher. Much time needs to be spent in reading, in order to have something worth saying.
As I continue to monitor my emotions following a year of great difficulty, I am wondering what part of this a response to the previous year of struggle. After a year and half of high stress dramatically crescendoing, could it be that I simply want to sleep for a year to make up for it?
Does this help explain the bland moments I have been experiencing. Is blandness my brain going to sleep while I stay awake?
I am going to stop typing now, and blow up the Hippo-doggie-pool my wife handed me. I hope I have the lung capacity to accomplish the task without getting dizzy and passing out. It really should be quite easy, but I am afraid my sleepy body and mind might trick me into unconsciousness. Check in on me to see that I am not sleeping in that Hippo-doggie-pool.
I have been sleepier than ever lately. I am having a difficult time reading without wanting to visit the land of Nod. That is not a good thing for a Pastor, or a Teacher. Much time needs to be spent in reading, in order to have something worth saying.
As I continue to monitor my emotions following a year of great difficulty, I am wondering what part of this a response to the previous year of struggle. After a year and half of high stress dramatically crescendoing, could it be that I simply want to sleep for a year to make up for it?
Does this help explain the bland moments I have been experiencing. Is blandness my brain going to sleep while I stay awake?
I am going to stop typing now, and blow up the Hippo-doggie-pool my wife handed me. I hope I have the lung capacity to accomplish the task without getting dizzy and passing out. It really should be quite easy, but I am afraid my sleepy body and mind might trick me into unconsciousness. Check in on me to see that I am not sleeping in that Hippo-doggie-pool.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Bland with a B and the Creation of Brainless Christianity
I continue to have periodic attacks of bland moments. You know - my brain goes into that gelatinous, tasteless time warp. I had to add the word tasteless, because grape, or lime jello might actually be a cool thing to get stuck in for a few moments. So it happened again while I was looking at agent B's reply to my last post. I stared at a spot on the screen, and went blank. I think that I was staring at a little button on the blogger screen. I am certain it wasn't agent B's fault. I don't think that his writing has that effect on people, but then you'll have to check out his blog, and find out if it does that to you. Perhaps Mike of Earthsea could discover if agent B is a Jedi Master. Then I will know that I am being intellectually infiltrated by the undercover operatives from Abilene. Agent B does reference Obi Wan in his blog of July 8th, but then perhaps I developing paranoid moments along with my Bipolar/PTS/Autistic/Bland moments - and any other symptoms of stress I have not yet identified but may manifest like demons in a corny episode of Charmed. Oh right, there are no non-corny episodes of Charmed.
Well, back to my blandidity (which is cooler word than blandness.) I want to experiment with writing about what actually goes on in my mind in those blandiditynesses (which is now a really cool new word.) I was staring at the screen, and now I will write the thoughts that came to me while I looked at what I think was the "Save as Draft" button. This is what was in my mind for the those brief 5-7 seconds:
"hmmmm."
The end.
I think that this writing may have been more meaningful than the last. Last time I only thought "bug." Hmmmm may be pregnant with potential thought. I think. Then again maybe I didn't think. My wife was saying at church that scientists have proven that the mind is never in neutral. I'm not so sure after experiencing blandidity, because there truly was some blank space before and after hmmmm.
hmmmm....
Okay that was a thinking hmmmm, and so I added the elipsees.
Is it possible that the manner in which heavy-handed Christian leaders abuse their flocks actually creates brainless Christians? My experience is that after having been treacherously treated blandidity (my cool new word for which I am really proud of myself) sets in. It attaches itself like that huge blob of tar which got stuck to our tire a few days ago.
Authoritarian Christian leaders creating brainless Christians through subtle abuse - is it possible?
hmmmm....
or was that hmmmm?
Well, back to my blandidity (which is cooler word than blandness.) I want to experiment with writing about what actually goes on in my mind in those blandiditynesses (which is now a really cool new word.) I was staring at the screen, and now I will write the thoughts that came to me while I looked at what I think was the "Save as Draft" button. This is what was in my mind for the those brief 5-7 seconds:
"hmmmm."
The end.
I think that this writing may have been more meaningful than the last. Last time I only thought "bug." Hmmmm may be pregnant with potential thought. I think. Then again maybe I didn't think. My wife was saying at church that scientists have proven that the mind is never in neutral. I'm not so sure after experiencing blandidity, because there truly was some blank space before and after hmmmm.
hmmmm....
Okay that was a thinking hmmmm, and so I added the elipsees.
Is it possible that the manner in which heavy-handed Christian leaders abuse their flocks actually creates brainless Christians? My experience is that after having been treacherously treated blandidity (my cool new word for which I am really proud of myself) sets in. It attaches itself like that huge blob of tar which got stuck to our tire a few days ago.
Authoritarian Christian leaders creating brainless Christians through subtle abuse - is it possible?
hmmmm....
or was that hmmmm?
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Bland Leading the Bland?
My buddy Allan loves to use this quote which he picked up from his days working with YWAM. "It's the bland leading the bland." I'm sure it is a reference to non-pentecostal, unemotional worship found in many churches, but I am thinking that it might be a reference to my frame of mind from time to time.
Over the last three months I have been writing snippets of my story in experimental prose. I have attempted to write in such a way as to portray my thought life as outwardly unemotional and simple, but inwardly tumultous and confused - like a child with autism, because that is how I was feeling at times. With less success I have written stories in an attempt to portray the emotional rollercoaster of being bipolar. The same experiment was given to Post Traumatic Stress with greater success.
But what does one say about feeling like nothing?
I have been having a writing cramp. No, a full brain cramp. No, something more than that.
The church has been doing well. We have quite a few new faces which have appeared over the last couple months, and they are a really colorful bunch, who love being together - those who have met Jesus, and those who are only just discovering that He still hangs around humans in nearly tangible presence.
Despite this season of blessing, I could get stuck staring at a wall with barely a thought for extended time periods. What does one compose about these bland moments? I suppose I could fill a page with phony references to transendental states of consciousness, but the fact of the matter is that I am occasionally frozen in the present as though time became gelatin, and I was swimming deep in a flavorless vat of it. I suppose I could write about the things which I end up staring at, and the thoughts which fill my mind. Okay so the following is my first experimental attempt to write about my bland state of being, and my captivity in the object of my vision:
bug.
Over the last three months I have been writing snippets of my story in experimental prose. I have attempted to write in such a way as to portray my thought life as outwardly unemotional and simple, but inwardly tumultous and confused - like a child with autism, because that is how I was feeling at times. With less success I have written stories in an attempt to portray the emotional rollercoaster of being bipolar. The same experiment was given to Post Traumatic Stress with greater success.
But what does one say about feeling like nothing?
I have been having a writing cramp. No, a full brain cramp. No, something more than that.
The church has been doing well. We have quite a few new faces which have appeared over the last couple months, and they are a really colorful bunch, who love being together - those who have met Jesus, and those who are only just discovering that He still hangs around humans in nearly tangible presence.
Despite this season of blessing, I could get stuck staring at a wall with barely a thought for extended time periods. What does one compose about these bland moments? I suppose I could fill a page with phony references to transendental states of consciousness, but the fact of the matter is that I am occasionally frozen in the present as though time became gelatin, and I was swimming deep in a flavorless vat of it. I suppose I could write about the things which I end up staring at, and the thoughts which fill my mind. Okay so the following is my first experimental attempt to write about my bland state of being, and my captivity in the object of my vision:
bug.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Playing God: The Role of the False Friend Leader
I have some unbelievably gracious, and faithful friends. Why is it that there are still moments of dark consideration, lonely observation, and struggle? I suppose that it is the result of treachery.
I am not a sad man naturally. Well, at least that has not been the case for the last 25 years. I had a stint of severe sadness in my late teens, and early twenties, but those days are long gone. Now I move into the melancholy as if being drawn there by the recent past of lies, and coverup which have been perpetrated against me.
Yet, this melancholy causes me to think, and hopefully draws me into wisdom as well. I recall a song I heard sung many years ago (and oh how I wish I could find it again!), which had the gracious words "I walked a mile with sorrow, and sorrow walked with me." It went on to speak of the wisdom gained in the seasons of sorrow.
So, what have I learned now?
I remember that I have taught for years that fellowship is a discipline of the Christian life. Fellowship can not happen without friendship being in the equation, and so I also am reminded that friends are people who have disciplined their lives to consider others first.
Jesus said these words, "You are my friends if you do whatsoever I command you." Jesus words seem so harsh and self serving.
Hearing these words I would be left feeling as though friendship with Jesus was very one sided, if I did not parse this phrase properly.
First, he says, "You are my friends...." He does not say, "I am your friend...." He is our friend. So much so that He gave His life for us, but we are not necessarily His friend, because often I give very little consideration of Him.
Second, He says, "...if you do whatsoever I command you." That is the really tough part of this statement. Yet remembering that He only does what is good for me, and that He is God incarnate, I also understand that my obedience is trust in His infallibility. Trust is a necessary element of friendship.
Does this mean then I must obey my friends on earth in the same manner? Must I fully comply in all obedience to my friends in ministry without questioning them, and especially if they are in ecclesiastical leadership over me?
My answer is no. Any church leader who expects to be obeyed without being questioned, and bases his treatment of you on whether you silently obey his every whim is playing God, and is a sick individual in need of long term counseling. Leaders above all people need to be approachable, and open for correction when they are in error. Should their judgments be askew, or their behavior unethical they need to be willing to discuss the issue, and make corrections, and amends where necessary.
A leader who expects to receive the same level of unquestioned obedience given to God is nothing but a self serving ego-maniac, and can not truly develop friendships in ministry. I am convinced that this kind of control freak does not know what a friend is. Even God is gracious enough to handle our struggling questions, and so I know that He is my Friend.
Pastors must learn to be friends. It is in our job definition. If we can not handle being challenged, we can not be friends to challenging people, and we can not model the friendship of God. At best we can merely play God, and get ourselves in a heap of trouble.
I am not a sad man naturally. Well, at least that has not been the case for the last 25 years. I had a stint of severe sadness in my late teens, and early twenties, but those days are long gone. Now I move into the melancholy as if being drawn there by the recent past of lies, and coverup which have been perpetrated against me.
Yet, this melancholy causes me to think, and hopefully draws me into wisdom as well. I recall a song I heard sung many years ago (and oh how I wish I could find it again!), which had the gracious words "I walked a mile with sorrow, and sorrow walked with me." It went on to speak of the wisdom gained in the seasons of sorrow.
So, what have I learned now?
I remember that I have taught for years that fellowship is a discipline of the Christian life. Fellowship can not happen without friendship being in the equation, and so I also am reminded that friends are people who have disciplined their lives to consider others first.
Jesus said these words, "You are my friends if you do whatsoever I command you." Jesus words seem so harsh and self serving.
Hearing these words I would be left feeling as though friendship with Jesus was very one sided, if I did not parse this phrase properly.
First, he says, "You are my friends...." He does not say, "I am your friend...." He is our friend. So much so that He gave His life for us, but we are not necessarily His friend, because often I give very little consideration of Him.
Second, He says, "...if you do whatsoever I command you." That is the really tough part of this statement. Yet remembering that He only does what is good for me, and that He is God incarnate, I also understand that my obedience is trust in His infallibility. Trust is a necessary element of friendship.
Does this mean then I must obey my friends on earth in the same manner? Must I fully comply in all obedience to my friends in ministry without questioning them, and especially if they are in ecclesiastical leadership over me?
My answer is no. Any church leader who expects to be obeyed without being questioned, and bases his treatment of you on whether you silently obey his every whim is playing God, and is a sick individual in need of long term counseling. Leaders above all people need to be approachable, and open for correction when they are in error. Should their judgments be askew, or their behavior unethical they need to be willing to discuss the issue, and make corrections, and amends where necessary.
A leader who expects to receive the same level of unquestioned obedience given to God is nothing but a self serving ego-maniac, and can not truly develop friendships in ministry. I am convinced that this kind of control freak does not know what a friend is. Even God is gracious enough to handle our struggling questions, and so I know that He is my Friend.
Pastors must learn to be friends. It is in our job definition. If we can not handle being challenged, we can not be friends to challenging people, and we can not model the friendship of God. At best we can merely play God, and get ourselves in a heap of trouble.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
A Guinness and a Toast to Heros
I have come to the conclusion that heroism is an attribute of real friendship.
Of course, I run the risk of making people feel guilty by saying this. But I am not talking about guys who look like Arnold, or women who shine like medieval renderings of Joan of Arc - halo attached.
True heroism is often something far more subtle. True heroism is faithful, and relentlessly dependable in the face of opposition. Perhaps it is a bit stubborn at times, it holds a position which is unpopular, or potentially has something to loose.
When we find ourselves in desperate times, such as my family (and yes, the church family is included in this as well) has recently experienced, we discover who is willing to stubbornly hold their ground, and faithfully stand beside us during the most difficult times. These people show a heroism which is reminiscent of larger world figures such as Joan of Arc, and they become our personal heros, and heroines.
While I was walking through our most recent trial, two separate men, at separate times spoke words of wisdom which I will not forget. These are not words which one would typically place into the category of "wise sayings," but they spoke life into my heart, and gave guidance during our most difficult times. I related events of treachery, and dashed hopes during a meeting where I was being falsely accused, and supposed friends sat, and said nothing despite knowing better. My wise counsellors heard the story and both said these words, "These people are not your friends."
Oh I knew them for many years, and thought they were friends, but the friendship fell short of defending me against false accusations. Yet I discovered that there were others who were willing to speak up even when it was not in their best interest. These people showed themselves to be friends, and I feel as though I owe my life to them. "There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother." This kind of friend is a hero in my book.
True friends are heros. They carry all the deep values of heroism in their hearts.
False friends are only there while it is expedient to be there, and cowardice will drive them away when things become too difficult.
Amazingly, true friends will never think of themselves as heros. They are simply doing what is right, and loving you during your most difficult times. They show the heroism of Jesus Himself, Who died for me while I was yet a sinner.
If I had a Guinness, I'd raise it in the air, and make a toast, "Here's to true friends and heros - iechyd da!"
Of course, I run the risk of making people feel guilty by saying this. But I am not talking about guys who look like Arnold, or women who shine like medieval renderings of Joan of Arc - halo attached.
True heroism is often something far more subtle. True heroism is faithful, and relentlessly dependable in the face of opposition. Perhaps it is a bit stubborn at times, it holds a position which is unpopular, or potentially has something to loose.
When we find ourselves in desperate times, such as my family (and yes, the church family is included in this as well) has recently experienced, we discover who is willing to stubbornly hold their ground, and faithfully stand beside us during the most difficult times. These people show a heroism which is reminiscent of larger world figures such as Joan of Arc, and they become our personal heros, and heroines.
While I was walking through our most recent trial, two separate men, at separate times spoke words of wisdom which I will not forget. These are not words which one would typically place into the category of "wise sayings," but they spoke life into my heart, and gave guidance during our most difficult times. I related events of treachery, and dashed hopes during a meeting where I was being falsely accused, and supposed friends sat, and said nothing despite knowing better. My wise counsellors heard the story and both said these words, "These people are not your friends."
Oh I knew them for many years, and thought they were friends, but the friendship fell short of defending me against false accusations. Yet I discovered that there were others who were willing to speak up even when it was not in their best interest. These people showed themselves to be friends, and I feel as though I owe my life to them. "There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother." This kind of friend is a hero in my book.
True friends are heros. They carry all the deep values of heroism in their hearts.
False friends are only there while it is expedient to be there, and cowardice will drive them away when things become too difficult.
Amazingly, true friends will never think of themselves as heros. They are simply doing what is right, and loving you during your most difficult times. They show the heroism of Jesus Himself, Who died for me while I was yet a sinner.
If I had a Guinness, I'd raise it in the air, and make a toast, "Here's to true friends and heros - iechyd da!"
Monday, June 05, 2006
Repost of Old Story
Gentry posted this on his blogspot sometime back, but I thought it was appropriate to post it here on my site too (since I wrote it.)
Krishna, Hospital Visits, Preachers, and Dictionaries for France
I don't like places which have too many things happening at the same time. It makes my brain slow down. When my brain goes slow, my body goes slow too. What is even worse is when I am in a place with too many things, and big words I don't understand. When that happens it is like when my wife asks me to do more than one thing at the same time. I have to ask her to put it on a list, because a list is just one thing, and I can do a list, because it is one thing.
Last week my son went to the hospital. His name is Elijah, and I don't have any other sons - or daughters either. Some people have more than one, but like God I only have one.
I don't like hospitals when someone in my family is in them, because they are busy, and in hospitals people say things I don't understand. Then my brain goes slow, and so does my body. Somebody should do something to make hospitals easier. I think that there should be a hospital dictionary, like the dictionaries for people who go on vacation to France.
This is how Elijah got to the hospital: Elijah's left eye became blurry in the peripheral vision, over the course of a day or two. The peripheral vision is that place on the side which you can't really look at, because once you try to look at it, it isn't on the side any more. Apparently, when your peripheral vision gets blurry suddenly your eye is telling you that something is wrong, like when the airplane on the way to France makes a strange new noise.
Elijah called his friend Jim Trick. Jim is a another musician, a preacher, and an optometrist. That's a lot of different things to be. I wonder if Jim goes slow in a hospital like I do. I don't think so, because he can do all those smart things. Elijah is a musician too, but he's not a preacher, or an optometrist. I am a musician, and a preacher too, but I'm not an optometrist either. Maybe if I was an optometrist I'd like hospitals better, because they would make sense to me, and I would be someone who could do many things at once. Being a musician and a preacher is not really very different. They both get up in front of people and talk, and sing about stuff. The musician can sing about any kind of stuff, but the preacher only has to talk about God stuff, so he doesn't have to be as smart. He only talks about one thing. Then again God is a big thing to talk about, so maybe we have to be a little smart about one big thing.
Jim Trick sent Elijah to a Doctor. The Doctor was very nice, and saw Elijah that same day even though he was busy. He looked at Elijah's eyes. He said that Elijah needed to go to the emergency room at the hospital.
The Doctor's name is Krishna Gaddipati. He is Indian - from India, not from a reservation in America. He is an opthamologist. Opthamologists go to school for a long time to learn to look at eyes. So he is smart, and probably doesn't go slow in hospitals, because he does surgery on people's eyes, and he probably doesn't need a dictionary for the words. He probably knows them all by heart.
Elijah went to the emergency room, just like Dr. Krishna said. They checked his blood pressure. They told Elijah's wife Rhonda to fill out the paperwork for him, and they took Elijah back into the emergency ward.
Elijah did not have to wait to be helped by the doctors. No waiting is usually good, but now I know that it's not always good at the emergency ward.
Elijah's blood pressure was 209 over 125. People have strokes when their blood pressure is 209 over 125. When they write out the blood pressure it looks like this... 209/125 mmHg. MmHg is millimeters of mercury. The hospital used to use a machine called a sphygmomanometer, but that was a long time ago. Mercury would rise by millimeters in a long thin tube to tell how strong someone's blood pressure was. Today they use electronic devices and blood pressure cuffs with no long, thin mercury tubes. But I had to read about that after the visit to the hospital.
Elijah was sitting in a little room with three walls, and a curtain for another wall, but the curtain was open. Doctors and nurses came in and went out. There were needles, and Elijah got shots. There were IVs in his right arm. IVs are intravenous tubes which medicine is sent through. Little things called sensors were placed all over his chest. The little sensors were connected to the machine which said "beep, beep, beep...," and made the wavy lines which tell you if your heart is beating properly. There were doctors saying they were very concerned. They said that young men Elijah's age should not be having problems like this, especially if they don't smoke, drink too much alcohol, or take drugs. Elijah is 21, and he doesn't do those things, so they didn't know what was wrong.
It is not good when the Doctors don't know what is wrong.
Elijah did not know what was happening. Rhonda did not understand what was happening either. So Rhonda called Bev on the phone. Bev is my wife. Bev is a Dental Hygienist. Bev is like Jim Trick. She can do a lot of things. She can play the flute, preach, and do Dental Hygiene too. Playing the flute is not like preaching, because you don't talk, or sing when you do it, and Dental Hygiene is like a hospital kind of thing, except you never have to stay for five days to get it done, but you do have to know big hospital words. So I think that Bev is more comfortable in a hospital than I am. Bev told Rhonda, "I don't clean people's teeth when their blood pressure is 209 over 125."
Rhonda cried.
Rhonda cried because she began to understand a little bit. Elijah was not doing well. He was very sick, and this was strange. It was strange, because Elijah looked and acted healthy. The only things wrong were that he had headaches, and blurry vision in the part of his left eye which you can't see when you are trying to look straight at it, and his blood pressure was 209/125 mmHg.
209 is the systolic pressure. Systole is when the left ventricle of the heart pumps and makes the most pressure on the blood vessels. The word systolic comes from systole. A ventricle is one of the little rooms in the heart, but it is not one of the rooms which preachers talk about when they say that we try to keep God from certain rooms in our hearts. The ventricle is just a place for the blood to go in, and then to get pumped back out, and I don't think that we can pump God out. The left ventricle pushed hard enough to rupture some blood vessels in Elijah's eyes, and that's why Dr. Krishna sent Elijah to the hospital. Dr. Krishna knew something was wrong with Elijah's blood pressure. He knew that Elijah could have lost his eyesight permanently, or had a stroke, or any number of other bad things which happen when your blood pressure is 209/125 mmHg.
Rhonda filled out paperwork while Elijah had needles, and IVs put in has arm. The hospital was a new place to Rhonda. But not a new exciting place. Some new places are fun. This was not one of those fun, new places. It didn't have a dictionary.
We came to see Rhonda a little bit after Elijah went back into the emergency ward. The hospital was not an exciting new place to us either.
It took a long time for the doctors to bring Elijah's blood pressure down. It was three days later, and then the blood pressure was 120/55 mmHg. That is a normal level, but it only stayed normal when Elijah took pills for his blood pressure. We prayed really hard on the day it went down to 120 over 55. Maybe Jesus heard us, and helped the doctors. Doctors need help from Jesus. They don't always know what is wrong, but Jesus always knows those things. Maybe Doctors have slow brains in the hospital sometimes too, and that's why preachers like me need to go to the hospital and pray for them.
After five days Elijah was able to go home. That was two days ago. The doctors still don't know what is wrong with Elijah. There will be more tests, and more needles.
In a couple days I think that I'll be better, but right now I'm still going slow in my head. I don't think that I will need needles, or IVs, and that is good, because I think that would make my brain go even slower. My brain should go back to normal on its own.
We are all very thankful for Dr. Krishna, but it is funny that his name is Krishna. I am a Christian, and I believe in Jesus. I don't believe in Krishna. Krishna is a Hindu god, and I am not a Hindu, but the doctor's name is Krishna, and he is not the Hindu god. He is just a good doctor who helped save my son, and only his name is Krishna.
A few months ago I sat in a room with other preachers. They told me that I was not being a good preacher. They said things which were not true, and said that I was aberrant. Aberrant is what someone calls you if they think that your teachings about Christianity are wrong, but they didn't know my teachings. They were only guessing, and they made things up about me. I still don't know why they made things up, and so my brain went slow for a little while then too.
That meeting was like the hospital. It was not a fun, new place, and people were saying things which I didn't understand. I didn't need a dictionary like the ones which people get when they go to France, because I understood the words, but I did not understand why they said the words they were saying, because I thought that preachers were supposed to say true words, and they were not saying true words about me.
I think that these same people might not understand when I say that Krishna saved my son's life. They might think that I am a Hindu, but I am not a Hindu. I am a Christian, and I know that Jesus saved my son's life, but Jesus used a Doctor named Krishna to help.
I think that it is funny that a Doctor named Krishna helped save my son, but I know that there are some people who aren't funny people, and they wouldn't understand. Maybe they need a dictionary to learn how to be funny, like the dictionaries which people get when they go to France. Maybe someday I'll write a dictionary to help people learn to be funny, but that will have to wait till my brain gets back to normal, and I am not thinking so slow.
Krishna, Hospital Visits, Preachers, and Dictionaries for France
I don't like places which have too many things happening at the same time. It makes my brain slow down. When my brain goes slow, my body goes slow too. What is even worse is when I am in a place with too many things, and big words I don't understand. When that happens it is like when my wife asks me to do more than one thing at the same time. I have to ask her to put it on a list, because a list is just one thing, and I can do a list, because it is one thing.
Last week my son went to the hospital. His name is Elijah, and I don't have any other sons - or daughters either. Some people have more than one, but like God I only have one.
I don't like hospitals when someone in my family is in them, because they are busy, and in hospitals people say things I don't understand. Then my brain goes slow, and so does my body. Somebody should do something to make hospitals easier. I think that there should be a hospital dictionary, like the dictionaries for people who go on vacation to France.
This is how Elijah got to the hospital: Elijah's left eye became blurry in the peripheral vision, over the course of a day or two. The peripheral vision is that place on the side which you can't really look at, because once you try to look at it, it isn't on the side any more. Apparently, when your peripheral vision gets blurry suddenly your eye is telling you that something is wrong, like when the airplane on the way to France makes a strange new noise.
Elijah called his friend Jim Trick. Jim is a another musician, a preacher, and an optometrist. That's a lot of different things to be. I wonder if Jim goes slow in a hospital like I do. I don't think so, because he can do all those smart things. Elijah is a musician too, but he's not a preacher, or an optometrist. I am a musician, and a preacher too, but I'm not an optometrist either. Maybe if I was an optometrist I'd like hospitals better, because they would make sense to me, and I would be someone who could do many things at once. Being a musician and a preacher is not really very different. They both get up in front of people and talk, and sing about stuff. The musician can sing about any kind of stuff, but the preacher only has to talk about God stuff, so he doesn't have to be as smart. He only talks about one thing. Then again God is a big thing to talk about, so maybe we have to be a little smart about one big thing.
Jim Trick sent Elijah to a Doctor. The Doctor was very nice, and saw Elijah that same day even though he was busy. He looked at Elijah's eyes. He said that Elijah needed to go to the emergency room at the hospital.
The Doctor's name is Krishna Gaddipati. He is Indian - from India, not from a reservation in America. He is an opthamologist. Opthamologists go to school for a long time to learn to look at eyes. So he is smart, and probably doesn't go slow in hospitals, because he does surgery on people's eyes, and he probably doesn't need a dictionary for the words. He probably knows them all by heart.
Elijah went to the emergency room, just like Dr. Krishna said. They checked his blood pressure. They told Elijah's wife Rhonda to fill out the paperwork for him, and they took Elijah back into the emergency ward.
Elijah did not have to wait to be helped by the doctors. No waiting is usually good, but now I know that it's not always good at the emergency ward.
Elijah's blood pressure was 209 over 125. People have strokes when their blood pressure is 209 over 125. When they write out the blood pressure it looks like this... 209/125 mmHg. MmHg is millimeters of mercury. The hospital used to use a machine called a sphygmomanometer, but that was a long time ago. Mercury would rise by millimeters in a long thin tube to tell how strong someone's blood pressure was. Today they use electronic devices and blood pressure cuffs with no long, thin mercury tubes. But I had to read about that after the visit to the hospital.
Elijah was sitting in a little room with three walls, and a curtain for another wall, but the curtain was open. Doctors and nurses came in and went out. There were needles, and Elijah got shots. There were IVs in his right arm. IVs are intravenous tubes which medicine is sent through. Little things called sensors were placed all over his chest. The little sensors were connected to the machine which said "beep, beep, beep...," and made the wavy lines which tell you if your heart is beating properly. There were doctors saying they were very concerned. They said that young men Elijah's age should not be having problems like this, especially if they don't smoke, drink too much alcohol, or take drugs. Elijah is 21, and he doesn't do those things, so they didn't know what was wrong.
It is not good when the Doctors don't know what is wrong.
Elijah did not know what was happening. Rhonda did not understand what was happening either. So Rhonda called Bev on the phone. Bev is my wife. Bev is a Dental Hygienist. Bev is like Jim Trick. She can do a lot of things. She can play the flute, preach, and do Dental Hygiene too. Playing the flute is not like preaching, because you don't talk, or sing when you do it, and Dental Hygiene is like a hospital kind of thing, except you never have to stay for five days to get it done, but you do have to know big hospital words. So I think that Bev is more comfortable in a hospital than I am. Bev told Rhonda, "I don't clean people's teeth when their blood pressure is 209 over 125."
Rhonda cried.
Rhonda cried because she began to understand a little bit. Elijah was not doing well. He was very sick, and this was strange. It was strange, because Elijah looked and acted healthy. The only things wrong were that he had headaches, and blurry vision in the part of his left eye which you can't see when you are trying to look straight at it, and his blood pressure was 209/125 mmHg.
209 is the systolic pressure. Systole is when the left ventricle of the heart pumps and makes the most pressure on the blood vessels. The word systolic comes from systole. A ventricle is one of the little rooms in the heart, but it is not one of the rooms which preachers talk about when they say that we try to keep God from certain rooms in our hearts. The ventricle is just a place for the blood to go in, and then to get pumped back out, and I don't think that we can pump God out. The left ventricle pushed hard enough to rupture some blood vessels in Elijah's eyes, and that's why Dr. Krishna sent Elijah to the hospital. Dr. Krishna knew something was wrong with Elijah's blood pressure. He knew that Elijah could have lost his eyesight permanently, or had a stroke, or any number of other bad things which happen when your blood pressure is 209/125 mmHg.
Rhonda filled out paperwork while Elijah had needles, and IVs put in has arm. The hospital was a new place to Rhonda. But not a new exciting place. Some new places are fun. This was not one of those fun, new places. It didn't have a dictionary.
We came to see Rhonda a little bit after Elijah went back into the emergency ward. The hospital was not an exciting new place to us either.
It took a long time for the doctors to bring Elijah's blood pressure down. It was three days later, and then the blood pressure was 120/55 mmHg. That is a normal level, but it only stayed normal when Elijah took pills for his blood pressure. We prayed really hard on the day it went down to 120 over 55. Maybe Jesus heard us, and helped the doctors. Doctors need help from Jesus. They don't always know what is wrong, but Jesus always knows those things. Maybe Doctors have slow brains in the hospital sometimes too, and that's why preachers like me need to go to the hospital and pray for them.
After five days Elijah was able to go home. That was two days ago. The doctors still don't know what is wrong with Elijah. There will be more tests, and more needles.
In a couple days I think that I'll be better, but right now I'm still going slow in my head. I don't think that I will need needles, or IVs, and that is good, because I think that would make my brain go even slower. My brain should go back to normal on its own.
We are all very thankful for Dr. Krishna, but it is funny that his name is Krishna. I am a Christian, and I believe in Jesus. I don't believe in Krishna. Krishna is a Hindu god, and I am not a Hindu, but the doctor's name is Krishna, and he is not the Hindu god. He is just a good doctor who helped save my son, and only his name is Krishna.
A few months ago I sat in a room with other preachers. They told me that I was not being a good preacher. They said things which were not true, and said that I was aberrant. Aberrant is what someone calls you if they think that your teachings about Christianity are wrong, but they didn't know my teachings. They were only guessing, and they made things up about me. I still don't know why they made things up, and so my brain went slow for a little while then too.
That meeting was like the hospital. It was not a fun, new place, and people were saying things which I didn't understand. I didn't need a dictionary like the ones which people get when they go to France, because I understood the words, but I did not understand why they said the words they were saying, because I thought that preachers were supposed to say true words, and they were not saying true words about me.
I think that these same people might not understand when I say that Krishna saved my son's life. They might think that I am a Hindu, but I am not a Hindu. I am a Christian, and I know that Jesus saved my son's life, but Jesus used a Doctor named Krishna to help.
I think that it is funny that a Doctor named Krishna helped save my son, but I know that there are some people who aren't funny people, and they wouldn't understand. Maybe they need a dictionary to learn how to be funny, like the dictionaries which people get when they go to France. Maybe someday I'll write a dictionary to help people learn to be funny, but that will have to wait till my brain gets back to normal, and I am not thinking so slow.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Is it Style Difference, or is it Heresy?
Our gang at The Gathering was challenged by leaders who accused our activities in relationship with people involved in the occult as being aberrant theological behavior, and practice. We believed we were fulfilling the Great Commission by loving those whom other Christians were afraid of. To us it appeared to be a matter of differing missiology (style of evangelism). To our accusers it appeared to be a matter of doctrine.
This has given me a new perspective on the issue of doctrine, and heresy.
Our accuser spread the rumors of our aberrant behavior throughout our denomination without warning. He did not speak to me first. He did not come with two or three brethren to discuss the issue with me. He never visited our church, or our outreach. His much information was wildly exaggerated, or completely false.
So I ask myself, "Who is aberrant here?"
It seems to me that orthodoxy in behavior is as important as orthodoxy in belief. No one was able to point out a belief we held which was unorthodox, yet when they violated the methods of correction, and information gathering outlined in scripture (2 or 3 witnesses, Matthew 18...) it was merely a "different style" of leadership, and not open to discussion
In a relational kingdom relational violations which are excused as style differences may be something far more eggregious. They may well be heresy. They certainly are aberrant behavior.
I am finding myself far more concerned with relational interaction of Christian leaders, than their doctrinal purity these days. Is this because I do not believe in the importance of doctrine? No, it is because I believe that in all its importance it still falls a far second to the inner transformation of the soul, with such beautiful attributes as humility, love, gentleness, and grace. Could it be that a heretic is not just someone with peculiar beliefs? Could it be that a heretic could also be someone who violates the relational dynamic of the kingdom of God, and justifies it as leadership style? Is this what Jesus meant when he said to "beware the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy."
If I can talk about grace till I'm blue in the face, and get the lines all straight, it still is not the same as having it working in my heart.
I have come to believe that violations of relationship by church leadership have soteriological ramifications. Those are big theological words for saying that it affects the issue of salvation, but that is another post.
This I do know: orthodoxy is connected to action in a powerful way. "For the grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world...."
For now, we are a part of another fellowship of churches who celebrate our style of outreach, and so we move on, but we remember the lessons leadership we have gained.
This has given me a new perspective on the issue of doctrine, and heresy.
Our accuser spread the rumors of our aberrant behavior throughout our denomination without warning. He did not speak to me first. He did not come with two or three brethren to discuss the issue with me. He never visited our church, or our outreach. His much information was wildly exaggerated, or completely false.
So I ask myself, "Who is aberrant here?"
It seems to me that orthodoxy in behavior is as important as orthodoxy in belief. No one was able to point out a belief we held which was unorthodox, yet when they violated the methods of correction, and information gathering outlined in scripture (2 or 3 witnesses, Matthew 18...) it was merely a "different style" of leadership, and not open to discussion
In a relational kingdom relational violations which are excused as style differences may be something far more eggregious. They may well be heresy. They certainly are aberrant behavior.
I am finding myself far more concerned with relational interaction of Christian leaders, than their doctrinal purity these days. Is this because I do not believe in the importance of doctrine? No, it is because I believe that in all its importance it still falls a far second to the inner transformation of the soul, with such beautiful attributes as humility, love, gentleness, and grace. Could it be that a heretic is not just someone with peculiar beliefs? Could it be that a heretic could also be someone who violates the relational dynamic of the kingdom of God, and justifies it as leadership style? Is this what Jesus meant when he said to "beware the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy."
If I can talk about grace till I'm blue in the face, and get the lines all straight, it still is not the same as having it working in my heart.
I have come to believe that violations of relationship by church leadership have soteriological ramifications. Those are big theological words for saying that it affects the issue of salvation, but that is another post.
This I do know: orthodoxy is connected to action in a powerful way. "For the grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world...."
For now, we are a part of another fellowship of churches who celebrate our style of outreach, and so we move on, but we remember the lessons leadership we have gained.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
How Strong Leaders Can Be Bad People
I am convinced that small churches naturally lead toward developing leaders who are good people. I am also convinced that extremely large churches do not naturally develop positive character among those who lead them.
A false premise of leadership was taught, and taken for gospel truth during the height of the church growth movement. We were being told that a church could be only as big as the person who led the church. Big men and women grew big churches. Conversely (or was that perversely?) the reverse was assumed - little churches were the result of little people.
How is it that I have met petty men who lead large churches? How is it that I have discovered minimal character development among some people who had large ministries, and deep character among others who pastored tiny churches? I must assume that the old church growth dictum was actually a flawed equation.
The reason I am convinced that small churches naturally tend to develop deeper character among those in leadership is that one can not hide behind a busy schedule, or a well developed program in a small church. The fact is that small church pastors are forced to deal with people face to face, and problem by problem. It is the dirty business of relationships, and that dirty business is where redemption occurs. The redemption is in our own souls, as we small church pastors have the rough edges of our character ground down.
The large church is so busy performing its duties, and running its tight schedule, that many people in its leadership structure do have to be good people in order to perform their duties. They can treat people like Hell, and still expect to help develop Heaven. Yet I wonder if what we give people is an indicator of where we are headed. If so, giving people Hell may not be the wisest career move.
Of course, the problem with many small churches is that they model themselves after large ministries in hopes of becoming one. I am not sure that this is a healthy option toward developing ourselves as deep people.
A false premise of leadership was taught, and taken for gospel truth during the height of the church growth movement. We were being told that a church could be only as big as the person who led the church. Big men and women grew big churches. Conversely (or was that perversely?) the reverse was assumed - little churches were the result of little people.
How is it that I have met petty men who lead large churches? How is it that I have discovered minimal character development among some people who had large ministries, and deep character among others who pastored tiny churches? I must assume that the old church growth dictum was actually a flawed equation.
The reason I am convinced that small churches naturally tend to develop deeper character among those in leadership is that one can not hide behind a busy schedule, or a well developed program in a small church. The fact is that small church pastors are forced to deal with people face to face, and problem by problem. It is the dirty business of relationships, and that dirty business is where redemption occurs. The redemption is in our own souls, as we small church pastors have the rough edges of our character ground down.
The large church is so busy performing its duties, and running its tight schedule, that many people in its leadership structure do have to be good people in order to perform their duties. They can treat people like Hell, and still expect to help develop Heaven. Yet I wonder if what we give people is an indicator of where we are headed. If so, giving people Hell may not be the wisest career move.
Of course, the problem with many small churches is that they model themselves after large ministries in hopes of becoming one. I am not sure that this is a healthy option toward developing ourselves as deep people.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
the difference between friends, and Friends
Over the last 7 months, I have discovered that there are friends, and there are Friends. Thank God for Friends.
Some people appear to equate friendship with acquiantance. If I know you, and spend some time with you, we must be friends - so they seem to think. Deeper qualities of faithfulness, honesty, and bravery in face of opposition don't appear to be part of the equation.
Once during the last 7 months, a friend (not a Friend) said, "We make a disctinction between friendship and ministry."
Hmmmmmmm... he's a pastor. The Hebrew word from which we get our word pastor has the connotation of "Friend." I don't know how someone separates friendship and ministry, especially considering the fact that we are leading people toward friendship with God, but unfortunately this is an all too common error in churchlife in America today.
Through our difficulties we have discovered that there are friends, and there are Friends. I can not say enough, "Thank God for Friends." As for the friends I am not sure who to thank for them, but I am not putting in a request for enemies any time soon.
Oh, by the way, Joe made the Friend list a while back. Any advocate against the wave of false information is a Friend. He helped come through in a small way again today. The whole gang at The Gathering has learned the lesson of friendship through these struggles. They are my heroes, and heroines.
Yes, there is real churchlife somewhere, and I am sure it happens among Friends - not friends.
Some people appear to equate friendship with acquiantance. If I know you, and spend some time with you, we must be friends - so they seem to think. Deeper qualities of faithfulness, honesty, and bravery in face of opposition don't appear to be part of the equation.
Once during the last 7 months, a friend (not a Friend) said, "We make a disctinction between friendship and ministry."
Hmmmmmmm... he's a pastor. The Hebrew word from which we get our word pastor has the connotation of "Friend." I don't know how someone separates friendship and ministry, especially considering the fact that we are leading people toward friendship with God, but unfortunately this is an all too common error in churchlife in America today.
Through our difficulties we have discovered that there are friends, and there are Friends. I can not say enough, "Thank God for Friends." As for the friends I am not sure who to thank for them, but I am not putting in a request for enemies any time soon.
Oh, by the way, Joe made the Friend list a while back. Any advocate against the wave of false information is a Friend. He helped come through in a small way again today. The whole gang at The Gathering has learned the lesson of friendship through these struggles. They are my heroes, and heroines.
Yes, there is real churchlife somewhere, and I am sure it happens among Friends - not friends.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Walking Forrest, and Kites without Tails
Billy Adams and I used to make kites from paper and balsa wood in Junior High. We lived a few doors away from each other, in the same mobile home park in Escondido. We would take our kites out into the field on the corner of East Valley Parkway and Citrus Avenue. It's not field anymore though. It's a shopping center.
We tried to make the smallest kites which could still fly. We created 5 to 7 inch kites which we sometimes could get to fly about 50 feet up in the air. We typically built traditional diamond shaped kites, and they needed tails. Without tails they would spin around, and quickly dive head first into the ground, at which point we would need to begin building another kite. But we wanted our kites to fly higher, so we had to make the tails as light as possible, while still creating enough drag to keep them upright.
Some guy named Daniel Bernoulli figured out that as the velocity of air passing around the kite increased, the air pressure decreased. When the pressure is decreased enough the kite goes up against the force of gravity. A kite is a type of airfoil, like a wing on an airplane. An airfoil is a surface which is designed to create lift when air passes over it.
Mr. Bernoulli wasn't really working with an airfoil though. He figured this out on achalkboard with math back in 1738, so that makes him a pretty smart guy. Other smart people are still trying to figure out how it works today, but they are not sure how it works, they just know that it does. So I guess we trust our lives to Daniel Bernoulli when we get in an airplane, and look out at those skinny little wings as they lift the bird much bigger than a house into the air.
Walking Forrest is like flying a kite without a tail.
Not all kites have tails, but if Forrest was a kite, he would be a traditional diamond shaped kite which needs a tail. The purpose of the tail is to create drag below the towing point, and ensure stability. If the kite had no tail, it would spin in circles like some of the kites Billy Adams and I made in Junior High.
When I walk Forrest he goes to the right, and the left, and he tries to run ahead, and then he stops, and goes behind me to smell something. He would run in the road in front of passing cars, if I did not keep him controlled with the leash. He is so excited to be out for a walk, that he runs every direction possible, and tries to discover every new thing in sight. He does have a long tail, but his tail doesn't help him go straight. Maybe it doesn't create enough drag below the towing point.
I suppose people who enjoy having everything in control don't like walking dogs like Forrest. Control freaks would be quite mad at the end of the walk. Forrest would not want to go straight without constant coaxing. You most certainly have to carry bags to pick up after him, and although he moves much faster than Holly during the walk, he takes far longer to actually cover the distance.
I am a lot like Forrest. I like adventure, and discovering new things. I don't like tours, because I always get in trouble for breaking the rules, or sneaking away from the tour group. I don't like monotony. I do like surprises, and mystery. I am not good to walk with a leash either I suppose.
I don't even mind not understanding how that skinny little wing is able to hold the big fat airplane up in the sky. I wonder if control freaks are afraid of flying? Does it bother them that nobody really understands how the Bernoulli principle works?
There seems to be something similar to the fear of flying, and the control freak's fear of not having a situation under his power. Being frustrated walking Forrest, and being afraid of flying are not terribly different from one another, they are both situations which lack control, and I imagine are both based in fear.
My Christian life will be an adventure, not a list of dos and don'ts established to keep me in line. I want to examine the fringes of humanity, and get to know the people others are afraid of. The Christians I know are afraid of Witches. I live in town with quite a few Witches. So, like Forrest I will run around and meet them, and make friends with them, because I figure they are regular people with regular lives, and if they do something a bit irregular, I would like to know why.
In my little mind I dream that if I run around long enough, the Bernoulli effect will take place, and a miracle will happen - I will fly. Maybe it's not real flying, but flying high on life, and experiencing God doing His stuff as I find ways to simply love people - even people others are afraid of. No, especially people others are afraid of.
I did not realize it, but there was a control freak trying to walk me on a short leash, and so he yanked real hard without warning me first. I don't wear the collar they attached that leash to anymore. They can go and find someone else's collar to yank.
We tried to make the smallest kites which could still fly. We created 5 to 7 inch kites which we sometimes could get to fly about 50 feet up in the air. We typically built traditional diamond shaped kites, and they needed tails. Without tails they would spin around, and quickly dive head first into the ground, at which point we would need to begin building another kite. But we wanted our kites to fly higher, so we had to make the tails as light as possible, while still creating enough drag to keep them upright.
Some guy named Daniel Bernoulli figured out that as the velocity of air passing around the kite increased, the air pressure decreased. When the pressure is decreased enough the kite goes up against the force of gravity. A kite is a type of airfoil, like a wing on an airplane. An airfoil is a surface which is designed to create lift when air passes over it.
Mr. Bernoulli wasn't really working with an airfoil though. He figured this out on a
Walking Forrest is like flying a kite without a tail.
Not all kites have tails, but if Forrest was a kite, he would be a traditional diamond shaped kite which needs a tail. The purpose of the tail is to create drag below the towing point, and ensure stability. If the kite had no tail, it would spin in circles like some of the kites Billy Adams and I made in Junior High.
When I walk Forrest he goes to the right, and the left, and he tries to run ahead, and then he stops, and goes behind me to smell something. He would run in the road in front of passing cars, if I did not keep him controlled with the leash. He is so excited to be out for a walk, that he runs every direction possible, and tries to discover every new thing in sight. He does have a long tail, but his tail doesn't help him go straight. Maybe it doesn't create enough drag below the towing point.
I suppose people who enjoy having everything in control don't like walking dogs like Forrest. Control freaks would be quite mad at the end of the walk. Forrest would not want to go straight without constant coaxing. You most certainly have to carry bags to pick up after him, and although he moves much faster than Holly during the walk, he takes far longer to actually cover the distance.
I am a lot like Forrest. I like adventure, and discovering new things. I don't like tours, because I always get in trouble for breaking the rules, or sneaking away from the tour group. I don't like monotony. I do like surprises, and mystery. I am not good to walk with a leash either I suppose.
I don't even mind not understanding how that skinny little wing is able to hold the big fat airplane up in the sky. I wonder if control freaks are afraid of flying? Does it bother them that nobody really understands how the Bernoulli principle works?
There seems to be something similar to the fear of flying, and the control freak's fear of not having a situation under his power. Being frustrated walking Forrest, and being afraid of flying are not terribly different from one another, they are both situations which lack control, and I imagine are both based in fear.
My Christian life will be an adventure, not a list of dos and don'ts established to keep me in line. I want to examine the fringes of humanity, and get to know the people others are afraid of. The Christians I know are afraid of Witches. I live in town with quite a few Witches. So, like Forrest I will run around and meet them, and make friends with them, because I figure they are regular people with regular lives, and if they do something a bit irregular, I would like to know why.
In my little mind I dream that if I run around long enough, the Bernoulli effect will take place, and a miracle will happen - I will fly. Maybe it's not real flying, but flying high on life, and experiencing God doing His stuff as I find ways to simply love people - even people others are afraid of. No, especially people others are afraid of.
I did not realize it, but there was a control freak trying to walk me on a short leash, and so he yanked real hard without warning me first. I don't wear the collar they attached that leash to anymore. They can go and find someone else's collar to yank.
Holy Sarcasm Batman!
Yesterday morning during our service at The Vault , or The Gathering , or whatever we call ourselves lately - we ended the service with some prayer for people who are having a difficult time making it through their struggles gracefully. I was numbered among the prayees, not the prayers, but most notable was Hank.
Hank openly admitted that he was struggling with going to church. I thought that it was wonderfully honest, and bold to go to church, and state that he didn't trust church. He still loves God, but he doesn't trust churches. I remarked rather matter of factly that he was in a room of people who understood. The place broke out in laughter, and beyond my expectation identified with Hank.
We tittered a bit about discovering that God and church weren't the same thing. We did pray for one another, but the moment of grace came in our laughter I think.
Could it be that there is a sanctified sarcasm which delivers us from the idolatry of thinking that man-made institutions are actually holy? Could the laughter have been more powerful than the prayer at that moment? I'm not really sure, because the prayer time was pretty cool as well, but certainly our laughter at the expense of some really messy church experiences was significantly holy.
Hank openly admitted that he was struggling with going to church. I thought that it was wonderfully honest, and bold to go to church, and state that he didn't trust church. He still loves God, but he doesn't trust churches. I remarked rather matter of factly that he was in a room of people who understood. The place broke out in laughter, and beyond my expectation identified with Hank.
We tittered a bit about discovering that God and church weren't the same thing. We did pray for one another, but the moment of grace came in our laughter I think.
Could it be that there is a sanctified sarcasm which delivers us from the idolatry of thinking that man-made institutions are actually holy? Could the laughter have been more powerful than the prayer at that moment? I'm not really sure, because the prayer time was pretty cool as well, but certainly our laughter at the expense of some really messy church experiences was significantly holy.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Lessons from a Goofy Greyhound
We have two Greyhounds living in our home. They are rescue Greyhounds. They are called rescue hounds, because we adopted them when they were older, and had retired from a life of racing at the dog tracks.
Most people think Bev and I are wonderful humans for saving these dogs from a life of wretched slavery, and abuse, but I am not sure, because I have never seen any creature which loved to run as much as a Greyhound. They smile and show off for us when they run, so I think they must have loved running with the other dogs.
Actually I think the real reason we adopted them is because we like friendly dogs, and Greyhounds are gentle and friendly, or it might have been a selfish desire to adopt a dog which was already potty trained, and nearly guaranteed to be affectionate. Of course, they are not quite cuddly, because they are either too boney, or too hard and muscly to be cuddly.
Holly is short, thick, black, and muscly like a little rock. She is an extremely quick runner. Her turns are sharp. Her starts are explosive, and she is aggressive when pursuing. During her racing days Holly was a champion. Of course, she is retired and likes to eat a lot, so she's not as fast as she once was, and not quite as rock hard either.
Forrest is tall, long, blonde, and lean. Forrest is fast when running straight ahead. Because he is so long, he takes one stride for every two of Holly's strides. Forrest is goofy, and likes to play, and investigate new things, so he is not aggressive like Holly. Forrest was never a winner
When a dog is a winner they are called "in the money." If a dog can place in the top three in a race they make money for the owner, and for those who bet on them at the racetrack, and that is why they are in the money.
I think preachers like to think of some other preachers as "in the money" preachers. In the money preachers are on TV, or they have large churches. They have important friends, who are other in the money preachers, and they speak at big conferences, and say important sounding things which apparently other preachers can't say as well. Christians run to see in the money preachers, and pay good money to hear them speak, or give them large offerings at big in the money events.
Most of the in the money preachers are not well known outside of the their little circle of Christian fans, who help support them, except maybe Billy Graham, and he's famous because he doesn't seem to care if he's in the money, so everybody likes Billy Graham.
There are a few more famous names. One ran for President, and another tried to start a group to help decide who should become President, but they seem to stick their foot in their mouths often, so not everybody likes them. There are a couple more famous names, but they are famous for doing something wrong, and so they might not be considered in the money any longer.
I am like Forrest. I am not an in the money preacher, and I think that sometimes people who want to be in the money preachers don't think much of me because I am not one of them.
We have the race records for both of our dogs. Forrest never placed in the top three any race, but his fastest time was almost identical to Holly's fastest time, but I don't think Forrest cared if he won. Forrest likes to play, and he likes to investigate things. He likes to smell stuff, and visit new places, but Forrest especially likes to meet people.
When I take both dogs for a walk, Holly stays next to my left side, and walks with me stride for stride, and looks straight ahead, unless she sees a squirrel. Forrest runs ahead of me, and pulls at the leash to move as quickly as he can, but he does not move forward in a straight line. Forrest stops to smell a tree trunk, or a fire hydrant, and then races ahead to find something new. Then he bolts to left to try and enter a gate to someone's yard, or to the right to meet someone walking down the sidewalk.
Forrest might make a good pastor. He could teach pastors a few lessons. He is happy when he meets people. He likes people, and playing more than he likes winning, and this is probably why he was never in the money. He might be able to teach us preachers that people are more important than being in the money, but then I am not sure too many preachers would enjoy learning that lesson.
Most people think Bev and I are wonderful humans for saving these dogs from a life of wretched slavery, and abuse, but I am not sure, because I have never seen any creature which loved to run as much as a Greyhound. They smile and show off for us when they run, so I think they must have loved running with the other dogs.
Actually I think the real reason we adopted them is because we like friendly dogs, and Greyhounds are gentle and friendly, or it might have been a selfish desire to adopt a dog which was already potty trained, and nearly guaranteed to be affectionate. Of course, they are not quite cuddly, because they are either too boney, or too hard and muscly to be cuddly.
Holly is short, thick, black, and muscly like a little rock. She is an extremely quick runner. Her turns are sharp. Her starts are explosive, and she is aggressive when pursuing. During her racing days Holly was a champion. Of course, she is retired and likes to eat a lot, so she's not as fast as she once was, and not quite as rock hard either.
Forrest is tall, long, blonde, and lean. Forrest is fast when running straight ahead. Because he is so long, he takes one stride for every two of Holly's strides. Forrest is goofy, and likes to play, and investigate new things, so he is not aggressive like Holly. Forrest was never a winner
When a dog is a winner they are called "in the money." If a dog can place in the top three in a race they make money for the owner, and for those who bet on them at the racetrack, and that is why they are in the money.
I think preachers like to think of some other preachers as "in the money" preachers. In the money preachers are on TV, or they have large churches. They have important friends, who are other in the money preachers, and they speak at big conferences, and say important sounding things which apparently other preachers can't say as well. Christians run to see in the money preachers, and pay good money to hear them speak, or give them large offerings at big in the money events.
Most of the in the money preachers are not well known outside of the their little circle of Christian fans, who help support them, except maybe Billy Graham, and he's famous because he doesn't seem to care if he's in the money, so everybody likes Billy Graham.
There are a few more famous names. One ran for President, and another tried to start a group to help decide who should become President, but they seem to stick their foot in their mouths often, so not everybody likes them. There are a couple more famous names, but they are famous for doing something wrong, and so they might not be considered in the money any longer.
I am like Forrest. I am not an in the money preacher, and I think that sometimes people who want to be in the money preachers don't think much of me because I am not one of them.
We have the race records for both of our dogs. Forrest never placed in the top three any race, but his fastest time was almost identical to Holly's fastest time, but I don't think Forrest cared if he won. Forrest likes to play, and he likes to investigate things. He likes to smell stuff, and visit new places, but Forrest especially likes to meet people.
When I take both dogs for a walk, Holly stays next to my left side, and walks with me stride for stride, and looks straight ahead, unless she sees a squirrel. Forrest runs ahead of me, and pulls at the leash to move as quickly as he can, but he does not move forward in a straight line. Forrest stops to smell a tree trunk, or a fire hydrant, and then races ahead to find something new. Then he bolts to left to try and enter a gate to someone's yard, or to the right to meet someone walking down the sidewalk.
Forrest might make a good pastor. He could teach pastors a few lessons. He is happy when he meets people. He likes people, and playing more than he likes winning, and this is probably why he was never in the money. He might be able to teach us preachers that people are more important than being in the money, but then I am not sure too many preachers would enjoy learning that lesson.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Some Poetry of Oppression
I just had to put this poem in here by the minor 18th century poet Thomas Hood. He's a favorite poet of mine, and this is an unbelievably poignant poem of labor oppression. A little long for the non-poetic types, but great poetry. More Thomas Hood Poetry
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
"Work! work! work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work—work—work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's Oh! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
"Work—work—work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work—work—work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!
Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch—stitch—stitch,
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
"But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear his terrible shape,
It seems so like my own—
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;
Oh, God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!"
"Work—work—work!"
My labor never flags;
And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread—and rags.
That shattered roof—and this naked floor—
A table—a broken chair—
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!
"Work—work—work!
From weary chime to chime,
Work—work—work—
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
As well as the weary hand.
"Work—work—work,
In the dull December light,
And work—work—work,
When the weather is warm and bright—
While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling
As if to show me their sunny backs
And twit me with the spring.
"Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet,
For only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal!
"Oh! but for one short hour!
A respite however brief!
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed
My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread!"
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch—
Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
"Work! work! work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work—work—work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's Oh! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
"Work—work—work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work—work—work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!
Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch—stitch—stitch,
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
"But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear his terrible shape,
It seems so like my own—
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;
Oh, God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!"
"Work—work—work!"
My labor never flags;
And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread—and rags.
That shattered roof—and this naked floor—
A table—a broken chair—
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!
"Work—work—work!
From weary chime to chime,
Work—work—work—
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
As well as the weary hand.
"Work—work—work,
In the dull December light,
And work—work—work,
When the weather is warm and bright—
While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling
As if to show me their sunny backs
And twit me with the spring.
"Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet,
For only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal!
"Oh! but for one short hour!
A respite however brief!
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed
My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread!"
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch—
Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
Monday, May 08, 2006
washed away (more completely than last)
here i am
looking for You
in the sand
i leave my shoes
by water's edge
in the waves
every footstep is
washed away
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
i walk the shore
at spring tide
my missing trail
is a sign
all is well
my pains undone
just for now
under the sun
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
i could walk
for miles and miles
erase trails
of all my trials
through these steps i've
paid my dues
someone else can
have my shoes
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
looking for You
in the sand
i leave my shoes
by water's edge
in the waves
every footstep is
washed away
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
i walk the shore
at spring tide
my missing trail
is a sign
all is well
my pains undone
just for now
under the sun
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
i could walk
for miles and miles
erase trails
of all my trials
through these steps i've
paid my dues
someone else can
have my shoes
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
Saturday, May 06, 2006
washed away
here i am
looking for You
in the sand
i leave my shoes
by water's edge
in the waves
every footstep is
washed away
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
looking for You
in the sand
i leave my shoes
by water's edge
in the waves
every footstep is
washed away
and
i feel just fine
getting lost in the tide
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Deep Lessons from an 18 Year Old
It was dark, and I found my way around the back quietly. I did not want the neighbors to hear me. The back door was locked, but not quite latched, and it swung open with a gentle shove.
I made my way down the dark steps to the next door, and fumbled for the latch. The old door creaked softly, and I entered looking around. There is not much to see in the dark, but I saw a shadowed movement ahead of me. I called out with a whisper, and a soft voice came from the darkness.
Feeling my way to the hanging chain, my fingers felt the cold steel, and I tugged to reveal the bare bulb in all its brilliance.
Turning to the room again I looked for her. She appeared around the corner, with the graceful movements with which only the most beautiful make walking an art. As the other nights, she came to hug my neck, and I wondered to myself, "What does this eighteen year old have to teach me? Is there wisdom in her days, which I have not gained, or perhaps I have forgotten? Is this really why I am here?"
Without a word I knew. Intimacy is key to knowing, and it is the blessing of life.
I would have to leave soon, and go back home to my wife.
Of course, another lesson dawned on me too - A little food helps. I put her down, and scooped the cat food into the bowl. "Good Kitty, see you tomorrow."
"This is life, that they may know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou has sent."
"This is my commandment, That you love one another, as I have loved you."
This is my lesson from feeding the cat for Mike and Stef.
I made my way down the dark steps to the next door, and fumbled for the latch. The old door creaked softly, and I entered looking around. There is not much to see in the dark, but I saw a shadowed movement ahead of me. I called out with a whisper, and a soft voice came from the darkness.
Feeling my way to the hanging chain, my fingers felt the cold steel, and I tugged to reveal the bare bulb in all its brilliance.
Turning to the room again I looked for her. She appeared around the corner, with the graceful movements with which only the most beautiful make walking an art. As the other nights, she came to hug my neck, and I wondered to myself, "What does this eighteen year old have to teach me? Is there wisdom in her days, which I have not gained, or perhaps I have forgotten? Is this really why I am here?"
Without a word I knew. Intimacy is key to knowing, and it is the blessing of life.
I would have to leave soon, and go back home to my wife.
Of course, another lesson dawned on me too - A little food helps. I put her down, and scooped the cat food into the bowl. "Good Kitty, see you tomorrow."
"This is life, that they may know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou has sent."
"This is my commandment, That you love one another, as I have loved you."
This is my lesson from feeding the cat for Mike and Stef.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Is this What a War Veteran Feels Like?
I wrote my e-mail response quickly, and nervously. I glanced over my left shoulder with a quick, jerky movement. Over my left shoulder is where I can see people coming in the front doors.
Although I wrote quickly, and nervously, it took me a long time. The more hurried I became the longer it took. I always mess up my typing if I am going too fast, and words like "concern" look something like "cnecrn."
I glanced over my left shoulder again.
I finished the first paragraph, and stopped. I reread it quickly to look for places which could possibly be misconstrued. I decided that I did not like what I wrote. I deleted a sentence, and changed the other 3, but then I removed 1 more sentence, and quickly added a new one, which I removed as soon as I had finished it. I reread it slowly trying to concentrate on the words, but they went past my eyes like tracer rounds in the night sky.
I rubbed my forehead and eyes with my hand. I twisted my head and neck trying to release the tension, and there were little cracking sounds, but they were not fully satisfactory.
I glanced quickly over my left shoulder.
After repeating the same process for four short paragraphs, I saved the e-mail as a draft.
"Should I send it to Jeff?" I asked myself. I am getting tired of sending everything to Jeff, but who else can I ask for advice on how to say this?
I did not send it to Jeff this time. I just saved it to think about it.
I will come back and read it again, and send it to Jeff after I have my thoughts together more clearly.
Is this what a war veteran feels like? I have heard tales of men coming home from war, and walking around the perimeter of a parking lot, to keep their backs against a wall. It's safer to walk around the edges, that way you only have to monitor 180 degrees of vision, and nothing can come up from behind.
I glanced nervously over my left shoulder again.
(In dealing with a series of false accusations, I have had many vacillating emotions. This is a part of considering how those emotions mess with the human psyche. Otherwise, I suppose I am as messed up as I sound. Well, not really, I'll survive. No, wait, I do believe in the sinfulness of humanity - though not in the strict Calvinistic sense, so I guess I am really as messed up as I sound, but don't get big headed over it. So are you.)
Although I wrote quickly, and nervously, it took me a long time. The more hurried I became the longer it took. I always mess up my typing if I am going too fast, and words like "concern" look something like "cnecrn."
I glanced over my left shoulder again.
I finished the first paragraph, and stopped. I reread it quickly to look for places which could possibly be misconstrued. I decided that I did not like what I wrote. I deleted a sentence, and changed the other 3, but then I removed 1 more sentence, and quickly added a new one, which I removed as soon as I had finished it. I reread it slowly trying to concentrate on the words, but they went past my eyes like tracer rounds in the night sky.
I rubbed my forehead and eyes with my hand. I twisted my head and neck trying to release the tension, and there were little cracking sounds, but they were not fully satisfactory.
I glanced quickly over my left shoulder.
After repeating the same process for four short paragraphs, I saved the e-mail as a draft.
"Should I send it to Jeff?" I asked myself. I am getting tired of sending everything to Jeff, but who else can I ask for advice on how to say this?
I did not send it to Jeff this time. I just saved it to think about it.
I will come back and read it again, and send it to Jeff after I have my thoughts together more clearly.
Is this what a war veteran feels like? I have heard tales of men coming home from war, and walking around the perimeter of a parking lot, to keep their backs against a wall. It's safer to walk around the edges, that way you only have to monitor 180 degrees of vision, and nothing can come up from behind.
I glanced nervously over my left shoulder again.
(In dealing with a series of false accusations, I have had many vacillating emotions. This is a part of considering how those emotions mess with the human psyche. Otherwise, I suppose I am as messed up as I sound. Well, not really, I'll survive. No, wait, I do believe in the sinfulness of humanity - though not in the strict Calvinistic sense, so I guess I am really as messed up as I sound, but don't get big headed over it. So are you.)
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Getting the Blog Out
Quickly one discovers the wonderful cathartic power of the blog. Being new to bloggerville, I am only beginning to sense its power. Of course, lawyers realize this power of the keyboard (mightier than the sword), and have created seminar classes on building lawsuits around libel from our blogs.
It is not the fear of lawyers which makes me think what I am now thinking, but the ever present work of the Sneaky Fellow. I can't get rid of Him. He ever intrudes upon my thoughts with His own, and insists on challenging my self-presumed sense of justice. I could blog like a hellhound if it weren't for Him! But he has snuck into my thoughts with His gentle proddings once again, and made His thoughts sound like my own.
Am I blogging for freedom's sake, or do I really just wanna kick some butt? Am I blogging to express lessons learned in hardship, or to simply work toward a book deal out of what could someday be a fantastic story?
I guess I need to ask the question: Do I need to get the blog out? or do I need to get the blog out of my own eye?
My guess is that this is not an either/or situation. The answer is yes to both sides of the question.
It is not the fear of lawyers which makes me think what I am now thinking, but the ever present work of the Sneaky Fellow. I can't get rid of Him. He ever intrudes upon my thoughts with His own, and insists on challenging my self-presumed sense of justice. I could blog like a hellhound if it weren't for Him! But he has snuck into my thoughts with His gentle proddings once again, and made His thoughts sound like my own.
Am I blogging for freedom's sake, or do I really just wanna kick some butt? Am I blogging to express lessons learned in hardship, or to simply work toward a book deal out of what could someday be a fantastic story?
I guess I need to ask the question: Do I need to get the blog out? or do I need to get the blog out of my own eye?
My guess is that this is not an either/or situation. The answer is yes to both sides of the question.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
