Water - the chemical composition consisting of two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen.
Water - one of the building blocks of life.
Water - a cool refreshing drink.
Water - a destructive chemical that can corrode and dissolve, and in greater quantities, destroy everything in its path.
Water - a metaphor for faith, spirit, and belief.
Funny how something so simple like water can be so many things to so many people. Funny how the lack of it can be so many things to so many people. Something I have pondered of late to be quite honest, the water as faith metaphor. Can too much faith be dangerous? Does stagnant faith corrode and dissolve the soul? How do we look at our faith? A burden? A duty? A blessing? Not at all? Do we share that faith with others who thirst? Hmm . . . I may have to stick to blogging about swear words and bad drivers - the questions are easier to answer there.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Short Stories and other Idiocracies
Over the years, I have written short stories, mostly because of creative writing courses. They started out as random mutterings, but have evolved over the years into personal reflections on my life or on where I want my life or just funny stories (at least I like them). They sit in a computer folder call "Me Fail English? That's unpossible." Yep - a line from a Simpsons episode defines my literary talent (or lack thereof). So, without further ado, I post one of my stories here:
FAITH
“Are you their God? I need help,” I prayed, “I am graduating in four weeks and I am completely clueless. What am I supposed to do?” I really was clueless. What was I going to do with a biology degree? Grad school? It was a possibility.
Isn’t funny how when we are in deepest need or saddest times, we call on God to be there? When things are going well, we hardly say a word to Him. And when we feel cheated or hurt, we blame Him for what is going on around us. Not once does God ever argue back, punish us, or do anything other than love us all the more. I never gave much thought to that, but when I look at it, who else would take the shit with throw at Him and still be there for us.
“What can I do for you Nick,” asked a voice.
“Who’s there,” I responded.
The voice bellowed, “You ask if I am here and say that you need help. Then you ask who is talking back to you.”
“God,” I inquired, not really sure that I wanted an answer.
“Last time I checked, but then again I don’t really need a mirror,” laughed God.
“Holy shit, I’m fucking losing it,” I thought.
“No, you are doing just fine. Your language is a little rough, but I think I can handle it,” God replied.
Ordinarily, I never believed those kooks on the street or even preachers who claim that God has spoken to them. Now, here I am, conversing with someone who says He is God. I have lost my mind. Or, I am way too drunk for my brain to function normally. What’s worse is that I am just hearing a voice all around me and can’t see anyone.
“Is this better,” asked God, as he took form, looking surprisingly a lot like me and the other students at Bryant College.
“Who the hell are you,” I shouted.
“Okay, let’s clear all this up right now. I’m God, pleased to meet you,” He said as He stuck out His hand.
My mind went blank and I froze. A few seconds later, I shook His hand. He was real. I mean, when I shook His hand, there was flesh and bone there. Was I really meeting God? Had I had a mental break? Why was God here?
“Nick, I will answer your questions in due time,” God said, “But first, we have a chemistry class to go to.” He winked at me.
“You’re going to go to my class,” I inquired.
“Why not,” God replied, “I haven’t visited Earth in quite a while, not since the French Revolution.”
“You’ve been here before,” I asked?
“You really need to read that book about me from time to time,” He chuckled.
When are you face to face with God, inevitably, you will look and sound like an idiot. I think I just won first prize in the “Sorry God, I’m An Idiot Contest.” Despite my confusion, I grabbed my bag and God followed me to class. We got to the chem lab and sat down. My friends noticed my new friend in tow and came over to talk to us.
“Nicky, who’s your friend,” asked Shelly, my friend since freshman year who caused my heart to melt whenever she spoke.
I was struggling to think of an explanation, but I was interrupted.
“I’m Adam, Nick’s relative from out of town,” said God.
“Cool man. Where’re ya from,” asked Kyle, my neighbor from down the hall.
“Everywhere really,” God smiled.
“Military brat,” asked Paul, one of my roommates.
“Adam, this is Shelly, Kyle, Rob, and Paul,” I interrupted, introducing everyone to God (as if he didn’t already know).
“Pleased to meet you,” said God.
Okay, God is in my chemistry class and He has just met my friends. He probably already knew their names and everything about them, but He went on as if He was just a regular person. I prayed for guidance about my life after graduation and the Almighty Himself makes a house call. There are billions of people in the world and God just stopped by to say hello and answer my prayers directly? I don’t think so. I saw “Oh God” and “Dogma;” something’s up. After class, all of us, including God, went to the Union for lunch.
“I love grilled cheeseburgers. I don’t usually get to eat them because I am traveling so much,” explained God.
“Where do you travel? I mean, what do you do,” asked Rob.
“I do a lot of missionary work, spreading the word of God, meeting people,” God said.
“You’re not one of the religious nuts like Bible Dan the Preacher Man, are you,” asked Shelly.
“The guy who goes around college campuses and tells the students that they are going to burn in hell? No, I’m just interested in talking about faith and learning about people’s views on God,” He responded.
“You just like hearing what people think,” Shelly asked.
“Sure, how can you learn if you don’t ask,” He said.
“It’s all a load of shit. Religion and God, who needs that stuff,” sneered Paul.
I was afraid. Was God going to smite my friend Paul while he scarfed down a cheeseburger? This couldn’t be good. I imagined how I would explain to Paul’s dad why his son suddenly was stricken with leprosy. But it didn’t happen. God laughed. He let Paul just spout about religion. He listened as Shelly talked about Catholic school. He told jokes. He talked about religion and Christianity and holy wars. We were enraptured with His stories. I realized that Paul was not going to be destroyed, that God was pleased with him, with all of us. We spent hours in the Union talking and laughing and sharing stories and viewpoints. My friends thought “Adam” was cool. I walked with God back to my apartment.
“Shelly’s a very cute girl, isn’t she,” God asked.
“Um, ya, she is,” I replied, totally confused.
“Did you ever take her out,” He inquired. “If you haven’t, you should do that,” He added.
“Why didn’t you strike Paul down for what he said,” I asked, wanting desperately to change the subject.
“Nick, of all the gifts I have given to everyone, I think my best gift was free will. The choice to do something or not. The freedom to do whatever. To believe in me or to not believe in me,” He responded.
“But don’t you love us,” I asked. I was confused but yet I found myself accepting more and more that this was God.
“Of course I do. That’s what I do. I love each and every one of you,” he said.
“But what about evil people? What about other religions? Why, if you love us, do bad things happened in the world,” I spouted.
“Nick, there is no simple answer to that. I certainly can’t reveal my entire plan to you. You are not ready for that. I can say this to you – I love everyone, regardless of whether they return that love, and not every bad thing that happens is a bad thing, just as not every good thing that happens is a good thing,” He replied.
I am more confused than ever. God and I talk more and more. He asks me about Shelly, almost prodding me to do something. He asks me about my biology major and shares with me some things I would never learn in any biology class. I am also awestruck by how much He listens while I talk and talk. He never shuts down a question. I am asking things at a million miles a minute. He is not encrypting His messages, but sometimes, He could not answer my questions in a way I could understand.
“You’re wondering why I am here, aren’t you,” asked God.
“Well, the thought did cross my mind,” I replied.
“I have a mission for you,” He stated simply.
“This isn’t like the movie ‘Oh God’, where I have to go out and tell the world that you exist and that humanity can make it work,” I replied.
“That was an interesting movie. I told John Denver he should take the part,” God said, “But no, I have something different for you.”
“Do I get special powers, like parting the ocean or turning a stick into a snake,” I asked excitedly.
“You already have all the powers you need,” He stated in a paternal manner.
“What do I have to do,” I asked.
“You do not have to do anything. You have a choice, remember,” He said, “but if you choose to, I would like you to consider becoming a pastor.”
“A pastor,” I grimaced. He wants me to become a religious guy.
“You prayed to me for guidance. I am presenting you with an option,” He stated.
“How could I be a pastor? I don’t know anything,” I said.
“You know all that you need to know,” He replied.
Then I asked, “Why me?”
To which God smiled and said, “Why not?”
God and I went back and forth for hours. Kyle and Rob came over and joined in the conversation. Of course, they only knew him as Adam, not God. We all talked for hours.
“I’m hungry. Let’s order pizza,” suggested God.
“Pepperoni, no mushrooms,” Kyle shouted from the bathroom.
I found it weird that God ate. He’s God. Why would He need food? Let me tell you this, God has a big appetite. He ate a whole pizza by Himself. He even drank beer. This was a far cry from the God I read about in the Bible and certainly not what we were taught about in church. It was getting late when we finally wrapped things up.
“Nick, you’re able to take me to the airport tomorrow morning, right,” asked God?
“Yeah sure,” I said, stunned by the request.
“Hey man, when are you coming back,” asked Rob.
“I never know where I may end up, but I will try to come back and visit Nick again soon,” God replied.
Everyone left, and God and I sat at the kitchen table.
“Think about what I asked you to consider,” said God as He faded from view.
“Always the showman,” said a female voice.
“Who are you,” I yelled.
A beautiful, blonde girl appeared before my eyes. “I’m Evelyn, but you can call me Eve,” she said in a sultry voice.
“And who are you,” I asked.
She replied, “I am many things and I go by many names.”
“Satan,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Not my favorite,” she said coldly.
“Why are you here,” I demanded.
“Don’t you listen to the big guy. Free will,” she said, “I certainly don’t want you to make a decision without all the information.”
She came up behind me and began to massage my shoulders. She whispered in my ear and decided that we needed to go out to a bar.
“So, this is my temptation,” I inquired.
“Such a simple creature,” she replied, “This is your opportunity. Why would you ever want to become a pastor? There is so much more for you out there.”
“Is this where I sell you my soul,” I asked.
“I haven’t worked that way in a long time,” she said, “I am going tell you a few things and answer a few questions.”
“Why me,” I asked
“Humans. You all think that there is some grand purpose as to why you are in any given situation,” she explained, “But simply put, I told God that He could never answer a prayer directly and have things work out in His favor.”
“You made a bet with God,” I said.
She smiled, “Well, not really, but if you want to look at it that way, it suits me just fine.”
“You talk with God,” I asked. I had so many questions about how God and Satan interacted.
Again, she smiled, “The whole balance of good and evil argument might sum it up, but here’s the thing. I was there with God from the beginning. Before the earth, before man. The one angel above all others. He loved me best, until He began creating things and creatures and mankind. I was His special creation, along with all the angels and hosts of Heaven. For some reason, He had a change of heart. Man became His all-consuming passion. You all could do nothing special, but you are His favorites. I was angry and made it known. So, He tossed me out of Heaven. And yes, that did bother me. But, you see, I have a greater chance to interact with God’s special creatures. I am down here with you, showing you all the things that you have questions about.”
I am sitting in a bar with Satan talking about the nature of God and humanity. She is so attractive that my thoughts begin to wander. I want her so bad that I can feel it, almost taste it. She knows this too and touches me. Drinks keep flowing. We go back to my apartment. My heart tells me to hold fast and not succumb to Satan’s tempting beauty. My groin, however, seems to be in charge right now. Back at the apartment, she and I eat cold pizza and drink a few beers. She leans closer to me and kisses me with the deepest passion. A little too late, I notice that she has unbuckled my pants and has brought me to full attention.
“Stop,” I shouted.
“What’s the matter? We’re just having a little fun,” she said.
I am flustered and confused. “I can’t do this.”
“Damn,” she muttered. “Well, I feel so unsatisfied. Tell me Nick, whatever are we going to do now? Drown ourselves with South Park reruns,” she continued.
“You came here for a reason. Tell me what you’re doing here,” I demanded!
“Okay, let’s go,” she commanded.
We go out for a walk and discuss things for quite some time. She tells me that I have a promising career as a biochemist.
“You could discover the cure for cancer, or develop new agricultural chemicals to increase worldwide food production,” she said, “You would be rich beyond your wildest dreams; everyone would praise you.”
“At what cost,” I asked.
“Do you really want to spend your life devoted to God,” she responded, “Shepherding people who could care less about being in church, who whine and complain about every aspect of their miserable lives.”
“Better to reign on earth than to serve in Heaven, huh,” I retorted.
“How quaint. Yet another theology lesson from a small-brained fool,” she said angrily.
“Where’s the temptation? Insulting me certainly doesn’t help your case,” I said.
“You sound like He did in the desert,” she sneered.
With that, she showed me my life ten years from now. I am at a press conference announcing my research results with the cancer cure. Media hounds are everywhere. I am meeting with world leaders, going on book tours, and all sorts of glory and praise follow me everywhere. I have a beautiful wife and three children. My home is huge. All of this is great. I have everything I would ever want and I am helping the world.
“What do you think,” she asked.
“Sounds tempting, but there is always a catch,” I responded.
She nodded, “I do you a favor, you do me a favor.” Her tongue grazed my ear as she spoke
“What favor,” I asked, moving her hands from my lap.
“You need only reject God. And why shouldn’t you? He could stop disease, war, famine with the wave of His hand. Yet He sits there. He wants blind faith and gives you no answers. He leaves things to chance. Nothing is given to you. You have to earn it all. He wants you to love Him out of fear,” she explained, “I do none of those things. You want it? I will give you. You have a problem? I’ll fix it. I already love you and expect nothing in return. ‘Do what you want.’ That’s my motto.”
“Maybe the reward of Heaven isn’t revealed to us because then we might lose free will,” I stated.
“Or maybe Heaven ain’t that great,” she said as she faded from view.
I walked back to the apartment. Kyle is over and he asks me about the hot blonde that I was talking to at the bar. I say that she is just some girl that I met. He is disappointed that I don’t give more details. I go into my room and Adam’s form comes into view.
“Interesting night,” said God.
“Yeah, I guess,” I replied. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone, even God.
“The decision is not going to be easy. You have an interesting offer from Lucifer. You would be doing something wonderful for the world,” he explained.
“You’re okay with that,” I yelled.
“It’s not my choice Nick,” he stated, “You make your own destiny. I have given you all the information you need to make your decision.”
“Why are you and Satan making a bet for my soul,” I asked.
“Nick, it’s not a bet, more of a challenge. I don’t gamble for souls,” he said.
“Sure sounds like a bet to me,” I said.
“Things are not always what they appear to be,” he replied with a grin.
“You still talk with Satan,” I asked.
He sighed and said, “Lucifer was my special angel. An angel above all others. But like you, I gave angels free will. The more Lucifer learned and experienced, the less he chose to follow me. But with all things, good and evil are opposite sides of the same coin. I can’t have that, as you well know. I sent him on his way and he went on to do his thing” “I do enjoy talking to him, though” he continued, “He’s very witty, and often quite comical. Sometimes, I even learn a thing or two from him.”
The theological impact of this rang through my head. I asked for this situation with a simple prayer. I would never know what was in God’s mind, but I did know that my decision carried some importance if it brought the powers that be into the picture. I had so many questions about what to do and when I would see God again. I struggled to speak.
"God," I sputtered.
"Yes," he replied.
"Why are we here," I managed to ask over the lump in my throat.
The look on God's face was stoic. I thought maybe I had stepped over the line and offended him. Then he smiled and said, "Because I love you and you give me joy."
I had no response, but those words filled my heart more than anything ever said to me.
“Good bye Nick. Good luck with your decision.” God smiled and disappeared.
In the days that followed, I thought a lot about my meetings with God and Satan. I asked my friends a million questions. People thought I had gone around the bend.
“You thinking about what,” Rob asked, almost laughing as he said it.
“I was thinking about studying theology at Trinity College in the fall,” I said.
“We’re graduating in two weeks. We’re done,” Paul added.
“Why theology,” asked Kyle, “you’re a biology major. I thought you were going there for your Masters in biochemistry.”
“I don’t know. I was talking with Adam and I really thought about it after all we had been talking about,” I responded.
“Adam was cool and all, but why would you want to spout that religious muck to a bunch of foolish, guilt-ridden people for the rest of your life,” Paul retorted.
This went on for a while. Paul and Rob left to grab some food for dinner. I thought a lot about what they said. What did I know about preaching to people? I was no one special, just a kid from California who thought that biology was a great course of study. I wasn’t super-religious, and I didn’t always go to church. God comes to me and asks me to lead people in faith. I had to be out of my mind.
“Hi sweetie,” said a female voice from behind.
“You need something Eve or are you here to offer me something,” I questioned.
“Would it make your decision easier,” she replied, “I can always sweeten the deal. More money? Three girlfriends instead of a wife?”
“Why me? What makes me so special,” I demanded.
“Why you? Why you? Get over it Nick. He picked you for some reason only He knows and I have to make sure you make the informed choice,” she said.
“Somehow, I doubt your motives,” I countered.
Eve slinked over to me. She was dressed like Marilyn Monroe. She whispered into my ear, “And somehow, I doubt yours.” She left in a puff of smoke.
“Always the showman,” I thought to myself.
I couldn’t begin to grasp everything that I had seen and heard, but I knew I had a serious choice to make. The one thing I thought a lot about was what would happen if I chose my own path, one different from what God and I talked about and different from the one Satan offered. I was still thinking about it all as I got my diploma from Bryant. I had no clue what my own choice would be, until I realized that I always had my own choice. Three months later, I had packed my car up for my trip to Trinity College in Iowa. The road was long and somewhere near Nebraska, it began to rain.
FAITH
“Are you their God? I need help,” I prayed, “I am graduating in four weeks and I am completely clueless. What am I supposed to do?” I really was clueless. What was I going to do with a biology degree? Grad school? It was a possibility.
Isn’t funny how when we are in deepest need or saddest times, we call on God to be there? When things are going well, we hardly say a word to Him. And when we feel cheated or hurt, we blame Him for what is going on around us. Not once does God ever argue back, punish us, or do anything other than love us all the more. I never gave much thought to that, but when I look at it, who else would take the shit with throw at Him and still be there for us.
“What can I do for you Nick,” asked a voice.
“Who’s there,” I responded.
The voice bellowed, “You ask if I am here and say that you need help. Then you ask who is talking back to you.”
“God,” I inquired, not really sure that I wanted an answer.
“Last time I checked, but then again I don’t really need a mirror,” laughed God.
“Holy shit, I’m fucking losing it,” I thought.
“No, you are doing just fine. Your language is a little rough, but I think I can handle it,” God replied.
Ordinarily, I never believed those kooks on the street or even preachers who claim that God has spoken to them. Now, here I am, conversing with someone who says He is God. I have lost my mind. Or, I am way too drunk for my brain to function normally. What’s worse is that I am just hearing a voice all around me and can’t see anyone.
“Is this better,” asked God, as he took form, looking surprisingly a lot like me and the other students at Bryant College.
“Who the hell are you,” I shouted.
“Okay, let’s clear all this up right now. I’m God, pleased to meet you,” He said as He stuck out His hand.
My mind went blank and I froze. A few seconds later, I shook His hand. He was real. I mean, when I shook His hand, there was flesh and bone there. Was I really meeting God? Had I had a mental break? Why was God here?
“Nick, I will answer your questions in due time,” God said, “But first, we have a chemistry class to go to.” He winked at me.
“You’re going to go to my class,” I inquired.
“Why not,” God replied, “I haven’t visited Earth in quite a while, not since the French Revolution.”
“You’ve been here before,” I asked?
“You really need to read that book about me from time to time,” He chuckled.
When are you face to face with God, inevitably, you will look and sound like an idiot. I think I just won first prize in the “Sorry God, I’m An Idiot Contest.” Despite my confusion, I grabbed my bag and God followed me to class. We got to the chem lab and sat down. My friends noticed my new friend in tow and came over to talk to us.
“Nicky, who’s your friend,” asked Shelly, my friend since freshman year who caused my heart to melt whenever she spoke.
I was struggling to think of an explanation, but I was interrupted.
“I’m Adam, Nick’s relative from out of town,” said God.
“Cool man. Where’re ya from,” asked Kyle, my neighbor from down the hall.
“Everywhere really,” God smiled.
“Military brat,” asked Paul, one of my roommates.
“Adam, this is Shelly, Kyle, Rob, and Paul,” I interrupted, introducing everyone to God (as if he didn’t already know).
“Pleased to meet you,” said God.
Okay, God is in my chemistry class and He has just met my friends. He probably already knew their names and everything about them, but He went on as if He was just a regular person. I prayed for guidance about my life after graduation and the Almighty Himself makes a house call. There are billions of people in the world and God just stopped by to say hello and answer my prayers directly? I don’t think so. I saw “Oh God” and “Dogma;” something’s up. After class, all of us, including God, went to the Union for lunch.
“I love grilled cheeseburgers. I don’t usually get to eat them because I am traveling so much,” explained God.
“Where do you travel? I mean, what do you do,” asked Rob.
“I do a lot of missionary work, spreading the word of God, meeting people,” God said.
“You’re not one of the religious nuts like Bible Dan the Preacher Man, are you,” asked Shelly.
“The guy who goes around college campuses and tells the students that they are going to burn in hell? No, I’m just interested in talking about faith and learning about people’s views on God,” He responded.
“You just like hearing what people think,” Shelly asked.
“Sure, how can you learn if you don’t ask,” He said.
“It’s all a load of shit. Religion and God, who needs that stuff,” sneered Paul.
I was afraid. Was God going to smite my friend Paul while he scarfed down a cheeseburger? This couldn’t be good. I imagined how I would explain to Paul’s dad why his son suddenly was stricken with leprosy. But it didn’t happen. God laughed. He let Paul just spout about religion. He listened as Shelly talked about Catholic school. He told jokes. He talked about religion and Christianity and holy wars. We were enraptured with His stories. I realized that Paul was not going to be destroyed, that God was pleased with him, with all of us. We spent hours in the Union talking and laughing and sharing stories and viewpoints. My friends thought “Adam” was cool. I walked with God back to my apartment.
“Shelly’s a very cute girl, isn’t she,” God asked.
“Um, ya, she is,” I replied, totally confused.
“Did you ever take her out,” He inquired. “If you haven’t, you should do that,” He added.
“Why didn’t you strike Paul down for what he said,” I asked, wanting desperately to change the subject.
“Nick, of all the gifts I have given to everyone, I think my best gift was free will. The choice to do something or not. The freedom to do whatever. To believe in me or to not believe in me,” He responded.
“But don’t you love us,” I asked. I was confused but yet I found myself accepting more and more that this was God.
“Of course I do. That’s what I do. I love each and every one of you,” he said.
“But what about evil people? What about other religions? Why, if you love us, do bad things happened in the world,” I spouted.
“Nick, there is no simple answer to that. I certainly can’t reveal my entire plan to you. You are not ready for that. I can say this to you – I love everyone, regardless of whether they return that love, and not every bad thing that happens is a bad thing, just as not every good thing that happens is a good thing,” He replied.
I am more confused than ever. God and I talk more and more. He asks me about Shelly, almost prodding me to do something. He asks me about my biology major and shares with me some things I would never learn in any biology class. I am also awestruck by how much He listens while I talk and talk. He never shuts down a question. I am asking things at a million miles a minute. He is not encrypting His messages, but sometimes, He could not answer my questions in a way I could understand.
“You’re wondering why I am here, aren’t you,” asked God.
“Well, the thought did cross my mind,” I replied.
“I have a mission for you,” He stated simply.
“This isn’t like the movie ‘Oh God’, where I have to go out and tell the world that you exist and that humanity can make it work,” I replied.
“That was an interesting movie. I told John Denver he should take the part,” God said, “But no, I have something different for you.”
“Do I get special powers, like parting the ocean or turning a stick into a snake,” I asked excitedly.
“You already have all the powers you need,” He stated in a paternal manner.
“What do I have to do,” I asked.
“You do not have to do anything. You have a choice, remember,” He said, “but if you choose to, I would like you to consider becoming a pastor.”
“A pastor,” I grimaced. He wants me to become a religious guy.
“You prayed to me for guidance. I am presenting you with an option,” He stated.
“How could I be a pastor? I don’t know anything,” I said.
“You know all that you need to know,” He replied.
Then I asked, “Why me?”
To which God smiled and said, “Why not?”
God and I went back and forth for hours. Kyle and Rob came over and joined in the conversation. Of course, they only knew him as Adam, not God. We all talked for hours.
“I’m hungry. Let’s order pizza,” suggested God.
“Pepperoni, no mushrooms,” Kyle shouted from the bathroom.
I found it weird that God ate. He’s God. Why would He need food? Let me tell you this, God has a big appetite. He ate a whole pizza by Himself. He even drank beer. This was a far cry from the God I read about in the Bible and certainly not what we were taught about in church. It was getting late when we finally wrapped things up.
“Nick, you’re able to take me to the airport tomorrow morning, right,” asked God?
“Yeah sure,” I said, stunned by the request.
“Hey man, when are you coming back,” asked Rob.
“I never know where I may end up, but I will try to come back and visit Nick again soon,” God replied.
Everyone left, and God and I sat at the kitchen table.
“Think about what I asked you to consider,” said God as He faded from view.
“Always the showman,” said a female voice.
“Who are you,” I yelled.
A beautiful, blonde girl appeared before my eyes. “I’m Evelyn, but you can call me Eve,” she said in a sultry voice.
“And who are you,” I asked.
She replied, “I am many things and I go by many names.”
“Satan,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Not my favorite,” she said coldly.
“Why are you here,” I demanded.
“Don’t you listen to the big guy. Free will,” she said, “I certainly don’t want you to make a decision without all the information.”
She came up behind me and began to massage my shoulders. She whispered in my ear and decided that we needed to go out to a bar.
“So, this is my temptation,” I inquired.
“Such a simple creature,” she replied, “This is your opportunity. Why would you ever want to become a pastor? There is so much more for you out there.”
“Is this where I sell you my soul,” I asked.
“I haven’t worked that way in a long time,” she said, “I am going tell you a few things and answer a few questions.”
“Why me,” I asked
“Humans. You all think that there is some grand purpose as to why you are in any given situation,” she explained, “But simply put, I told God that He could never answer a prayer directly and have things work out in His favor.”
“You made a bet with God,” I said.
She smiled, “Well, not really, but if you want to look at it that way, it suits me just fine.”
“You talk with God,” I asked. I had so many questions about how God and Satan interacted.
Again, she smiled, “The whole balance of good and evil argument might sum it up, but here’s the thing. I was there with God from the beginning. Before the earth, before man. The one angel above all others. He loved me best, until He began creating things and creatures and mankind. I was His special creation, along with all the angels and hosts of Heaven. For some reason, He had a change of heart. Man became His all-consuming passion. You all could do nothing special, but you are His favorites. I was angry and made it known. So, He tossed me out of Heaven. And yes, that did bother me. But, you see, I have a greater chance to interact with God’s special creatures. I am down here with you, showing you all the things that you have questions about.”
I am sitting in a bar with Satan talking about the nature of God and humanity. She is so attractive that my thoughts begin to wander. I want her so bad that I can feel it, almost taste it. She knows this too and touches me. Drinks keep flowing. We go back to my apartment. My heart tells me to hold fast and not succumb to Satan’s tempting beauty. My groin, however, seems to be in charge right now. Back at the apartment, she and I eat cold pizza and drink a few beers. She leans closer to me and kisses me with the deepest passion. A little too late, I notice that she has unbuckled my pants and has brought me to full attention.
“Stop,” I shouted.
“What’s the matter? We’re just having a little fun,” she said.
I am flustered and confused. “I can’t do this.”
“Damn,” she muttered. “Well, I feel so unsatisfied. Tell me Nick, whatever are we going to do now? Drown ourselves with South Park reruns,” she continued.
“You came here for a reason. Tell me what you’re doing here,” I demanded!
“Okay, let’s go,” she commanded.
We go out for a walk and discuss things for quite some time. She tells me that I have a promising career as a biochemist.
“You could discover the cure for cancer, or develop new agricultural chemicals to increase worldwide food production,” she said, “You would be rich beyond your wildest dreams; everyone would praise you.”
“At what cost,” I asked.
“Do you really want to spend your life devoted to God,” she responded, “Shepherding people who could care less about being in church, who whine and complain about every aspect of their miserable lives.”
“Better to reign on earth than to serve in Heaven, huh,” I retorted.
“How quaint. Yet another theology lesson from a small-brained fool,” she said angrily.
“Where’s the temptation? Insulting me certainly doesn’t help your case,” I said.
“You sound like He did in the desert,” she sneered.
With that, she showed me my life ten years from now. I am at a press conference announcing my research results with the cancer cure. Media hounds are everywhere. I am meeting with world leaders, going on book tours, and all sorts of glory and praise follow me everywhere. I have a beautiful wife and three children. My home is huge. All of this is great. I have everything I would ever want and I am helping the world.
“What do you think,” she asked.
“Sounds tempting, but there is always a catch,” I responded.
She nodded, “I do you a favor, you do me a favor.” Her tongue grazed my ear as she spoke
“What favor,” I asked, moving her hands from my lap.
“You need only reject God. And why shouldn’t you? He could stop disease, war, famine with the wave of His hand. Yet He sits there. He wants blind faith and gives you no answers. He leaves things to chance. Nothing is given to you. You have to earn it all. He wants you to love Him out of fear,” she explained, “I do none of those things. You want it? I will give you. You have a problem? I’ll fix it. I already love you and expect nothing in return. ‘Do what you want.’ That’s my motto.”
“Maybe the reward of Heaven isn’t revealed to us because then we might lose free will,” I stated.
“Or maybe Heaven ain’t that great,” she said as she faded from view.
I walked back to the apartment. Kyle is over and he asks me about the hot blonde that I was talking to at the bar. I say that she is just some girl that I met. He is disappointed that I don’t give more details. I go into my room and Adam’s form comes into view.
“Interesting night,” said God.
“Yeah, I guess,” I replied. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone, even God.
“The decision is not going to be easy. You have an interesting offer from Lucifer. You would be doing something wonderful for the world,” he explained.
“You’re okay with that,” I yelled.
“It’s not my choice Nick,” he stated, “You make your own destiny. I have given you all the information you need to make your decision.”
“Why are you and Satan making a bet for my soul,” I asked.
“Nick, it’s not a bet, more of a challenge. I don’t gamble for souls,” he said.
“Sure sounds like a bet to me,” I said.
“Things are not always what they appear to be,” he replied with a grin.
“You still talk with Satan,” I asked.
He sighed and said, “Lucifer was my special angel. An angel above all others. But like you, I gave angels free will. The more Lucifer learned and experienced, the less he chose to follow me. But with all things, good and evil are opposite sides of the same coin. I can’t have that, as you well know. I sent him on his way and he went on to do his thing” “I do enjoy talking to him, though” he continued, “He’s very witty, and often quite comical. Sometimes, I even learn a thing or two from him.”
The theological impact of this rang through my head. I asked for this situation with a simple prayer. I would never know what was in God’s mind, but I did know that my decision carried some importance if it brought the powers that be into the picture. I had so many questions about what to do and when I would see God again. I struggled to speak.
"God," I sputtered.
"Yes," he replied.
"Why are we here," I managed to ask over the lump in my throat.
The look on God's face was stoic. I thought maybe I had stepped over the line and offended him. Then he smiled and said, "Because I love you and you give me joy."
I had no response, but those words filled my heart more than anything ever said to me.
“Good bye Nick. Good luck with your decision.” God smiled and disappeared.
In the days that followed, I thought a lot about my meetings with God and Satan. I asked my friends a million questions. People thought I had gone around the bend.
“You thinking about what,” Rob asked, almost laughing as he said it.
“I was thinking about studying theology at Trinity College in the fall,” I said.
“We’re graduating in two weeks. We’re done,” Paul added.
“Why theology,” asked Kyle, “you’re a biology major. I thought you were going there for your Masters in biochemistry.”
“I don’t know. I was talking with Adam and I really thought about it after all we had been talking about,” I responded.
“Adam was cool and all, but why would you want to spout that religious muck to a bunch of foolish, guilt-ridden people for the rest of your life,” Paul retorted.
This went on for a while. Paul and Rob left to grab some food for dinner. I thought a lot about what they said. What did I know about preaching to people? I was no one special, just a kid from California who thought that biology was a great course of study. I wasn’t super-religious, and I didn’t always go to church. God comes to me and asks me to lead people in faith. I had to be out of my mind.
“Hi sweetie,” said a female voice from behind.
“You need something Eve or are you here to offer me something,” I questioned.
“Would it make your decision easier,” she replied, “I can always sweeten the deal. More money? Three girlfriends instead of a wife?”
“Why me? What makes me so special,” I demanded.
“Why you? Why you? Get over it Nick. He picked you for some reason only He knows and I have to make sure you make the informed choice,” she said.
“Somehow, I doubt your motives,” I countered.
Eve slinked over to me. She was dressed like Marilyn Monroe. She whispered into my ear, “And somehow, I doubt yours.” She left in a puff of smoke.
“Always the showman,” I thought to myself.
I couldn’t begin to grasp everything that I had seen and heard, but I knew I had a serious choice to make. The one thing I thought a lot about was what would happen if I chose my own path, one different from what God and I talked about and different from the one Satan offered. I was still thinking about it all as I got my diploma from Bryant. I had no clue what my own choice would be, until I realized that I always had my own choice. Three months later, I had packed my car up for my trip to Trinity College in Iowa. The road was long and somewhere near Nebraska, it began to rain.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Cat's in the cradle
So, in the holiday rush, and the busy days following, I have forgotten to share some things. And, it is about time for another update on the KID. I am officially in the adoption pool, which means I sit with other potential parents in a book. Birthfamilies get to read the book and say, "I like this one or I like that one." Then if that happens, they look at your bio book (which I must say for me, looks rather cool - I think I would make a great read). If they still like you, then, you and the birthfamily meet - to close the deal (although, remember, until you have the KID in your hands, it's not yours yet). Then you bond with the birthfamily until you get the call, "She's in labor." Like any other parent, you will rush out of the house forgetting something important, get pulled over on the way to the airport, and sit between a drunk priest and new age minister (don't laugh, this happened on the way to England when I gave up my real seat to make sure that newlyweds could sit together).
So until that time, I think about the KID and what it will be like. But I can't call the kid KID for his or her whole life. I have settled on "Benjamin Adam" as a boy's name. However, I just can't come up with a good girl's name. I love "Grace" and I love "Helena" (no influence from My Chemical Romance, I swear). I also like "Abigail" or "Jude." However, here are the names other people have suggested: Megan (blech), Jennifer (because no one else uses THAT name), Penelope (thereby ensuring that she will be a librarian or an accountant), and Carolyn (NO!). Obviously, I am hoping for a boy. Little Ben or "Girl to be named" will probably hope for a different dad.
Baby Showers!!!! Okay, these sound like a "woman" thing to have. Your girl friends get together, buy you things for the baby (sometimes, expensive things), you have cake, coffee, and an alcoholic beverage or too, and you laugh. Where is the girly part? I want free baby stuff (kids are darned expensive). I can laugh. I like alcoholic beverages. So, my friends are gung ho on this idea (yes, even the guy friends). Baby Illini gear is fine with me (www.folletts.com). Also, some of my colleagues at the courthouse want to have a shower (lawyers have disposable income). The courthouse staff wants in - since the baby's gender is unknown, pick clothes in blue or yellow (blue is a great color for either gender, so stop with the hangups). I think people should throw a shower for people for all kinds of occasions. Who doesn't like free stuff?
This weekend was baby weekend for me. My college roommate TJ (although he is going by "Tim" now) and his husband Brian brought their little tyke (my godson Aaron) into town, not to see me specifically, but I got to see them. We had a great time and I thought, I can do this parent thing, even though the good comes with some bad. Aaron likes to grab at anything at toddler level, which in my house includes the fireplace poker, etc. Father lesson #1. Aaron likes to throw things in the toilet and flush (I needed a new toothbrush anyways). Father lesson #2. Aaron will fall asleep to the Veggie Tales. Father lesson #3. On Sunday, after that great game where the Bears marched to the Super Bowl, my friends Kelly and Chris brought their daughter Izzy (my unofficial goddaughter) to see me. She is two months old and cries like a banshee. Father lesson #4. But get this, they dropped her into my arms - she fell asleep, mom fell asleep, and dad watched mindless tv. I have a gift.
So anyways, I am rambling on about the baby thing, so leave a comment and let me know what you want my next blog to be about . . .
So until that time, I think about the KID and what it will be like. But I can't call the kid KID for his or her whole life. I have settled on "Benjamin Adam" as a boy's name. However, I just can't come up with a good girl's name. I love "Grace" and I love "Helena" (no influence from My Chemical Romance, I swear). I also like "Abigail" or "Jude." However, here are the names other people have suggested: Megan (blech), Jennifer (because no one else uses THAT name), Penelope (thereby ensuring that she will be a librarian or an accountant), and Carolyn (NO!). Obviously, I am hoping for a boy. Little Ben or "Girl to be named" will probably hope for a different dad.
Baby Showers!!!! Okay, these sound like a "woman" thing to have. Your girl friends get together, buy you things for the baby (sometimes, expensive things), you have cake, coffee, and an alcoholic beverage or too, and you laugh. Where is the girly part? I want free baby stuff (kids are darned expensive). I can laugh. I like alcoholic beverages. So, my friends are gung ho on this idea (yes, even the guy friends). Baby Illini gear is fine with me (www.folletts.com). Also, some of my colleagues at the courthouse want to have a shower (lawyers have disposable income). The courthouse staff wants in - since the baby's gender is unknown, pick clothes in blue or yellow (blue is a great color for either gender, so stop with the hangups). I think people should throw a shower for people for all kinds of occasions. Who doesn't like free stuff?
This weekend was baby weekend for me. My college roommate TJ (although he is going by "Tim" now) and his husband Brian brought their little tyke (my godson Aaron) into town, not to see me specifically, but I got to see them. We had a great time and I thought, I can do this parent thing, even though the good comes with some bad. Aaron likes to grab at anything at toddler level, which in my house includes the fireplace poker, etc. Father lesson #1. Aaron likes to throw things in the toilet and flush (I needed a new toothbrush anyways). Father lesson #2. Aaron will fall asleep to the Veggie Tales. Father lesson #3. On Sunday, after that great game where the Bears marched to the Super Bowl, my friends Kelly and Chris brought their daughter Izzy (my unofficial goddaughter) to see me. She is two months old and cries like a banshee. Father lesson #4. But get this, they dropped her into my arms - she fell asleep, mom fell asleep, and dad watched mindless tv. I have a gift.
So anyways, I am rambling on about the baby thing, so leave a comment and let me know what you want my next blog to be about . . .
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Jars of Clay
So, I am teaching a youth group lesson about Clay Pots - the fragile nature of clay, despite it's early importance to God's people. I hope I don't screw up - so read . . . . . .
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WE HAVE THESE TREASURES IN JARS OF CLAY
Clay is plastic when wet, which means it can be easily shaped. When dry, it becomes firm and when subject to high temperature, known as firing, permanent physical and chemical reactions occur which, amongst other changes, causes the clay to be converted into a ceramic material. A fireplace or oven specifically designed for firing clay is called a kiln. These properties make clay an ideal substance for making durable pottery items, both practical and decorative, with different types of clay and firing conditions often used in earthenware, stoneware and porcelain. Early humans discovered the useful properties of clay in prehistoric times, and one of the earliest artifacts ever uncovered is a drinking vessel made of sun-dried clay. Depending on the content of the soil, clay can appear in various colors, from a dull gray to a deep orange-red.
Clays sintered in fire were the first ceramic, and remain one of the cheapest to produce and most widely used materials even in the present day. Bricks, cooking pots, art objects, dishware and even musical instruments such as the ocarinacan all be shaped from clay before being fired. Clay is also used in many industrial processes, such as paper making, cement production, pottery, and chemical filtering.
The development of pottery was a milestone in human history. These durable and watertight containers enabled people to boil and steam food which allowed them to exploit new sources of food such as shellfish, acorns, and leafy vegetables. Soft boiled foods could be eaten by toothless children and the elderly, which permitted caregivers to spend more time producing food. In Japan, for instance, the introduction of pottery was followed by a population explosion. In the archaeology of the Eastern Woodlands of North America the introduction of pottery is referred to as the container revolution.
Since pottery is a durable, man-made artifact which was utilized by various cultures around the world, it has proven to be a boon for archaeologists. Broken pottery in archaeological sites, called sherds or shards, help identify the resident culture and date the stratum by the formation, style and decoration. The relative chronologies based on pottery are essential for dating the remains of non-literate cultures and help in the dating of some historic cultures as well. Trace element analysis, mostly by neutron activation, allows the sources of clay to be accurately identified.
The invention of the potter's wheel in Mesopotamia sometime between 6,000 and 2,400 BCE revolutionized pottery production. Specialized potters were then able to meet the burgeoning needs of the world's first cities.
While artistic value of Classical Greek and Roman pottery largely consisted of the surface decoration, the pottery itself was an important art form in China, where efficient kilns allowed high temperature ware to be fired with wood, long before the use of coal.
The LORD God formed man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and so man became a living being – Genesis 2:7 (Adamah – Hebrew for “earth”).
And the priest shall take holy water in an earthen vessel; and of the dust that is on the floor of the tabernacle the priest shall take, and put it into the water. Numbers 5:17.
And every earthen vessel, whereinto any of them falleth, whatsoever is in it shall be unclean; and ye shall break it. Leviticus 11:33.
And the vessel of earth, that he toucheth which hath the issue, shall be broken: and every vessel of wood shall be rinsed in water. Leviticus 15:12.
Behold, I am toward God even as you are. I am also formed out of the clay. Job 33:6.
Whereas you saw the feet and toes, part of potters' clay, and part of iron, it shall be a divided kingdom; but there shall be in it of the strength of the iron, because you saw the iron mixed with miry clay. Daniel 2:41.
When the vessel that he made of the clay was marred in the hand of the potter, he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. "Can I not, O house of Israel, deal with you as this potter [does]?" declares the LORD. "Behold, like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in My hand, O house of Israel. Jeremiah 18:4-6.
This is what the Lord Almighty, God of Israel, says: Take these documents, both sealed and unsealed copies of the deed of purchase, and put them in a clay jar so they will last a long time. Jeremiah 32:14.
The precious sons of Zion, comparable to fine gold, how are they esteemed as earthen pitchers, the work of the hands of the potter! Lamentations 4:2.
You turn things upside down! Is the potter no better than his clay? Can something that has been made say about its maker, "He didn't make me"? Can a piece of pottery say about the potter, "He doesn't understand"? Isaiah 29:16.
How horrible it will be for the one who quarrels with his maker. He is pottery among other earthenware pots. Does the clay ask the one who shapes it, "What are you making?" Does your work say to you, "There are no handles"? Isaiah 45:9.
But now, LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are our potter. We are the work of your hands. Isaiah 64:8
He answered, "The man who is called Jesus made clay, and anointed my eyes, and said to me, 'Go to Siloam and wash'; so I went away and washed, and I received sight."Now it was a Sabbath on the day when Jesus made the clay and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also were asking him again how he received his sight. And he said to them, "He applied clay to my eyes, and I washed, and I see." John 9:11, 14-15.
Who do you think you are to talk back to God like that? Can an object that was made say to its maker, "Why did you make me like this?" A potter has the right to do whatever he wants with his clay. He can make something for a special occasion or something for everyday use from the same lump of clay. What if God, although willing to demonstrate His wrath and to make His power known, endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction? Romans 9:20-22.
In a large house there are not only objects made of gold and silver, but also those made of wood and clay. Some objects are honored when they are used; others aren't. If a man therefore will cleanse himself from these, he will be a vessel to honor, sanctified and meet for the master's use, and prepared to every good work. Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart. 2 Timothy 2:20-22.
For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined into our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are pressed on every side, yet not crushed; perplexed, yet not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed. 2 Corinthians 4:6-9.
He will rule them with a rod of iron, shattering them like clay pots; as I also have received of my Father Revelation 2:27.
---------------
WE HAVE THESE TREASURES IN JARS OF CLAY
Clay is plastic when wet, which means it can be easily shaped. When dry, it becomes firm and when subject to high temperature, known as firing, permanent physical and chemical reactions occur which, amongst other changes, causes the clay to be converted into a ceramic material. A fireplace or oven specifically designed for firing clay is called a kiln. These properties make clay an ideal substance for making durable pottery items, both practical and decorative, with different types of clay and firing conditions often used in earthenware, stoneware and porcelain. Early humans discovered the useful properties of clay in prehistoric times, and one of the earliest artifacts ever uncovered is a drinking vessel made of sun-dried clay. Depending on the content of the soil, clay can appear in various colors, from a dull gray to a deep orange-red.
Clays sintered in fire were the first ceramic, and remain one of the cheapest to produce and most widely used materials even in the present day. Bricks, cooking pots, art objects, dishware and even musical instruments such as the ocarinacan all be shaped from clay before being fired. Clay is also used in many industrial processes, such as paper making, cement production, pottery, and chemical filtering.
The development of pottery was a milestone in human history. These durable and watertight containers enabled people to boil and steam food which allowed them to exploit new sources of food such as shellfish, acorns, and leafy vegetables. Soft boiled foods could be eaten by toothless children and the elderly, which permitted caregivers to spend more time producing food. In Japan, for instance, the introduction of pottery was followed by a population explosion. In the archaeology of the Eastern Woodlands of North America the introduction of pottery is referred to as the container revolution.
Since pottery is a durable, man-made artifact which was utilized by various cultures around the world, it has proven to be a boon for archaeologists. Broken pottery in archaeological sites, called sherds or shards, help identify the resident culture and date the stratum by the formation, style and decoration. The relative chronologies based on pottery are essential for dating the remains of non-literate cultures and help in the dating of some historic cultures as well. Trace element analysis, mostly by neutron activation, allows the sources of clay to be accurately identified.
The invention of the potter's wheel in Mesopotamia sometime between 6,000 and 2,400 BCE revolutionized pottery production. Specialized potters were then able to meet the burgeoning needs of the world's first cities.
While artistic value of Classical Greek and Roman pottery largely consisted of the surface decoration, the pottery itself was an important art form in China, where efficient kilns allowed high temperature ware to be fired with wood, long before the use of coal.
The LORD God formed man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and so man became a living being – Genesis 2:7 (Adamah – Hebrew for “earth”).
And the priest shall take holy water in an earthen vessel; and of the dust that is on the floor of the tabernacle the priest shall take, and put it into the water. Numbers 5:17.
And every earthen vessel, whereinto any of them falleth, whatsoever is in it shall be unclean; and ye shall break it. Leviticus 11:33.
And the vessel of earth, that he toucheth which hath the issue, shall be broken: and every vessel of wood shall be rinsed in water. Leviticus 15:12.
Behold, I am toward God even as you are. I am also formed out of the clay. Job 33:6.
Whereas you saw the feet and toes, part of potters' clay, and part of iron, it shall be a divided kingdom; but there shall be in it of the strength of the iron, because you saw the iron mixed with miry clay. Daniel 2:41.
When the vessel that he made of the clay was marred in the hand of the potter, he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. "Can I not, O house of Israel, deal with you as this potter [does]?" declares the LORD. "Behold, like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in My hand, O house of Israel. Jeremiah 18:4-6.
This is what the Lord Almighty, God of Israel, says: Take these documents, both sealed and unsealed copies of the deed of purchase, and put them in a clay jar so they will last a long time. Jeremiah 32:14.
The precious sons of Zion, comparable to fine gold, how are they esteemed as earthen pitchers, the work of the hands of the potter! Lamentations 4:2.
You turn things upside down! Is the potter no better than his clay? Can something that has been made say about its maker, "He didn't make me"? Can a piece of pottery say about the potter, "He doesn't understand"? Isaiah 29:16.
How horrible it will be for the one who quarrels with his maker. He is pottery among other earthenware pots. Does the clay ask the one who shapes it, "What are you making?" Does your work say to you, "There are no handles"? Isaiah 45:9.
But now, LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are our potter. We are the work of your hands. Isaiah 64:8
He answered, "The man who is called Jesus made clay, and anointed my eyes, and said to me, 'Go to Siloam and wash'; so I went away and washed, and I received sight."Now it was a Sabbath on the day when Jesus made the clay and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also were asking him again how he received his sight. And he said to them, "He applied clay to my eyes, and I washed, and I see." John 9:11, 14-15.
Who do you think you are to talk back to God like that? Can an object that was made say to its maker, "Why did you make me like this?" A potter has the right to do whatever he wants with his clay. He can make something for a special occasion or something for everyday use from the same lump of clay. What if God, although willing to demonstrate His wrath and to make His power known, endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction? Romans 9:20-22.
In a large house there are not only objects made of gold and silver, but also those made of wood and clay. Some objects are honored when they are used; others aren't. If a man therefore will cleanse himself from these, he will be a vessel to honor, sanctified and meet for the master's use, and prepared to every good work. Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart. 2 Timothy 2:20-22.
For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined into our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are pressed on every side, yet not crushed; perplexed, yet not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed. 2 Corinthians 4:6-9.
He will rule them with a rod of iron, shattering them like clay pots; as I also have received of my Father Revelation 2:27.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Munsters
Yvonne De Carlo died today. She was Lily Munster on "The Munsters." She was also in "The Ten Commandments," but sadly, I will always remember her as the sweet, but creepy mother on one of my favorite TV shows. They don't make shows like that anymore. That's too bad.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Monster-proof Blankets - January 3, 2007
Last night, I was listening to a comedian on Comedy Central. Quite funny, quite large. But he started talking about how he was explaining the well-known theory to his nephew that monsters of any kind cannot hurt, attack, maul, or otherwise drag you to the depths of hell, so long as the only thing sticking out from under your blanket is your head. He was telling a joke, but it spurred me to thinking . . . this is a rather amusing lie that adults perpetuate through time to their children. Just like the Santa Claus story, we pass this fib on from generation to generation. It makes us feel good. It gives that feeling of love, safety, and security to our defenseless and imaginative young ones. Hell, to this day, I still get an occasional freak out when I wake to find my leg dangling over the edge of the bed, not shrouded in any blanket. Thankfully, no slimy, fanged, odd-shaped monstrosity has stolen me away.
But what is really on my mind though is how we could use that blanket today. Hey, when you grow old, the monsters come in new forms . . . alcoholism, racism, faithlessness, rage, ignorance, xenophobia, and even republicanism (and not "republicanism" as in the state of representative democracy, but rather "republicanism" as in a lack of independent political thought). Nothing shields us from it. It gets to us when we are awake, and it gets to us when we are asleep. I wish I could be wrapped in cloth that is stuffed with down feathers, a cloth so strong that I would never have to fear the evils. I want someone else to tuck me in sometimes and say that the monsters can't get through the blanket if you keep everything underneath it.
Wouldn't that be nice? Sure would, but that is not the way of things. Nor would I honestly want to be sheltered from all that is bad. Why? How would know what is good? Something to ponder - fibs we tell our kids . . . monster-proof blankets, Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy, stepping on cracks . . . Aesop would be proud. Enough rambling for now.
But what is really on my mind though is how we could use that blanket today. Hey, when you grow old, the monsters come in new forms . . . alcoholism, racism, faithlessness, rage, ignorance, xenophobia, and even republicanism (and not "republicanism" as in the state of representative democracy, but rather "republicanism" as in a lack of independent political thought). Nothing shields us from it. It gets to us when we are awake, and it gets to us when we are asleep. I wish I could be wrapped in cloth that is stuffed with down feathers, a cloth so strong that I would never have to fear the evils. I want someone else to tuck me in sometimes and say that the monsters can't get through the blanket if you keep everything underneath it.
Wouldn't that be nice? Sure would, but that is not the way of things. Nor would I honestly want to be sheltered from all that is bad. Why? How would know what is good? Something to ponder - fibs we tell our kids . . . monster-proof blankets, Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy, stepping on cracks . . . Aesop would be proud. Enough rambling for now.
Gifts, Sparrows, & Clay - December 24, 2006
Christmas is here. But what does that really mean. Santa? Gifts? Church? Joy and peace? I suppose if you boiled it all down to the purest points - yes. We give gifts to let others know that they are loved. We shop and spend more money than we probably should. We even take a moment or two to think of those less fortunate and buy gifts or work in soup kitchens. We go to church and sing carols and listen to the Christmas story (Luke's version is my favorite). Then, Christmas ends for another year.
For 24 hours, we forget all that ails us. We forget those who have wronged us. We forget the wrongs we have done. We put childish things aside. We listen quietly on a cold night for cry of the newborn - the one sent to save us all. Then we stop. We go back to work. We lie. We cheat. We lash out in anger. We remember the wrongs. We commit new ones, ourselves. We leave the joy behind as we succumb to road rage.
God sees the evils we have done. He suffers the slings and arrows that we hurl. And yet, he longed to be close to us. I am reminded of a story. There is a barn in winter and there are sparrows quivering in the cold and the darkness. A farmer comes in and sees these sparrows and wants to bring them comfort and warmth. He approaches. The sparrows flee in fear into the darkness. The farmer only wants to bring the sparrows into his house where it is light and warm. But the sparrows fear him. The farmer wishes he could become a bird so he could tell those sparrows that he loves them and wants them to be safe. And that is what God did - we were in fear and darkness. So, he came down as one of us to take away sin and conquer darkness.
We lose sight of that message. Christmas is one of two major holidays where church attendance is higher. People may see Christmas as an obligation, a burden. Is it a burden to be given such a gift? I say not. God sees all our failings. He is angered. He knows our wrongs against Him and against others. And yet, one night, He put all of that aside. He sent His Son to us as our gift. God says to us that all you have done, all you do, and all you will do is forgiven - just believe and accept My Son as your gift. That is a pretty awesome gift. And He had no obligation to do so. He did it willingly.
So, I guess this is where I take a calling from Him. I will take that gift He gave and celebrate it. Jubliee, if you will. Can I promise not swear? Sure. Will I live up to it? I hope so. Can I promise to share and care? Sure, if the Doodlebops have told me I should, I can remember that promise too. Can I look at this wonderful gift and share it with others? You better believe that this is my new goal.
We are but earthen vessels, fragile and weak. And inside, God put his greatest treasure. I gotta remember that. The Potter has molded his clay, and the clay shall not tell the maker how it should be made. That's the end of the sermon - here's a thought though: Look to East for the sign. Even in today's busy world, the star is still shining to lead us home.
For 24 hours, we forget all that ails us. We forget those who have wronged us. We forget the wrongs we have done. We put childish things aside. We listen quietly on a cold night for cry of the newborn - the one sent to save us all. Then we stop. We go back to work. We lie. We cheat. We lash out in anger. We remember the wrongs. We commit new ones, ourselves. We leave the joy behind as we succumb to road rage.
God sees the evils we have done. He suffers the slings and arrows that we hurl. And yet, he longed to be close to us. I am reminded of a story. There is a barn in winter and there are sparrows quivering in the cold and the darkness. A farmer comes in and sees these sparrows and wants to bring them comfort and warmth. He approaches. The sparrows flee in fear into the darkness. The farmer only wants to bring the sparrows into his house where it is light and warm. But the sparrows fear him. The farmer wishes he could become a bird so he could tell those sparrows that he loves them and wants them to be safe. And that is what God did - we were in fear and darkness. So, he came down as one of us to take away sin and conquer darkness.
We lose sight of that message. Christmas is one of two major holidays where church attendance is higher. People may see Christmas as an obligation, a burden. Is it a burden to be given such a gift? I say not. God sees all our failings. He is angered. He knows our wrongs against Him and against others. And yet, one night, He put all of that aside. He sent His Son to us as our gift. God says to us that all you have done, all you do, and all you will do is forgiven - just believe and accept My Son as your gift. That is a pretty awesome gift. And He had no obligation to do so. He did it willingly.
So, I guess this is where I take a calling from Him. I will take that gift He gave and celebrate it. Jubliee, if you will. Can I promise not swear? Sure. Will I live up to it? I hope so. Can I promise to share and care? Sure, if the Doodlebops have told me I should, I can remember that promise too. Can I look at this wonderful gift and share it with others? You better believe that this is my new goal.
We are but earthen vessels, fragile and weak. And inside, God put his greatest treasure. I gotta remember that. The Potter has molded his clay, and the clay shall not tell the maker how it should be made. That's the end of the sermon - here's a thought though: Look to East for the sign. Even in today's busy world, the star is still shining to lead us home.
As the Days Go By - December 7, 2006
Here is one of those random blogs where I ramble on . . .
I made it into the adoption pool. I got my license from DCFS (because I am adopting a kid from another state). What does the pool mean? I submitted a "Dear Birthparent" letter, where I have one page to talk about myself and try to convince potential birthparents to pick my file to look at. Yikes! I have a hard enough time not using run-on sentences when I speak. Then if they pick my file, they can review it and determine if I am the one they want to raise their child. Could be a day, could be a year from now when I get a kid. But I have that license, which says my home is fit for a child and that I meet all parenting standards set by DCFS. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had to do that before bringing a child into the world? Maybe child abuse would disappear . . . but, then again, you have to have a license to drive a car (and people are still lousy drivers).
I have had three trials in a row this week. One was over money and assets and finessing settlement language. Boring and mind-numbing and I wanted to strangle everyone. Yesterday was a custody trial. My client was seeking sole custody. I actually felt bad cross-examining the other party (I made her cry on the witness stand), but ultimately, my job is argue for the best interests of the child, not the party losing custody. Today's trial - whether a house is worth $200K or $250K. Waste of time and money, but in family law, people lose all sense of rationality. It's my job as a lawyer to keep that sense of rationality going.
This past Saturday, I received unexpected news. Our Associate Pastor called me, while he was away at a youth ministry convention, to let me know personally that he had accepted a Senior Pastor position at another church. Ouch! This Pastor is the reason I joined the church I am at (well, the community of this church is why, but he is the conduit). I was also confused - he apparently wanted to call a select group of people and confidentially tell them first. Why me? I guess even in my short time there, I managed to make an impact. Now, I could be selfish and say that I am angry and sad at him for leaving (and I am - because that is a normal reaction). However, I am glad. I am glad that he was called to service for another church (God is always speaking). I am glad that he found a role that suits his talents. I am glad that others will get to experience the Cheese Song. I am glad that God led me to this church to meet this man. I wish only the best for him, and I fully expect that as he reads this, he knows that we will be singing more songs again soon (did I mention that I have a song about bologna?) I leave this topic with this quote: "Greatness is not measured by how many people celebrate your presence, but by how many people mourn your absence."
Music. I couldn't imagine a day in my life without music. In fact, I would probably make music out of anything if I didn't have a radio around and my voice was hoarse. I have been singing more and more. Cantatas, karaoke, community chorales, you name it. I bought a new instrument, a djembe, which I have been banging on after work. Great for just having fun and making noise. I even, with trepidation, have restarted my music theory lessons. No, I don't plan on becoming a composer, but I am so weird, I even love to learn about music. Music is probably one of the most difficult languages ever written by man, and the most powerful. When aliens come to visit (watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind), music will likely be the best way to communicate, trust me.
So that is my mad ramblings for this week. Oh wait, we had a snowstorm last Thursday. And all those morons with licenses to drive proved once again that having a license to do something doesn't make you good at it.
I made it into the adoption pool. I got my license from DCFS (because I am adopting a kid from another state). What does the pool mean? I submitted a "Dear Birthparent" letter, where I have one page to talk about myself and try to convince potential birthparents to pick my file to look at. Yikes! I have a hard enough time not using run-on sentences when I speak. Then if they pick my file, they can review it and determine if I am the one they want to raise their child. Could be a day, could be a year from now when I get a kid. But I have that license, which says my home is fit for a child and that I meet all parenting standards set by DCFS. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had to do that before bringing a child into the world? Maybe child abuse would disappear . . . but, then again, you have to have a license to drive a car (and people are still lousy drivers).
I have had three trials in a row this week. One was over money and assets and finessing settlement language. Boring and mind-numbing and I wanted to strangle everyone. Yesterday was a custody trial. My client was seeking sole custody. I actually felt bad cross-examining the other party (I made her cry on the witness stand), but ultimately, my job is argue for the best interests of the child, not the party losing custody. Today's trial - whether a house is worth $200K or $250K. Waste of time and money, but in family law, people lose all sense of rationality. It's my job as a lawyer to keep that sense of rationality going.
This past Saturday, I received unexpected news. Our Associate Pastor called me, while he was away at a youth ministry convention, to let me know personally that he had accepted a Senior Pastor position at another church. Ouch! This Pastor is the reason I joined the church I am at (well, the community of this church is why, but he is the conduit). I was also confused - he apparently wanted to call a select group of people and confidentially tell them first. Why me? I guess even in my short time there, I managed to make an impact. Now, I could be selfish and say that I am angry and sad at him for leaving (and I am - because that is a normal reaction). However, I am glad. I am glad that he was called to service for another church (God is always speaking). I am glad that he found a role that suits his talents. I am glad that others will get to experience the Cheese Song. I am glad that God led me to this church to meet this man. I wish only the best for him, and I fully expect that as he reads this, he knows that we will be singing more songs again soon (did I mention that I have a song about bologna?) I leave this topic with this quote: "Greatness is not measured by how many people celebrate your presence, but by how many people mourn your absence."
Music. I couldn't imagine a day in my life without music. In fact, I would probably make music out of anything if I didn't have a radio around and my voice was hoarse. I have been singing more and more. Cantatas, karaoke, community chorales, you name it. I bought a new instrument, a djembe, which I have been banging on after work. Great for just having fun and making noise. I even, with trepidation, have restarted my music theory lessons. No, I don't plan on becoming a composer, but I am so weird, I even love to learn about music. Music is probably one of the most difficult languages ever written by man, and the most powerful. When aliens come to visit (watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind), music will likely be the best way to communicate, trust me.
So that is my mad ramblings for this week. Oh wait, we had a snowstorm last Thursday. And all those morons with licenses to drive proved once again that having a license to do something doesn't make you good at it.
Yabba Dabba-loo-yah - December 20, 2006
Cartoons. I have written about them before. Why? Simple. In cartoons, anything is possible. A coyote can order malfunctioning weapons of false destruction that only work against the buyer. Rabbits can talk. A groups teens (an effeminate pseudo-male, a stuck-up hot chick, a lesbian, and a pothead) and a talking dog can drive in a psychadelic van, not attend school, and solve the unsolved mysteries that have plagued local police departments around the country. A hyper-intelligent dog and his boy Sherman can travel through time to teach history to kids. Yep, cartoons can do it all.
I have written before about cartoons. But today, it is special for me. Joe Barbera (of Hanna-Barbera) passed away today of natural causes (Bill Hanna died in 2001). This team is responsible for "Tom & Jerry," "The Flintstones," "The Jetsons," "Huckleberry Hound," "Scooby Doo," "The Laff-a-Lympics," Yogi Bear," "The Smurfs," "Quick Draw McGraw," "Johnny Quest," "Snorks," "Hong Kong Phooey," "Top Cat," "Dexter's Lab," "Captain Planet," and many, many more. Yep, I gosh darned loved Hanna-Barbera. Seriously, you have at least one favorite cartoon that came from Hanna-Barbera.
HB Cartoons are everywhere. Cartoon Network's Adult Swim is full with HB tributes - Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law!!!!! Find a person on the street who can't sing the theme to the Smurfs. Find me a child of the 80s who can't tell you who Captain Planet is and how he is "by your powers combined."
Now, I also just learned that on November 20, 2006, Chris Hayward passed away. You are scratching your head??? Does Dudley Do-Right ring a bell? No. Okay, he was the writer for Rocky & Bullwinkle . . . and the creator of the Munsters. And, of course - he was partly involved with Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman. I don't usually go a month without saying "Quiet, you." to someone.
Most of the cartoons by these two men found their way into a Chris Rice song called, "What If Cartoons Got Saved?" The song asks how cartoons would respond if they were saved by Jesus. No matter what, we do give human-ness to cartoons. They are often our first experiences when the TV is turned on. It's not surprising how important cartoons are to people. They teach us to sing. They teach us to count. They teach us to share. They teach us that no one is subject to the laws of gravity unless they realize they are subject to the laws of gravity. They teach us that kindness usually wins out. And, they make us laugh our asses off.
And of course, there are still a list of cartoon things I want to know:
*When Megatron (Transformers) transforms into the hand-held gun that fits into the hands of Starscream, a robot of equal size, where does all of Megatron's mass go?
*Scooby Doo can talk (and apparently think). Why doesn't he think, "Why I am driving around with these weirdos? Where is Pam Anderson?"
*Does Charlie Brown ever think, "Screw this. I am kicking Lucy in the damn head!"?
*Why didn't Yosemite Sam, Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, and Wylie Coyote team up? I am tired of Bugs and the Road Runner winning the day?
*Where are Donald Duck's pants?
*Where is Mickey Mouse's shirt? Seriously, between Mickey and Donald, they had one outfit. And why does Goofy get pants, a shirt, and a vest?
*Is knowing really half the battle? Or is getting people to apply what they know half the battle? Who knows? I think the glass is still half-empty.
*How did capturing a bumble bee in a clamshell allow Fred Flintstone to shave?
I guess I will never know, but thankfully, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and Fairly Oddparents will teach me new things about how to live a good life. Oh, and Jane - Stop this crazy thing!!!!!!
I have written before about cartoons. But today, it is special for me. Joe Barbera (of Hanna-Barbera) passed away today of natural causes (Bill Hanna died in 2001). This team is responsible for "Tom & Jerry," "The Flintstones," "The Jetsons," "Huckleberry Hound," "Scooby Doo," "The Laff-a-Lympics," Yogi Bear," "The Smurfs," "Quick Draw McGraw," "Johnny Quest," "Snorks," "Hong Kong Phooey," "Top Cat," "Dexter's Lab," "Captain Planet," and many, many more. Yep, I gosh darned loved Hanna-Barbera. Seriously, you have at least one favorite cartoon that came from Hanna-Barbera.
HB Cartoons are everywhere. Cartoon Network's Adult Swim is full with HB tributes - Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law!!!!! Find a person on the street who can't sing the theme to the Smurfs. Find me a child of the 80s who can't tell you who Captain Planet is and how he is "by your powers combined."
Now, I also just learned that on November 20, 2006, Chris Hayward passed away. You are scratching your head??? Does Dudley Do-Right ring a bell? No. Okay, he was the writer for Rocky & Bullwinkle . . . and the creator of the Munsters. And, of course - he was partly involved with Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman. I don't usually go a month without saying "Quiet, you." to someone.
Most of the cartoons by these two men found their way into a Chris Rice song called, "What If Cartoons Got Saved?" The song asks how cartoons would respond if they were saved by Jesus. No matter what, we do give human-ness to cartoons. They are often our first experiences when the TV is turned on. It's not surprising how important cartoons are to people. They teach us to sing. They teach us to count. They teach us to share. They teach us that no one is subject to the laws of gravity unless they realize they are subject to the laws of gravity. They teach us that kindness usually wins out. And, they make us laugh our asses off.
And of course, there are still a list of cartoon things I want to know:
*When Megatron (Transformers) transforms into the hand-held gun that fits into the hands of Starscream, a robot of equal size, where does all of Megatron's mass go?
*Scooby Doo can talk (and apparently think). Why doesn't he think, "Why I am driving around with these weirdos? Where is Pam Anderson?"
*Does Charlie Brown ever think, "Screw this. I am kicking Lucy in the damn head!"?
*Why didn't Yosemite Sam, Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, and Wylie Coyote team up? I am tired of Bugs and the Road Runner winning the day?
*Where are Donald Duck's pants?
*Where is Mickey Mouse's shirt? Seriously, between Mickey and Donald, they had one outfit. And why does Goofy get pants, a shirt, and a vest?
*Is knowing really half the battle? Or is getting people to apply what they know half the battle? Who knows? I think the glass is still half-empty.
*How did capturing a bumble bee in a clamshell allow Fred Flintstone to shave?
I guess I will never know, but thankfully, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and Fairly Oddparents will teach me new things about how to live a good life. Oh, and Jane - Stop this crazy thing!!!!!!
As the Days Go By - December 7, 2006
Here is one of those random blogs where I ramble on . . .
I made it into the adoption pool. I got my license from DCFS (because I am adopting a kid from another state). What does the pool mean? I submitted a "Dear Birthparent" letter, where I have one page to talk about myself and try to convince potential birthparents to pick my file to look at. Yikes! I have a hard enough time not using run-on sentences when I speak. Then if they pick my file, they can review it and determine if I am the one they want to raise their child. Could be a day, could be a year from now when I get a kid. But I have that license, which says my home is fit for a child and that I meet all parenting standards set by DCFS. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had to do that before bringing a child into the world? Maybe child abuse would disappear . . . but, then again, you have to have a license to drive a car (and people are still lousy drivers).
I have had three trials in a row this week. One was over money and assets and finessing settlement language. Boring and mind-numbing and I wanted to strangle everyone. Yesterday was a custody trial. My client was seeking sole custody. I actually felt bad cross-examining the other party (I made her cry on the witness stand), but ultimately, my job is argue for the best interests of the child, not the party losing custody. Today's trial - whether a house is worth $200K or $250K. Waste of time and money, but in family law, people lose all sense of rationality. It's my job as a lawyer to keep that sense of rationality going.
This past Saturday, I received unexpected news. Our Associate Pastor called me, while he was away at a youth ministry convention, to let me know personally that he had accepted a Senior Pastor position at another church. Ouch! This Pastor is the reason I joined the church I am at (well, the community of this church is why, but he is the conduit). I was also confused - he apparently wanted to call a select group of people and confidentially tell them first. Why me? I guess even in my short time there, I managed to make an impact. Now, I could be selfish and say that I am angry and sad at him for leaving (and I am - because that is a normal reaction). However, I am glad. I am glad that he was called to service for another church (God is always speaking). I am glad that he found a role that suits his talents. I am glad that others will get to experience the Cheese Song. I am glad that God led me to this church to meet this man. I wish only the best for him, and I fully expect that as he reads this, he knows that we will be singing more songs again soon (did I mention that I have a song about bologna?) I leave this topic with this quote: "Greatness is not measured by how many people celebrate your presence, but by how many people mourn your absence."
Music. I couldn't imagine a day in my life without music. In fact, I would probably make music out of anything if I didn't have a radio around and my voice was hoarse. I have been singing more and more. Cantatas, karaoke, community chorales, you name it. I bought a new instrument, a djembe, which I have been banging on after work. Great for just having fun and making noise. I even, with trepidation, have restarted my music theory lessons. No, I don't plan on becoming a composer, but I am so weird, I even love to learn about music. Music is probably one of the most difficult languages ever written by man, and the most powerful. When aliens come to visit (watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind), music will likely be the best way to communicate, trust me.
So that is my mad ramblings for this week. Oh wait, we had a snowstorm last Thursday. And all those morons with licenses to drive proved once again that having a license to do something doesn't make you good at it.
I made it into the adoption pool. I got my license from DCFS (because I am adopting a kid from another state). What does the pool mean? I submitted a "Dear Birthparent" letter, where I have one page to talk about myself and try to convince potential birthparents to pick my file to look at. Yikes! I have a hard enough time not using run-on sentences when I speak. Then if they pick my file, they can review it and determine if I am the one they want to raise their child. Could be a day, could be a year from now when I get a kid. But I have that license, which says my home is fit for a child and that I meet all parenting standards set by DCFS. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had to do that before bringing a child into the world? Maybe child abuse would disappear . . . but, then again, you have to have a license to drive a car (and people are still lousy drivers).
I have had three trials in a row this week. One was over money and assets and finessing settlement language. Boring and mind-numbing and I wanted to strangle everyone. Yesterday was a custody trial. My client was seeking sole custody. I actually felt bad cross-examining the other party (I made her cry on the witness stand), but ultimately, my job is argue for the best interests of the child, not the party losing custody. Today's trial - whether a house is worth $200K or $250K. Waste of time and money, but in family law, people lose all sense of rationality. It's my job as a lawyer to keep that sense of rationality going.
This past Saturday, I received unexpected news. Our Associate Pastor called me, while he was away at a youth ministry convention, to let me know personally that he had accepted a Senior Pastor position at another church. Ouch! This Pastor is the reason I joined the church I am at (well, the community of this church is why, but he is the conduit). I was also confused - he apparently wanted to call a select group of people and confidentially tell them first. Why me? I guess even in my short time there, I managed to make an impact. Now, I could be selfish and say that I am angry and sad at him for leaving (and I am - because that is a normal reaction). However, I am glad. I am glad that he was called to service for another church (God is always speaking). I am glad that he found a role that suits his talents. I am glad that others will get to experience the Cheese Song. I am glad that God led me to this church to meet this man. I wish only the best for him, and I fully expect that as he reads this, he knows that we will be singing more songs again soon (did I mention that I have a song about bologna?) I leave this topic with this quote: "Greatness is not measured by how many people celebrate your presence, but by how many people mourn your absence."
Music. I couldn't imagine a day in my life without music. In fact, I would probably make music out of anything if I didn't have a radio around and my voice was hoarse. I have been singing more and more. Cantatas, karaoke, community chorales, you name it. I bought a new instrument, a djembe, which I have been banging on after work. Great for just having fun and making noise. I even, with trepidation, have restarted my music theory lessons. No, I don't plan on becoming a composer, but I am so weird, I even love to learn about music. Music is probably one of the most difficult languages ever written by man, and the most powerful. When aliens come to visit (watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind), music will likely be the best way to communicate, trust me.
So that is my mad ramblings for this week. Oh wait, we had a snowstorm last Thursday. And all those morons with licenses to drive proved once again that having a license to do something doesn't make you good at it.
Waiting for Wednesday - November 19, 2006
Did you ever have someone learn something about you that you did not possibly expect them to learn? Well, I did, but the kicker is, I put that stuff in a blog on this page. So, how in the hell did I expect people not to learn this stuff about me. My pastor, Kirk (I will let you search on your own for him, look up "The Cheese Song"), stopped me last Wednesday and mentioned that he "googled" me. Shit! He knew about this blog, about my old blog on blogger.com, about my sad attempt at web design from my Law and Technology class. Dammit! I swear in my blogs. I write about the things I observe. These are not for church, let me assure you. For days, waves of mortification plagued me. Allow me to lay some background though . . .
I was born into the Catholic Church, communed there, and just about confirmed there. Before the handcuffs and blinders were placed upon me, we moved away and slipped into heathenism. Then in middle school, mom sought to make sure that I did not end up somewhere in hell (trust me, I have enough jokes about how I am going to end up running hell), so she took me to the Lutheran church she had liked. My first exposure to Protestantism, and certainly, my first steps into rebellion and inquisitiveness that are imbued in my character today. Great-grandma, Irish Catholic extraordinaire, was none too pleased. And there I stayed, a Protestant, a Lutheran . . . occasionally, I battled with bouts of atheism, or more appropriately, agnosticism. I even ventured back to the Catholic Church a few years ago, but I never felt good at church. Something was missing. I wasn't doing it right.
Flash forward to finding the United Church of Christ (the "United Church" of Christ, not the United "Church of Christ" - which means something different). I walked into the local UCC church near where I live. There was music, and something that I had never really experienced at church, JOY. People were damn glad to be there. I was immediately drawn in. The message to me was very simple at this church. God has spoken, God speaks. And guess what, he is still here . . . listening.
Which brings me back to the whole blog thing . . . Kirk has read my blog. He tells me this right before we go upstairs for Crazies (the youth group). It's Wednesday. I am podnering in my little noodle what Kirk now thinks about me as he mentions "I even read the circumcision blog." Earlier this morning, I came to church renewed. I sang "Flood" during the offretory. But I was not alone. Roger, the Praise Band leader, Kirk, and his son each added their talents on the piano, guitar, and djembe, respectively. As these gifts from God filled the room, you could actually see joy spread through the sanctuary. It was uplifting. I couldn't imagine a better feeling. I was thankful, and remain thankful for the gifts and talents God has given me. More than the song, He has given me a church, one where the true meaning of church hits me - a gathering of people in the name of Christ to praise and worship God. How cool is that!
As I type this, I am listening to the Cheese Song, by Kirk, which I purchased from iTunes. I am looking forward to Wednesdays, where I have decided to work with youth ministries. Wednesdays, where for now, I sing with dedicated people pulling together a Cantata for the Advent season. Wednesdays, where I find things just naturally fall into place. I am not mortified thinking about who has read my blogs anymore. It's me and read them for what they are worth. And trust me, I do have some humorous religious stories in the hopper. Later gators . . .
I was born into the Catholic Church, communed there, and just about confirmed there. Before the handcuffs and blinders were placed upon me, we moved away and slipped into heathenism. Then in middle school, mom sought to make sure that I did not end up somewhere in hell (trust me, I have enough jokes about how I am going to end up running hell), so she took me to the Lutheran church she had liked. My first exposure to Protestantism, and certainly, my first steps into rebellion and inquisitiveness that are imbued in my character today. Great-grandma, Irish Catholic extraordinaire, was none too pleased. And there I stayed, a Protestant, a Lutheran . . . occasionally, I battled with bouts of atheism, or more appropriately, agnosticism. I even ventured back to the Catholic Church a few years ago, but I never felt good at church. Something was missing. I wasn't doing it right.
Flash forward to finding the United Church of Christ (the "United Church" of Christ, not the United "Church of Christ" - which means something different). I walked into the local UCC church near where I live. There was music, and something that I had never really experienced at church, JOY. People were damn glad to be there. I was immediately drawn in. The message to me was very simple at this church. God has spoken, God speaks. And guess what, he is still here . . . listening.
Which brings me back to the whole blog thing . . . Kirk has read my blog. He tells me this right before we go upstairs for Crazies (the youth group). It's Wednesday. I am podnering in my little noodle what Kirk now thinks about me as he mentions "I even read the circumcision blog." Earlier this morning, I came to church renewed. I sang "Flood" during the offretory. But I was not alone. Roger, the Praise Band leader, Kirk, and his son each added their talents on the piano, guitar, and djembe, respectively. As these gifts from God filled the room, you could actually see joy spread through the sanctuary. It was uplifting. I couldn't imagine a better feeling. I was thankful, and remain thankful for the gifts and talents God has given me. More than the song, He has given me a church, one where the true meaning of church hits me - a gathering of people in the name of Christ to praise and worship God. How cool is that!
As I type this, I am listening to the Cheese Song, by Kirk, which I purchased from iTunes. I am looking forward to Wednesdays, where I have decided to work with youth ministries. Wednesdays, where for now, I sing with dedicated people pulling together a Cantata for the Advent season. Wednesdays, where I find things just naturally fall into place. I am not mortified thinking about who has read my blogs anymore. It's me and read them for what they are worth. And trust me, I do have some humorous religious stories in the hopper. Later gators . . .
Running Without Scissors - October 31, 2006
Since the new millenium, there have been a slew of movies about dysfunctional families . . . such as "The Royal Tennenbaums," "The Life Aquatic," "Little Miss Sunshine," "Running With Scissors," and many more. Why do many people like these movies? Commiseration! There is nothing better than sitting back and observing just how fucked up the lives of others really are. Is it limited to movies? Hell no. Pick up a David Sedaris book (I recommend "Me Talk Pretty One Day"), or read the two tomes by Dave Eggers (U of I grad), or enjoy "The Kid" by Dan Savage. Dysfunction is big business and I'll be damned if I don't want in on the action.
How do you begin to write a magnum opus of family decline and disruption? You could undergo hypnosis to dredge up horrific memories of verbal and mental abuse heaped upon you by your parents. I don't need to do that, as I only need to look at old photo albums to see the clothes my parents dressed me in (who puts corduroy pants on a kid in the middle of summer? sadists, I tell you). As I have looked back on pictures from my youth, I smile at some of the pictures that carry trauma and the overcoming of adversity all in one.
When I was nine, I had recently lost my status as only child. My mom had just given birth to my baby brother. My dad was unemployed (again). My mom had to work a second job to make ends meet, while dad made sure the tv set wasn't stolen. Halloween was fast approaching and I didn't have a costume. Far be it from my father to tear himself away from the latest wrestling match, I was left to my own devices to find a halloween costume. I had construction paper and a box, and out sprung a great idea. I needed some electrical tape, and thus began my costume design night. Skipping ahead, I made myself a Rubik's Cube costume. But, I was nine and lacked the forsight to plan appropriate armholes. Yep, you guessed it - I cut the armholes on the sides of the box, instead of the front (which would have made trick or treating much easier). It's a funny story, but would it sell in a dysfunctional family movie? (Probably wouldn't warrant more than a one to two minute flashback).
Ooh, a picture of me at my high school awards night. Yep, dear ole dad was absent from that. Soccer pictures? Not even sure if my dad knows I ever played soccer. And here is where the blog turns into a whiny rant. Poor Sean. *sniffle* Allow me to wipe my ass with these memories. And then a picture that warrants a story . . .
The picture is of a 1979 Buick crashed through the back of a detached garage. It's my garage. It's taken from the backyard of my best friend (at age 5), Mark Vlodman. As the tangent comes in to this story, I have no idea what happened to Mark after I moved away at age 10. What is important is how the car crashed through the garage - and the tangents that go with it. When I was five, my mom didn't know how to drive. She couldn't take driver's ed in high school because my grandma believed that only sluts drove cars. My dad was actually employed at the time and had just been given a company car, the 1979 Buick. It was about to rain. My dad was mowing the lawn in the backyard, conveniently enough, behind the detached garage. My mom, not wanting to leave the car out in the rain, thought she would pull the car into the garage. Well, the accelerator apparently stuck and the car lurched through the back wall of the garage. The car crashed through and knocked my dad and the mower into the air. Yes, the mower missed his head and he lived. Mark and I were in the driveway (contemplating ways to improve the performance of our big wheels) and shouted with glee, "Do it again!" Tell me that Wes Anderson could have written a scene like that?
There are many other moments of dysfunction - like me, as an 8 year old, getting yelled for misplacing the tools that my father never used. "Gee Dad, I'm eight-fucking-years-old. What the fuck would I do with a crescent wrench?" Each one on its own warrants a small chuckle. Taken together, I sometimes wonder why I didn't consume mass amounts of sedatives, become an alcoholic, knock up the neighbor girl, and move right into a shack outside of town. I guess I could pen some novel of epic proportions and earn my way into a meeting with David Sedaris to write a play that would win many awards.
Fuck that, though. Dysfunction is more fun when you get to tell your friends about the time your dad tossed you into the kitchen wall because he had a bad day at work (re-employment happened frequently for my dad). Why put it on the big screen? Excuse me while I go write the postscript to all the characters in my little saga . . .
How do you begin to write a magnum opus of family decline and disruption? You could undergo hypnosis to dredge up horrific memories of verbal and mental abuse heaped upon you by your parents. I don't need to do that, as I only need to look at old photo albums to see the clothes my parents dressed me in (who puts corduroy pants on a kid in the middle of summer? sadists, I tell you). As I have looked back on pictures from my youth, I smile at some of the pictures that carry trauma and the overcoming of adversity all in one.
When I was nine, I had recently lost my status as only child. My mom had just given birth to my baby brother. My dad was unemployed (again). My mom had to work a second job to make ends meet, while dad made sure the tv set wasn't stolen. Halloween was fast approaching and I didn't have a costume. Far be it from my father to tear himself away from the latest wrestling match, I was left to my own devices to find a halloween costume. I had construction paper and a box, and out sprung a great idea. I needed some electrical tape, and thus began my costume design night. Skipping ahead, I made myself a Rubik's Cube costume. But, I was nine and lacked the forsight to plan appropriate armholes. Yep, you guessed it - I cut the armholes on the sides of the box, instead of the front (which would have made trick or treating much easier). It's a funny story, but would it sell in a dysfunctional family movie? (Probably wouldn't warrant more than a one to two minute flashback).
Ooh, a picture of me at my high school awards night. Yep, dear ole dad was absent from that. Soccer pictures? Not even sure if my dad knows I ever played soccer. And here is where the blog turns into a whiny rant. Poor Sean. *sniffle* Allow me to wipe my ass with these memories. And then a picture that warrants a story . . .
The picture is of a 1979 Buick crashed through the back of a detached garage. It's my garage. It's taken from the backyard of my best friend (at age 5), Mark Vlodman. As the tangent comes in to this story, I have no idea what happened to Mark after I moved away at age 10. What is important is how the car crashed through the garage - and the tangents that go with it. When I was five, my mom didn't know how to drive. She couldn't take driver's ed in high school because my grandma believed that only sluts drove cars. My dad was actually employed at the time and had just been given a company car, the 1979 Buick. It was about to rain. My dad was mowing the lawn in the backyard, conveniently enough, behind the detached garage. My mom, not wanting to leave the car out in the rain, thought she would pull the car into the garage. Well, the accelerator apparently stuck and the car lurched through the back wall of the garage. The car crashed through and knocked my dad and the mower into the air. Yes, the mower missed his head and he lived. Mark and I were in the driveway (contemplating ways to improve the performance of our big wheels) and shouted with glee, "Do it again!" Tell me that Wes Anderson could have written a scene like that?
There are many other moments of dysfunction - like me, as an 8 year old, getting yelled for misplacing the tools that my father never used. "Gee Dad, I'm eight-fucking-years-old. What the fuck would I do with a crescent wrench?" Each one on its own warrants a small chuckle. Taken together, I sometimes wonder why I didn't consume mass amounts of sedatives, become an alcoholic, knock up the neighbor girl, and move right into a shack outside of town. I guess I could pen some novel of epic proportions and earn my way into a meeting with David Sedaris to write a play that would win many awards.
Fuck that, though. Dysfunction is more fun when you get to tell your friends about the time your dad tossed you into the kitchen wall because he had a bad day at work (re-employment happened frequently for my dad). Why put it on the big screen? Excuse me while I go write the postscript to all the characters in my little saga . . .
I Wanna Be Brett Scallions - October 10, 2006
For those of you who know me, a little or a lot, you know I love karaoke... Well, you know I love to sing... I would sing at the drop of a hat... You remember that show "Cop Rock?.. The one where they sang in the courtroom and all that?.... Sometimes, I think that would be cool..(and yes, then I realize how strange that would actually be, but fuck off anyways)..... So is all this singing talk going to get to some point?.. Who knows.
But, to start, a few weeks ago, I was rocking out at Cheerliters (not a spelling error), where everyone knows my name..... My friend Lauren was eyeing this scruffy looking guy (whom she said looked like the dead guy in Weekend at Bernie's), and I went up to sing "Hemorrhage" by Fuel... Look at my face - do you think I could rock out like Brett Scallions?.. Well, guess what?.... I can (but only Hemorrhage and Shimmer, because I fail at Bad Day). Now, scruffy Bernie-guy comes up to me after that song and explains to me that he has a band that needs a lead singer and he is going to bring his band in next week to hear me at karaoke (he did do that).....
So.."Bernie" and I talked for a bit and I didn't put any stock in the conversation... However, my imagination wandered and I thought about how much I missed performing... Nope, never had a real band... But I sang a lot, with show choir, and open mic nights at the Channing-Murray Center, and once on the street with a homeless guy at Christmas... Everyone has some secret desire that they never plan on acting on... Mine is to be rock star... Apparently, someone has other plans for me.
At my church, like at many other non-Catholic churches, we have a Praise Band, and seriously, they do rock... Pastor Kirk, upon the instruction of a member of my church who is now a sitting judge, invited me to sing during one of the services... Obviously, Fuel is not going be part of the liturgy, so who to sing?.. I found two bands that I can sing their songs and would not scare the congregation into revoking my membership... One is Jars of Clay, one of my all-time favorite bands (yes, I love this band)... The other is Run Kid Run (an edgier Christian Rock band)... Now, I am working on the songs, seeing if I can pull of playing the guitar (probably not, so thankfully Pastor Kirk can play)...
And then tonight, "Bernie" called and told me that his band is practicing this week... Cop Rock, here I come . . .
But, to start, a few weeks ago, I was rocking out at Cheerliters (not a spelling error), where everyone knows my name..... My friend Lauren was eyeing this scruffy looking guy (whom she said looked like the dead guy in Weekend at Bernie's), and I went up to sing "Hemorrhage" by Fuel... Look at my face - do you think I could rock out like Brett Scallions?.. Well, guess what?.... I can (but only Hemorrhage and Shimmer, because I fail at Bad Day). Now, scruffy Bernie-guy comes up to me after that song and explains to me that he has a band that needs a lead singer and he is going to bring his band in next week to hear me at karaoke (he did do that).....
So.."Bernie" and I talked for a bit and I didn't put any stock in the conversation... However, my imagination wandered and I thought about how much I missed performing... Nope, never had a real band... But I sang a lot, with show choir, and open mic nights at the Channing-Murray Center, and once on the street with a homeless guy at Christmas... Everyone has some secret desire that they never plan on acting on... Mine is to be rock star... Apparently, someone has other plans for me.
At my church, like at many other non-Catholic churches, we have a Praise Band, and seriously, they do rock... Pastor Kirk, upon the instruction of a member of my church who is now a sitting judge, invited me to sing during one of the services... Obviously, Fuel is not going be part of the liturgy, so who to sing?.. I found two bands that I can sing their songs and would not scare the congregation into revoking my membership... One is Jars of Clay, one of my all-time favorite bands (yes, I love this band)... The other is Run Kid Run (an edgier Christian Rock band)... Now, I am working on the songs, seeing if I can pull of playing the guitar (probably not, so thankfully Pastor Kirk can play)...
And then tonight, "Bernie" called and told me that his band is practicing this week... Cop Rock, here I come . . .
I was a Teenage Activist - September 22, 2006
Yesterday, I got a letter from Senator John McCain... Not the family Christmas letter I usually get, where John waxes poetic about the meaning of Christmas, especially the Christmases he spent in that Viet Cong prison camp... No, this letter was John's impassioned plea for my help in fighting global warming... It hit me, aside from the times I sent John a birthday card, this was the first time John Wayne McCain had talked about the environment with me... Talk about shell shocked . . . I felt like I had just left Saigon in 1973, as I read what..John wrote about the desolate, Waterworld-esque future that awaits us if global warming goes unchecked.
All that thinking made me remember my days in high school, where I would have affectionately been known as a causehead..... I was the founder of an environmental action club (hey, it was 1990 and the 20th Anniversary of Earth Day - I was hip with the timing too)... We did everything from saving a swamp behind our school to instituting a paper recycling program in our school to ridding the cafeteria of styrofoam... I mean, I took global warming, landfills, endangered species, oil dependence, and toxic chemicals very seriously.
And yes, I worked at the PADS shelter in my town, a shelter for homeless families and battered women... I didn't have any hang ups about getting dirty or any of that... It was just what we did as part of my church, so I did it... I had no desire for accolades or any of that - although we did get in the paper sometimes, which meant more donations for PADS... Cool?.. I thought so.
But there was one time in high school that I joined a cause I had no interest in... I joined the club because I was in love with a girl... This girl was into Amnesty International and she wanted to start a club at our high school... Sadly, she didn't have nearly enough members, so I offered my environmental club members, which gave her the numbers she needed... At 17, I could give a rat's ass about political prisoners in Papau New Guinea or genocide in Botswana... I did give a rat's ass about this girl... I was so hot for her that if she told me that there was oppression in Siberia, I would have gone to yell at someone... All I wanted was a kiss (which, for the record, I got months later at the Winter Wonderland dance)... So for months, I learned about the evils that governments do to people who speak out... And I didn't care... I was mesmorized by a blonde teenage girl with beautiful looks, nice breasts, and blue eyes.
What does this have to do with global warming?.. Does this mean I have a thing for John McCain?.. Well, I was just thinking about how much idealism I had at 17... And no, I admire Senator McCain because he speaks his mind, but he'll never compare to my Amnesty girl from 16 years ago... How bout that?
All that thinking made me remember my days in high school, where I would have affectionately been known as a causehead..... I was the founder of an environmental action club (hey, it was 1990 and the 20th Anniversary of Earth Day - I was hip with the timing too)... We did everything from saving a swamp behind our school to instituting a paper recycling program in our school to ridding the cafeteria of styrofoam... I mean, I took global warming, landfills, endangered species, oil dependence, and toxic chemicals very seriously.
And yes, I worked at the PADS shelter in my town, a shelter for homeless families and battered women... I didn't have any hang ups about getting dirty or any of that... It was just what we did as part of my church, so I did it... I had no desire for accolades or any of that - although we did get in the paper sometimes, which meant more donations for PADS... Cool?.. I thought so.
But there was one time in high school that I joined a cause I had no interest in... I joined the club because I was in love with a girl... This girl was into Amnesty International and she wanted to start a club at our high school... Sadly, she didn't have nearly enough members, so I offered my environmental club members, which gave her the numbers she needed... At 17, I could give a rat's ass about political prisoners in Papau New Guinea or genocide in Botswana... I did give a rat's ass about this girl... I was so hot for her that if she told me that there was oppression in Siberia, I would have gone to yell at someone... All I wanted was a kiss (which, for the record, I got months later at the Winter Wonderland dance)... So for months, I learned about the evils that governments do to people who speak out... And I didn't care... I was mesmorized by a blonde teenage girl with beautiful looks, nice breasts, and blue eyes.
What does this have to do with global warming?.. Does this mean I have a thing for John McCain?.. Well, I was just thinking about how much idealism I had at 17... And no, I admire Senator McCain because he speaks his mind, but he'll never compare to my Amnesty girl from 16 years ago... How bout that?
The First Cut is the Deepest - September 11, 2006
Okay, so part of the debate with adopting an infant is the snipping issue. If it's a girl, not issue. If it's a boy, should the baby be circumcised. Here is my answer - HELL NO!!!!
For those of you who don't know, human males are born with a foreskin that covers the tip of the penis. Originally, it can be assumed that the foreskin was there to protect the penis while we were walking around unclothed. So logically, now that we wear clothes, all excess protective skin should be removed. That's right, excess skin on the elbows? Trim it down because we wear clothes.
Now rest assured, I am not one of those people who believes that the kid will years later suffer the trauma of circumcision. That's not my reason. My reason is that circumcision is a barbaric practice. Look at the device used to strap the child down:
A Circumstraint
Now, look at the torture devices used to do the deed:
Why in the name of all that is decent would I do that to a child. Yes, the kid will probably not remember. But I will. And I won't do that.
"But Sean, your child won't be as clean." Excuse me? Can I not afford soap and washcloths? My child will be very clean. What are you telling me? That I should cut off any body part that is difficult to clean? Well, let's pull out the back teeth because it's hard to floss there. Sew that ass shut because that is not easy to clean. And what about the middle of your back? Jeez, that sounds awful. And more importantly, the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) states: "The uncircumcised penis is easy to keep clean. No special care is required."
"But Sean, everybody's doing it?" Really, as of 2003, around 60% of the newborn males in the United States are circumcised before discharge. In Canada, Australia, and England, the rate of circumcision is around 12%. And in New Zealand, it is less than 1%. And the rest of the world too. Since I am not Jewish, there is no religious reason to do so. "But Sean, the other boys will make fun of him," or "He won't look like his daddy." Number 1, I don't want my child hanging around with people who are only interested in his penis. Number 2, my child and I will not be comparing penises.
"You know, women won't like it." Well, first and foremost, I don't want my child dating any person who suddenly turns him away because of his penis. Those people are shallow and lame. If women are like that, then fine - I like nice firm breasts. All women should have barbaric, unnecessary surgery to please my aesthetics. Going back to not liking it. Smegma is the issue - the dead skin and bacteria that sometimes collect at the foreskin. Again - my child will be a clean child. So get over it.
"It's just not normal." Oh, so because we have mutilated children for hundreds of years, we should keep doing that. Okay, do you want me to use leeches to "bleed" the sickness out of me too? Should I go back to owning slaves? You tell me. Traditions are not always things to continue.
I will leave you with the American Association of Pediatricians, and their most recent policy statement on circumcision (1999):
Existing scientific evidence demonstrates potential medical benefits of newborn male circumcision; however, these data are not sufficient to recommend routine neonatal circumcision. In the case of circumcision, in which there are potential benefits and risks, yet the procedure is not essential to the child's current well-being, parents should determine what is in the best interest of the child.
For those of you who don't know, human males are born with a foreskin that covers the tip of the penis. Originally, it can be assumed that the foreskin was there to protect the penis while we were walking around unclothed. So logically, now that we wear clothes, all excess protective skin should be removed. That's right, excess skin on the elbows? Trim it down because we wear clothes.
Now rest assured, I am not one of those people who believes that the kid will years later suffer the trauma of circumcision. That's not my reason. My reason is that circumcision is a barbaric practice. Look at the device used to strap the child down:
A Circumstraint
Now, look at the torture devices used to do the deed:
Why in the name of all that is decent would I do that to a child. Yes, the kid will probably not remember. But I will. And I won't do that.
"But Sean, your child won't be as clean." Excuse me? Can I not afford soap and washcloths? My child will be very clean. What are you telling me? That I should cut off any body part that is difficult to clean? Well, let's pull out the back teeth because it's hard to floss there. Sew that ass shut because that is not easy to clean. And what about the middle of your back? Jeez, that sounds awful. And more importantly, the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) states: "The uncircumcised penis is easy to keep clean. No special care is required."
"But Sean, everybody's doing it?" Really, as of 2003, around 60% of the newborn males in the United States are circumcised before discharge. In Canada, Australia, and England, the rate of circumcision is around 12%. And in New Zealand, it is less than 1%. And the rest of the world too. Since I am not Jewish, there is no religious reason to do so. "But Sean, the other boys will make fun of him," or "He won't look like his daddy." Number 1, I don't want my child hanging around with people who are only interested in his penis. Number 2, my child and I will not be comparing penises.
"You know, women won't like it." Well, first and foremost, I don't want my child dating any person who suddenly turns him away because of his penis. Those people are shallow and lame. If women are like that, then fine - I like nice firm breasts. All women should have barbaric, unnecessary surgery to please my aesthetics. Going back to not liking it. Smegma is the issue - the dead skin and bacteria that sometimes collect at the foreskin. Again - my child will be a clean child. So get over it.
"It's just not normal." Oh, so because we have mutilated children for hundreds of years, we should keep doing that. Okay, do you want me to use leeches to "bleed" the sickness out of me too? Should I go back to owning slaves? You tell me. Traditions are not always things to continue.
I will leave you with the American Association of Pediatricians, and their most recent policy statement on circumcision (1999):
Existing scientific evidence demonstrates potential medical benefits of newborn male circumcision; however, these data are not sufficient to recommend routine neonatal circumcision. In the case of circumcision, in which there are potential benefits and risks, yet the procedure is not essential to the child's current well-being, parents should determine what is in the best interest of the child.
The Kids Are Alright - August 22, 2006
It seems that I hooked you all with the adoption story, so I have no choice but to continue blogging about this. That, and the adoption agency said I might want to create a record of the process so that I can share it with the kid when he or she is older. Ya right! I swear like a truck driver; do you think I am going to let the kid know that?
Okay, so I said I would talk about what kind of kid I want. I am not here to debate the concept of "buying a kid." But I will tell you that it is cool to think about just what kind of kid you want. So here goes . . .
I want a boy. Duh! I want to have a son, not to carry on my name, but because sons are cool. Daughters are fine too, but let's look at the drawbacks for a single father. Bra shopping - what the hell do I know about bras, except for how to remove them with one hand. Periods - yes, I know what they are and can explain them to a child. But, is a preteen/teen girl going to want to talk about womanly changes with her father? Hmm . . . but like all parents, if I have a daughter, I will learn to adapt. And learn how to shoot a shotgun (teen boys beware of trying to date my daughter). Anyways, a son is what I hope will happen. Cubs games, balsa wood airplanes, and all that. I love it.
Race and ethnicity is a big issue in adoptions. Obviously, I am best suited to have a caucasian kid. I am familiar with African-American culture, but it would kinda be like giving cultuaral Cliff's notes to the child. Could I handle a Hispanic or Asian kid? Yep. Just seems easier for me. I may come off as racist, but I am being honest.
Other than that, I hope for the same thing all parents hope for - a healthy kid with all the right appendages (not that any parent would hope for an unhealthy child). Could I cope with a deaf child? Could I work with a child suffering from drug addiction due to birthparent drug use? I believe I could, but I don't want that to happen.
So, that is the story of kid choice. Next time, I will tackle the interesting and odd subject of circumcision (no, really, I will . . .)
Okay, so I said I would talk about what kind of kid I want. I am not here to debate the concept of "buying a kid." But I will tell you that it is cool to think about just what kind of kid you want. So here goes . . .
I want a boy. Duh! I want to have a son, not to carry on my name, but because sons are cool. Daughters are fine too, but let's look at the drawbacks for a single father. Bra shopping - what the hell do I know about bras, except for how to remove them with one hand. Periods - yes, I know what they are and can explain them to a child. But, is a preteen/teen girl going to want to talk about womanly changes with her father? Hmm . . . but like all parents, if I have a daughter, I will learn to adapt. And learn how to shoot a shotgun (teen boys beware of trying to date my daughter). Anyways, a son is what I hope will happen. Cubs games, balsa wood airplanes, and all that. I love it.
Race and ethnicity is a big issue in adoptions. Obviously, I am best suited to have a caucasian kid. I am familiar with African-American culture, but it would kinda be like giving cultuaral Cliff's notes to the child. Could I handle a Hispanic or Asian kid? Yep. Just seems easier for me. I may come off as racist, but I am being honest.
Other than that, I hope for the same thing all parents hope for - a healthy kid with all the right appendages (not that any parent would hope for an unhealthy child). Could I cope with a deaf child? Could I work with a child suffering from drug addiction due to birthparent drug use? I believe I could, but I don't want that to happen.
So, that is the story of kid choice. Next time, I will tackle the interesting and odd subject of circumcision (no, really, I will . . .)
And Baby Makes Two - August 15, 2006
Holy shit dear readers . . . I am writing this Portland, Oregon. Why have I left the safety and sanity and security of the Midwest for the Northwest? Well, I have decided to adopt a kid. No, the kid is not here yet. No, I haven't foregone the idea of getting married - just not in a rush to figure that part of my life out yet.
Before I ruminate on the adoption, let me share some thoughts on Oregon and Oregonians. Driving in Portland is essentially the same as sex on the third date. You are anxious to see what's there, nothing goes right and the signs are confusing, but in the end, you kinda did it right and got where you needed to be. But in all seriousness, it sucks. Every street I saw was a one-way street in one driection or the other. The lights stay green for about 22 seconds. The speed (limit) is 25 just about everywhere. I say "limit" in parenthesis because the signs just read "speed."
The people in Portland are very nice. They talk just like Midwesterners, but they appear to be a little bit afraid of speaking too often. I think this is because they do not want to be confused with California, or maybe Seattle. There are a large number of "homeless" in Portland. Most are young and they beg for change. I tell them to fuck off because hey, I am trying to get a kid and need the money - and these lazy prats seem quite capable of doing any job. I mean, are there no record stores in Portland (surprisingly, I didn't see many record stores - an untapped market for these "homeless" youths).
So, about this kid. I am working with an open adoption agency in town. Open adoption means that the birth parent picks the adoptive parent and the adoptive parents and the birth parents maintain a relationship after the baby is born. I like that idea. Makes the kid know that he was chosen and that his or her birthmother chose the people to raise the kid. I have heard all the lines about being a single male who wants to adopt. Most of my friends have been very great to me about my decision. My mom is a tad against the idea. But, I am old enough not to need her approval and when the grandkid stares her in the eye, she'll melt like butter.
So, that is the beginning of the story. I will share my kid wishes (what kind of kid I want) next time.
Later gators!
Before I ruminate on the adoption, let me share some thoughts on Oregon and Oregonians. Driving in Portland is essentially the same as sex on the third date. You are anxious to see what's there, nothing goes right and the signs are confusing, but in the end, you kinda did it right and got where you needed to be. But in all seriousness, it sucks. Every street I saw was a one-way street in one driection or the other. The lights stay green for about 22 seconds. The speed (limit) is 25 just about everywhere. I say "limit" in parenthesis because the signs just read "speed."
The people in Portland are very nice. They talk just like Midwesterners, but they appear to be a little bit afraid of speaking too often. I think this is because they do not want to be confused with California, or maybe Seattle. There are a large number of "homeless" in Portland. Most are young and they beg for change. I tell them to fuck off because hey, I am trying to get a kid and need the money - and these lazy prats seem quite capable of doing any job. I mean, are there no record stores in Portland (surprisingly, I didn't see many record stores - an untapped market for these "homeless" youths).
So, about this kid. I am working with an open adoption agency in town. Open adoption means that the birth parent picks the adoptive parent and the adoptive parents and the birth parents maintain a relationship after the baby is born. I like that idea. Makes the kid know that he was chosen and that his or her birthmother chose the people to raise the kid. I have heard all the lines about being a single male who wants to adopt. Most of my friends have been very great to me about my decision. My mom is a tad against the idea. But, I am old enough not to need her approval and when the grandkid stares her in the eye, she'll melt like butter.
So, that is the beginning of the story. I will share my kid wishes (what kind of kid I want) next time.
Later gators!
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