The Mark of the Christian
Last Sunday, while my pastor was away, I again had the opportunity to teach. I always enjoy speaking to our congregation. However, I am also glad that my assistance is needed only now and again. While public speaking comes naturally (an occupational hazard no doubt) I am very conscious of my own personal failings and felt a bit out of place behind a pulpit. One of the stellar qualities of the Gospel, however, is that the truth is the truth is the truth (we call that a “trueism”). That is, regardless of my shortcoming as an Ambassador, God’s word is still God’s word. The truth of the message is not diluted simply because it is delivered by an imperfect man.
The topic of my message is the title of this blog, “The Mark of the Christian.” To give credit where credit is due, the late great Francis Schaeffer wrote a text by the same name. From that small book I outlined my address. In the event you wish to read the book in it’s entirety (it’ll take less than an hour) you can find it here --http://www.ccel.us/schaeffer.html.
In a nutshell, the scripture foundations are found in John 13:33-35 and John 17:21.
My children, I will be with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and just as I told the Jews, so I tell you now: Where I am going, you cannot come. A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."
And Jesus prays, "That all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me."
The idea is this: as the Samaritan loved the wounded man, we as Christians are called upon to love all men as neighbors, loving them as ourselves. We are also to love all true Christian brothers in a way that the world may observe. This means showing love to our brother in the midst of our differences — great or small — loving our brothers when it costs us something, loving them even under times of tremendous emotional tension, loving them in a way the world can see. In short, we are to practice and exhibit the holiness of God and the love of God, for without this we grieve the Holy Spirit.
Schaeffer continues -- In John 13 the point [is] that, if an individual Christian does not show love toward other true Christians, the world has a right to judge that he is not a Christian. [In John 17] Jesus is stating something else which is much more cutting, much more profound: We cannot expect the world to believe that the Father sent the Son, that Jesus' claims are true, and that Christianity is true, unless the world sees some reality of the oneness of true Christians.
Now that is frightening. Should we not feel some emotion at this point?
Food for thought to be sure. Read the book. Let it change your life. In this particular area, all of our lives need continual change in the direction of visible love.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Listening Again (Repost from Facebook)
Listening Again
After a few cups of coffee this morning (and some pancakes and bacon -- a Saturday morning ritual ‘round our home) I started on the laundry. Yes, that’s right, I help my wife with the clothes. I can fold and put ‘em up as well. Anyway, when I do the wash I listen to my iPod. Death Cab for Cutie has a new album to be released in a few days and I’ve got tickets to see them live in June. So...I’ve been listening to a lot of DCFC to “get in the mood.” I’ve listed here the lyrics to “Styrofoam Plates,” a song from the stellar and groundbreaking, “The Photo Album.”
There's a saltwater film on the jar of your ashes; I threw them to the sea,
but a gust blew them backwards and the sting in my eyes
that you then inflicted was par for the course just as when you were living.
It's no stretch to say you were not quite a father
but the donor of seeds to a poor, single mother that would raise us alone.
We never saw the money that went down your throat
through the hole in your belly.
Thirteen years old in the suburbs of Denver,
standing in line for Thanksgiving dinner at the Catholic church.
The servers wore crosses to shield from the sufferance plaguing the others.
Styrofoam plates, cafeteria tables,
charity reeks of cheap wine and pity and I'm thinking of you,
I do every year when we count all our blessings
and wonder what we're doing here.
You're a disgrace to the concept of family.
The priest won't divulge that fact in his homily
and I'll stand up and scream if the mourning remain quiet,
you can deck out a lie in a suit.
But I won't buy it.
I won't join the procession that's speaking their piece,
using five dollar words while praising his integrity.
Just 'cause he's gone, it doesn't change that fact:
he was bastard in life, thus a bastard in death yeah.
Wow. That’s articulate. That’s bitter. That hurts. Now, I know that this is not an autobiographical song; I’ve heard Ben Gibbard, the songwriter, say so. But I also know that it is biographical; that he wrote it based on the true events of the life of a friend. His friend had recently attended the funeral of his father and conveyed his feelings regarding his father, his funeral and his abandonment to Gibbard. This song was the result of that conversation.
I have two boys. They are here with me now watching “Ice Age 2: The Meltdown” and eating microwave popcorn. Earlier today we spent some time on the skateboard (my wife, in what may only be described as understatement, asked, “Do you think that it’s very smart for a 39 year old man responsible to provide for a family to be doing tricks on a skateboard?”) I can’t imagine walking away; never returning. To be described by my sons at the end of my days as a, “bastard in life, thus a bastard in death.” That stings. But I see it all the time. Hang around a courthouse long enough and you’ll see it too.
As I age I begin to understand more the complexity of adult relationships. I understand (though I do not always condone) the reasons why adult relationships fail and why divorce happens. It’s always ugly; it always hurts. But sometimes it’s necessary. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.
What I don’t understand is how any parent could walk away from his or her child, that life which they brought in to this world. That precious gift entrusted to a mother and a father. That life, and soul and spirit. It is beyond comprehension or excuse. And it reminds me that the Bible instructs that we are not to provoke our children to wrath. And that, should we lead our children astray, the Lord instructs that our fate is akin to having a millstone tied around our neck just prior to being thrown in to the ocean. Sounds about right. In this case the punishment seems to fit the crime.
The song got my attention. More directly, the lyrics got my attention. I figured out a long time ago that I can learn at least as much from negative example as I can from the positive. I’m looking for something more in a eulogy. In order to get that later, I need to give more now.
After a few cups of coffee this morning (and some pancakes and bacon -- a Saturday morning ritual ‘round our home) I started on the laundry. Yes, that’s right, I help my wife with the clothes. I can fold and put ‘em up as well. Anyway, when I do the wash I listen to my iPod. Death Cab for Cutie has a new album to be released in a few days and I’ve got tickets to see them live in June. So...I’ve been listening to a lot of DCFC to “get in the mood.” I’ve listed here the lyrics to “Styrofoam Plates,” a song from the stellar and groundbreaking, “The Photo Album.”
There's a saltwater film on the jar of your ashes; I threw them to the sea,
but a gust blew them backwards and the sting in my eyes
that you then inflicted was par for the course just as when you were living.
It's no stretch to say you were not quite a father
but the donor of seeds to a poor, single mother that would raise us alone.
We never saw the money that went down your throat
through the hole in your belly.
Thirteen years old in the suburbs of Denver,
standing in line for Thanksgiving dinner at the Catholic church.
The servers wore crosses to shield from the sufferance plaguing the others.
Styrofoam plates, cafeteria tables,
charity reeks of cheap wine and pity and I'm thinking of you,
I do every year when we count all our blessings
and wonder what we're doing here.
You're a disgrace to the concept of family.
The priest won't divulge that fact in his homily
and I'll stand up and scream if the mourning remain quiet,
you can deck out a lie in a suit.
But I won't buy it.
I won't join the procession that's speaking their piece,
using five dollar words while praising his integrity.
Just 'cause he's gone, it doesn't change that fact:
he was bastard in life, thus a bastard in death yeah.
Wow. That’s articulate. That’s bitter. That hurts. Now, I know that this is not an autobiographical song; I’ve heard Ben Gibbard, the songwriter, say so. But I also know that it is biographical; that he wrote it based on the true events of the life of a friend. His friend had recently attended the funeral of his father and conveyed his feelings regarding his father, his funeral and his abandonment to Gibbard. This song was the result of that conversation.
I have two boys. They are here with me now watching “Ice Age 2: The Meltdown” and eating microwave popcorn. Earlier today we spent some time on the skateboard (my wife, in what may only be described as understatement, asked, “Do you think that it’s very smart for a 39 year old man responsible to provide for a family to be doing tricks on a skateboard?”) I can’t imagine walking away; never returning. To be described by my sons at the end of my days as a, “bastard in life, thus a bastard in death.” That stings. But I see it all the time. Hang around a courthouse long enough and you’ll see it too.
As I age I begin to understand more the complexity of adult relationships. I understand (though I do not always condone) the reasons why adult relationships fail and why divorce happens. It’s always ugly; it always hurts. But sometimes it’s necessary. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.
What I don’t understand is how any parent could walk away from his or her child, that life which they brought in to this world. That precious gift entrusted to a mother and a father. That life, and soul and spirit. It is beyond comprehension or excuse. And it reminds me that the Bible instructs that we are not to provoke our children to wrath. And that, should we lead our children astray, the Lord instructs that our fate is akin to having a millstone tied around our neck just prior to being thrown in to the ocean. Sounds about right. In this case the punishment seems to fit the crime.
The song got my attention. More directly, the lyrics got my attention. I figured out a long time ago that I can learn at least as much from negative example as I can from the positive. I’m looking for something more in a eulogy. In order to get that later, I need to give more now.
Green Eggs & Ham (Repost from Facebook)
Something to Think About
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what are my real objectives. You know, what do I really want. If I could do anything what would that be. What is important about what I do; what matters. Perhaps some of this line of thought has been encouraged by my recent reading of Euguene Petterson’s “The Jesus Way.” Regardless, here’s what I’ve come up with -- the only calling, the only real goal, the only objective in life is, essentially, that God be glorified in and through my life. That I bring Glory to God. Now, the means and the methods might change; the geography might change; the surroundings may change; and the cast of characters may change. But the objective is fixed. The song remains the same, so to speak. Glorify God. Whether I am here or there (in a box, with a fox, in the rain, on a train...) I am called to one calling -- Glorify God. It’s there in the scriptures, all over the place; just takes a while for it to sink in and be absorbed. And, yes, I do think there is a lesson in that bit from “Green Eggs and Ham,” by Dr. Seuss. I’ve not put it all together yet, but it might go something like this -- regardless of the circumstances, surroundings, distractions or the rest, I should remember that green eggs and ham (or in this case, the Glory of God) is the point of focus. Not the house, the mouse, the boat or the goat. At the end of the day, perhaps we can proclaim together that we do, in fact, like green eggs and ham! I do like them, Sam I Am.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what are my real objectives. You know, what do I really want. If I could do anything what would that be. What is important about what I do; what matters. Perhaps some of this line of thought has been encouraged by my recent reading of Euguene Petterson’s “The Jesus Way.” Regardless, here’s what I’ve come up with -- the only calling, the only real goal, the only objective in life is, essentially, that God be glorified in and through my life. That I bring Glory to God. Now, the means and the methods might change; the geography might change; the surroundings may change; and the cast of characters may change. But the objective is fixed. The song remains the same, so to speak. Glorify God. Whether I am here or there (in a box, with a fox, in the rain, on a train...) I am called to one calling -- Glorify God. It’s there in the scriptures, all over the place; just takes a while for it to sink in and be absorbed. And, yes, I do think there is a lesson in that bit from “Green Eggs and Ham,” by Dr. Seuss. I’ve not put it all together yet, but it might go something like this -- regardless of the circumstances, surroundings, distractions or the rest, I should remember that green eggs and ham (or in this case, the Glory of God) is the point of focus. Not the house, the mouse, the boat or the goat. At the end of the day, perhaps we can proclaim together that we do, in fact, like green eggs and ham! I do like them, Sam I Am.
Chasing God (Repost from Facebook)
Chasing God
The second message I gave while my pastor and his family were away is entitled “Chasing God.” Here’s the overview:
Every day we are presented with opportunities. Geographic, financial, emotional, relational, etc. Every day. Countless options and opportunities. Those choices, however, only have value when they are viewed in the context of something greater -- God. That is, opportunities are only worth pursuing when they are occasioned within our pursuit of God. We were designed by God to pursue Him. He is worth pursuing. And He has determined Himself to be caught as we chase. We are to seek first our Lord; the remaining matters will be provided in their proper time, place and context. Our instructions in both Matthew and James provide that we are to not to place any other (fill in the blank as appropriate to you) between God and ourselves. It hard to digest, but it’s not about us. It’s about God’s glory not our plans. What we need, and God knows what we need, is provided to us as we chase God. He is the end, not that opportunity or person or place or financial freedom or job relocation or child or ... You get the point. We were created to pursue Him. Why? Because He knows who He is! He knows that there is nothing better, more pure, more perfect, more generous or gracious or merciful after which to chase. What else could He have given us to pursue? What other would have been more appropriate or in our better interests? Nothing; only Him. Chase Him -- He is determined to be caught. My challenge to you in to make sure that what you are chasing is worth catching. I’ll submit that there is only One who is best to chase.
Again, don’t take my word for it, check the scriptures. Mark 8:36-37; Matthew 6:19-34; James 4:13-15; Romans 11:36; Colossians 1:16; Isaiah 43:6-7; I Corinthians 10:31; Matthew 22:37; Isaiah 46:9-10; and Deuteronomy 4:29.
The second message I gave while my pastor and his family were away is entitled “Chasing God.” Here’s the overview:
Every day we are presented with opportunities. Geographic, financial, emotional, relational, etc. Every day. Countless options and opportunities. Those choices, however, only have value when they are viewed in the context of something greater -- God. That is, opportunities are only worth pursuing when they are occasioned within our pursuit of God. We were designed by God to pursue Him. He is worth pursuing. And He has determined Himself to be caught as we chase. We are to seek first our Lord; the remaining matters will be provided in their proper time, place and context. Our instructions in both Matthew and James provide that we are to not to place any other (fill in the blank as appropriate to you) between God and ourselves. It hard to digest, but it’s not about us. It’s about God’s glory not our plans. What we need, and God knows what we need, is provided to us as we chase God. He is the end, not that opportunity or person or place or financial freedom or job relocation or child or ... You get the point. We were created to pursue Him. Why? Because He knows who He is! He knows that there is nothing better, more pure, more perfect, more generous or gracious or merciful after which to chase. What else could He have given us to pursue? What other would have been more appropriate or in our better interests? Nothing; only Him. Chase Him -- He is determined to be caught. My challenge to you in to make sure that what you are chasing is worth catching. I’ll submit that there is only One who is best to chase.
Again, don’t take my word for it, check the scriptures. Mark 8:36-37; Matthew 6:19-34; James 4:13-15; Romans 11:36; Colossians 1:16; Isaiah 43:6-7; I Corinthians 10:31; Matthew 22:37; Isaiah 46:9-10; and Deuteronomy 4:29.
How I Saved Bod Dylan's Life (Repost from Facebook)
For those of you who can't wait for the I-promise-I-Am-Not-Making-This-Up true story of how my family and I saved Bob Dylan from certain catastrophe, skip to the end and read the shocking but unembellished you-can't-make-this-up story. For those of you interested in something of a concert review, start here:
My Dad has been a Bob Dylan fan my entire life. In fact, my Dad was a Dylan fan before I was born. I had no choice. My fate was sealed. Saturday morning listening "sessions" with Dad only solidified what was inevitable. And so, for Father's Day this year, Amanda and I bought my Dad a ticket to see Bob Dylan @ Mesker Amphitheater in Evansville, IN. Naturally, my bride and I were going to tag along. It just seemed right. Wouldn't want him to go alone, you know.
Mesker is a fairly dated outdoor Amphitheater, but in decent repair. There is nothing stellar about the setting, but nothing bothersome either. Kind of non de-script. Always the consummate professional, Bob Dylan and his band of cracker jack musicians took the stage shortly after the announced start time and proceeded to bang out the following set list:
1. Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat (Bob on guitar)
2. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue (Bob on keyboard)
3. I'll Be Your Baby Tonight (Bob on keyboard)
4. A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall (Bob on keyboard)
5. Rollin' And Tumblin' (Bob on keyboard)
6. Not Dark Yet (Bob on keyboard)
7. Summer Days (Bob on keyboard)
8. I Believe In You (Bob on keyboard)
9. It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) (Bob on keyboard)
10. Beyond The Horizon (Bob on keyboard)
11. Highway 61 Revisited (Bob on keyboard)
12. Blind Willie McTell (Bob on keyboard)
13. I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met) (Bob on keyboard)
14. Nettie Moore (Bob on keyboard)
15. Thunder On The Mountain (Bob on keyboard)
(encore)
16. Like A Rolling Stone (Bob on keyboard)
17. All Along The Watchtower (Bob on keyboard)
The entirety of the show was just under 2 hours. Dylan, who was clearly enjoying himself, has almost no voice left. Even favorite live tunes like Highway 61 Revisited were barked or talked rather than sang. From a vocal standpoint, there was not much to enjoy. The fact that a 68 year old icon, however, was still willing to take the stage to entertain fans with the soundtrack to their lives was impressive. Professional. Enjoyable. And the band! The band seemed lifted from the best Nashville sessions and studios and dropped in to Dylan's back pocket. Tight is an understatement. I've posted a youtube video of "I Don't Believe You." It's worth watching.
Amanda and I had fun. My Dad had even more fun. That was the best reward of the evening. It could very well be our last Dylan show. Who knows how long he plans to tour ... or how long his body will allow him to do so. He played guitar on only one song. Through binoculars it was obvious that his hands are swollen and that he suffers from arthritis or tendentious or both. We're all glad we had the opportunity for one more show.
And now for the Main Event ...
On the way home from Evansville, we passed Dylans' tour busses just north of the 41/66 split. For fun, we pulled over and honked at them. That's right, we're all juveniles! Anyway, shortly after passing them again, we noticed an obviously intoxicated driver about 200 yards in front of us. She was weaving in and out of traffic, in and out of the two North bound lanes, and on and off the median area. When she came to a stop at the next light, she almost hit the car in front of her and just about hit her own head on the steering wheel! At one point she actually hit a road marker as she swerved from the right lane on to the shoulder. We called 911. We wanted to protect Dylan. Was he aware of the possible danger? We had misplaced his cell phone number so we needed to formulate a plan immediately! No time to think; it's time to act!!!
As we followed our little drunk monkey, we turned on our bright lights as well as the hazzard "blinkers." Yeah, that's right -- perhaps she would think we were a squad car and pull over. No such luck. She slowed and we pulled in front of her forcing the Malibu to the right shoulder. As my Dad got out of the car, she was back on the highway, engaging in her own brand of catch me if you can. Kind of like a Tom Petty song; the escaping woman always a reoccurring theme. Only here she was going to kill someone. Herself or another. Couldn't keep the car on the road and it was getting worse.
And what was "The Bob" and his merry band of misfits doing as we played police? They acknowledged our efforts, dropped back a safe distance from Miss Inebriation, and put on their own bright lights! No less than a heartfelt, "Thank you -- We understand you are protecting us and are not actually crazy people yourself -- Get her because the police obviously will not respond to your three 911 calls" from the poet laureate of rock -n- roll himself.
So, with Bob's de facto encouragement, we kept the chase alive -- all the way to the I64 interchange where she mistakenly made a right exit into the parking lot of the local Amish Restaurant. Honey, that ain't the Interstate exit; that's the next one with all the big signs. Can't miss it -- unless you're drunk. Now, as this particular parking lot is less than a mile from the local State Police Post we felt that one more 911 call might be in order. Perhaps they could respond by driving from their parking lot the the one just up the street. To our immediate surprise, they did. Three of 'em. Slow night. Just like their response. When I walked to the car of the first officer to respond, I was greeted by a patrolman friend of mine from Court! Go get her boys! We pointed her out and soon enough they had pulled her over, flashing lights and all. Not before she tried to leave, not before she resisted, but they did get her pulled over and out of the car. Bob was safe. We were tired. But justice had been served. With a sense of well being, knowing we had saved Dylan and his crew from certain disaster, we proceeded home.
And that's the true story of how my family saved the life of Bob Dylan. We're heroes!
My Dad has been a Bob Dylan fan my entire life. In fact, my Dad was a Dylan fan before I was born. I had no choice. My fate was sealed. Saturday morning listening "sessions" with Dad only solidified what was inevitable. And so, for Father's Day this year, Amanda and I bought my Dad a ticket to see Bob Dylan @ Mesker Amphitheater in Evansville, IN. Naturally, my bride and I were going to tag along. It just seemed right. Wouldn't want him to go alone, you know.
Mesker is a fairly dated outdoor Amphitheater, but in decent repair. There is nothing stellar about the setting, but nothing bothersome either. Kind of non de-script. Always the consummate professional, Bob Dylan and his band of cracker jack musicians took the stage shortly after the announced start time and proceeded to bang out the following set list:
1. Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat (Bob on guitar)
2. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue (Bob on keyboard)
3. I'll Be Your Baby Tonight (Bob on keyboard)
4. A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall (Bob on keyboard)
5. Rollin' And Tumblin' (Bob on keyboard)
6. Not Dark Yet (Bob on keyboard)
7. Summer Days (Bob on keyboard)
8. I Believe In You (Bob on keyboard)
9. It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) (Bob on keyboard)
10. Beyond The Horizon (Bob on keyboard)
11. Highway 61 Revisited (Bob on keyboard)
12. Blind Willie McTell (Bob on keyboard)
13. I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met) (Bob on keyboard)
14. Nettie Moore (Bob on keyboard)
15. Thunder On The Mountain (Bob on keyboard)
(encore)
16. Like A Rolling Stone (Bob on keyboard)
17. All Along The Watchtower (Bob on keyboard)
The entirety of the show was just under 2 hours. Dylan, who was clearly enjoying himself, has almost no voice left. Even favorite live tunes like Highway 61 Revisited were barked or talked rather than sang. From a vocal standpoint, there was not much to enjoy. The fact that a 68 year old icon, however, was still willing to take the stage to entertain fans with the soundtrack to their lives was impressive. Professional. Enjoyable. And the band! The band seemed lifted from the best Nashville sessions and studios and dropped in to Dylan's back pocket. Tight is an understatement. I've posted a youtube video of "I Don't Believe You." It's worth watching.
Amanda and I had fun. My Dad had even more fun. That was the best reward of the evening. It could very well be our last Dylan show. Who knows how long he plans to tour ... or how long his body will allow him to do so. He played guitar on only one song. Through binoculars it was obvious that his hands are swollen and that he suffers from arthritis or tendentious or both. We're all glad we had the opportunity for one more show.
And now for the Main Event ...
On the way home from Evansville, we passed Dylans' tour busses just north of the 41/66 split. For fun, we pulled over and honked at them. That's right, we're all juveniles! Anyway, shortly after passing them again, we noticed an obviously intoxicated driver about 200 yards in front of us. She was weaving in and out of traffic, in and out of the two North bound lanes, and on and off the median area. When she came to a stop at the next light, she almost hit the car in front of her and just about hit her own head on the steering wheel! At one point she actually hit a road marker as she swerved from the right lane on to the shoulder. We called 911. We wanted to protect Dylan. Was he aware of the possible danger? We had misplaced his cell phone number so we needed to formulate a plan immediately! No time to think; it's time to act!!!
As we followed our little drunk monkey, we turned on our bright lights as well as the hazzard "blinkers." Yeah, that's right -- perhaps she would think we were a squad car and pull over. No such luck. She slowed and we pulled in front of her forcing the Malibu to the right shoulder. As my Dad got out of the car, she was back on the highway, engaging in her own brand of catch me if you can. Kind of like a Tom Petty song; the escaping woman always a reoccurring theme. Only here she was going to kill someone. Herself or another. Couldn't keep the car on the road and it was getting worse.
And what was "The Bob" and his merry band of misfits doing as we played police? They acknowledged our efforts, dropped back a safe distance from Miss Inebriation, and put on their own bright lights! No less than a heartfelt, "Thank you -- We understand you are protecting us and are not actually crazy people yourself -- Get her because the police obviously will not respond to your three 911 calls" from the poet laureate of rock -n- roll himself.
So, with Bob's de facto encouragement, we kept the chase alive -- all the way to the I64 interchange where she mistakenly made a right exit into the parking lot of the local Amish Restaurant. Honey, that ain't the Interstate exit; that's the next one with all the big signs. Can't miss it -- unless you're drunk. Now, as this particular parking lot is less than a mile from the local State Police Post we felt that one more 911 call might be in order. Perhaps they could respond by driving from their parking lot the the one just up the street. To our immediate surprise, they did. Three of 'em. Slow night. Just like their response. When I walked to the car of the first officer to respond, I was greeted by a patrolman friend of mine from Court! Go get her boys! We pointed her out and soon enough they had pulled her over, flashing lights and all. Not before she tried to leave, not before she resisted, but they did get her pulled over and out of the car. Bob was safe. We were tired. But justice had been served. With a sense of well being, knowing we had saved Dylan and his crew from certain disaster, we proceeded home.
And that's the true story of how my family saved the life of Bob Dylan. We're heroes!
Friendship (Repost from Facebook)
Nothing fancy about that title. Doesn't leave much room for misinterpretation of the subject matter. Just friendship. I haven't written for quite a while. There's probably not much point in writing when you have nothing to say. (Although Seinfeld did have a great run @ a show about "nothing.") Nothing to say either to another or to yourself. But that's kind of where I've been for the better part of the summer. Perhaps it's the onset of cool early mornings or the daylight retreating to its proper parameter but it seems that Autumnal feelings are arriving early this year. I first notice the inviting evenings; I next notice the shift on my iPod. Ryan Adams, Over the Rhine, Jack Johnson and Josh Ritter have won the day. I can see the Jayhawks conversing with Wilco on the horizon. Yeah, Fall will be here soon. And so, in that fertile earth I've been thinking about friendship. It's a reoccurring theme in our home, but only because it matters. Probably more than we acknowledge. All of us.
In Court last week a few of my colleagues, the Judge and I were discussing certain changes that had occurred in the practice of law over the last decades. As I think about it, I can't remember how many of us were participating in the conversation. But I do recall one older gent making the point that friendship and civility played a much lesser role in the modern practice of law. There was a time, not too long ago, where the consequences of inappropriate behavior were tempered by the out of Court friendships of the lawyers. That is, the non-professional friendship kept the professional aggression and competitiveness in its proper place and perspective. That is not to say that the representation of clients suffered. Quite the contrary.
I have a friend who has recently moved his family to North Dakota. We miss them. We won't see them for a year.
I have a friend who is getting divorced. It's complicated. They always are. Adult relationships some times get messy and people get hurt. He and his wife are both good people and good parents. I hope they both find joy.
I have a friend who no longer calls me one. He has removed me from his facebook "friend" list.
I have a friend with whom I will soon be spending a "race weekend" in Chicago. We do it every year. He plays guitar in our band. He is indeed my com-padre.
So, I've been thinking a lot about friends and what it means to be one. And to have one. And why it matters. I've been trying to distill why I've been mussing along these lines and what it is that I wish to convey in this note. Here's the heart of it: I think friends matter, among other reasons, because they take us outside of ourselves and provide the opportunity for us to prove our humanity. They offer, for each of us, an invitation to selflessness as opposed to our natural inclination toward selfishness. That's a rich offer indeed.
As for me, I like that old song by the Band, "Rocking Chair:"
Hang around, Willie Boy,
Don't you raise the sails anymore.
It's for sure, that I've spent my whole life at sea,
And I'm pushin' age seventy three,
And there's only one place that was meant for me.
Oh, to be home again,
Down in old Virginny,
With my very best friend.
They call him Ragtime Willie.
We're gonna soothe away the rest of our years.
We're gonna put away all of our tears.
That big rockin' chair won't go nowhere.
On the porch with my friends as I watch the sun set on my days. My bride by my side and our home full of family, friends and neighbors. That's just the way it should be. Just like a Norman Rockwell print. I'll make sure that I invest what I need today to ensure that I have that rich friendship dividend pay off later...
In Court last week a few of my colleagues, the Judge and I were discussing certain changes that had occurred in the practice of law over the last decades. As I think about it, I can't remember how many of us were participating in the conversation. But I do recall one older gent making the point that friendship and civility played a much lesser role in the modern practice of law. There was a time, not too long ago, where the consequences of inappropriate behavior were tempered by the out of Court friendships of the lawyers. That is, the non-professional friendship kept the professional aggression and competitiveness in its proper place and perspective. That is not to say that the representation of clients suffered. Quite the contrary.
I have a friend who has recently moved his family to North Dakota. We miss them. We won't see them for a year.
I have a friend who is getting divorced. It's complicated. They always are. Adult relationships some times get messy and people get hurt. He and his wife are both good people and good parents. I hope they both find joy.
I have a friend who no longer calls me one. He has removed me from his facebook "friend" list.
I have a friend with whom I will soon be spending a "race weekend" in Chicago. We do it every year. He plays guitar in our band. He is indeed my com-padre.
So, I've been thinking a lot about friends and what it means to be one. And to have one. And why it matters. I've been trying to distill why I've been mussing along these lines and what it is that I wish to convey in this note. Here's the heart of it: I think friends matter, among other reasons, because they take us outside of ourselves and provide the opportunity for us to prove our humanity. They offer, for each of us, an invitation to selflessness as opposed to our natural inclination toward selfishness. That's a rich offer indeed.
As for me, I like that old song by the Band, "Rocking Chair:"
Hang around, Willie Boy,
Don't you raise the sails anymore.
It's for sure, that I've spent my whole life at sea,
And I'm pushin' age seventy three,
And there's only one place that was meant for me.
Oh, to be home again,
Down in old Virginny,
With my very best friend.
They call him Ragtime Willie.
We're gonna soothe away the rest of our years.
We're gonna put away all of our tears.
That big rockin' chair won't go nowhere.
On the porch with my friends as I watch the sun set on my days. My bride by my side and our home full of family, friends and neighbors. That's just the way it should be. Just like a Norman Rockwell print. I'll make sure that I invest what I need today to ensure that I have that rich friendship dividend pay off later...
A Million Specifics (Repost from Facebook)
This morning I had the opportunity to teach at Harvest, the church my family and I have begun attending in Washington, IN. About two weeks ago my friend Mo Brennaman asked if I'd be willing to cover in his absence. While I doubt that I'll ever voluntarily run after the pulpit, I also suspect that I'll never decline the chance. It seems something that should be accepted with humility as opposed to rejected out of hand. Certainly, I was honored, humbled and more than a bit conscious of my own daily shortcomings.
After a week of observing illustrations in my own life and in the lives of my friends, I chose a text from Matthew 17:22-27. Here's the general idea -- every day our Father shows His love for us in a million specific ways. Hence the title. That is: can you imagine attempting to write a software program that moves an unfathomable number of dynamic details, willing and unwilling, in to the proper position so that your best interests are realized on any given day. Now, how about writing that program so that it happens more than once. How about ensuring that it happens on multiple occasions each day, day in and day out. And now try to manage not for one individual but for millions of folks. You can't; but He can. Read the text and try to imagine how many details were moved and for how long to ensure that the right fish was on the right line for the right person at the right time.
So here's the point: God loves you. Not something you haven't heard before. Nothing remarkably profound about reiterating that lesson (although God's love for you is pretty much the definition of "profound.") But here's what is behind the point -- God loves you specifically. He loves YOU specifically; and He loves you in a SPECIFIC way. Because you are an individual. And because he is your Father. And because you are his child. If you have children, think about the specifics of your love for them. Think of the actions you take to individually reiterate your love. If you have a significant other, think of the same. Now think about it in the sense that God is your Father and/or (in the truest sense of the word) your significant other. And while you're at it, check out my thesis against these verses: Matthew 28:20, John 3:16, Matthew 6:8, Isaiah 65:24 and Jeremiah 1:5. God loves you, specifically you, as an individual you, and shows it in a million specific ways every day.
Which begs the question: if in fact what I am proposing is true and accurate and correct, how should you and I respond?
After a week of observing illustrations in my own life and in the lives of my friends, I chose a text from Matthew 17:22-27. Here's the general idea -- every day our Father shows His love for us in a million specific ways. Hence the title. That is: can you imagine attempting to write a software program that moves an unfathomable number of dynamic details, willing and unwilling, in to the proper position so that your best interests are realized on any given day. Now, how about writing that program so that it happens more than once. How about ensuring that it happens on multiple occasions each day, day in and day out. And now try to manage not for one individual but for millions of folks. You can't; but He can. Read the text and try to imagine how many details were moved and for how long to ensure that the right fish was on the right line for the right person at the right time.
So here's the point: God loves you. Not something you haven't heard before. Nothing remarkably profound about reiterating that lesson (although God's love for you is pretty much the definition of "profound.") But here's what is behind the point -- God loves you specifically. He loves YOU specifically; and He loves you in a SPECIFIC way. Because you are an individual. And because he is your Father. And because you are his child. If you have children, think about the specifics of your love for them. Think of the actions you take to individually reiterate your love. If you have a significant other, think of the same. Now think about it in the sense that God is your Father and/or (in the truest sense of the word) your significant other. And while you're at it, check out my thesis against these verses: Matthew 28:20, John 3:16, Matthew 6:8, Isaiah 65:24 and Jeremiah 1:5. God loves you, specifically you, as an individual you, and shows it in a million specific ways every day.
Which begs the question: if in fact what I am proposing is true and accurate and correct, how should you and I respond?
Saturday Afternoon Quarterbacking (Starbucks Cups, Part 2)[Repost from Facebook]
I love Saturday afternoons with the lawn mower. It's the weekend afternoon equivalent of standing before the mirror each work day and shaving. Such random and unconnected thoughts. Such mental free time. Such absolute nonsense that travels at the speed of light through the cobwebby corners of my brain. You can't pay for therapy this good.
What is especially golden (and remember that Robert Frost once stated that, "Nothing gold can stay") is the occasional message in a bottle that is tossed to shore by the waves of nonthingness. Those are the thoughts that stick with me through the clean up, trash bags and weed eating after the lawn is done.
Last night my wife and I had a cup of coffee at Starbucks. We were visiting with friends. (My astute readers will remember my earlier note on Starbucks' cup philosophies...) And, yes, on the back of the paper cup holding my velvety goodness of dopio espresso was the wisdom of that sage of the age, that poet laureate of our time, Ben Kweller. Who? Exactly. You can check him out on iTunes or google him, but you'll find that he is a not so impressive young man who has had the occasional well written song on a number of soon to be forgotten albums. And what did he have to say? What wisdom did he descend from the mountain to impart? What truth for living did he want to provide on the butt-side of your coffee cup? Nothing less than this gem: "In the end we are all the same." Really?! That's it? Really Ben? You couldn't come up with anything better for the nations best purveyor of caffeinated confections? That's the best you could do? Sad.
Now I have about one hundred problems with Mr. Kweller's life philosophy, the way he "sees it." But since you have limited time and attention and I have other things to do, I'll elaborate on exactly three:
(1) Society disagrees with Kweller;
(2) The law disagrees with Kweller; and
(3) God disagrees with Kweller.
Can anyone seriously advance the argument that history and society remember Adolph Hitler and Ronald Reagan as equals? That somehow, after polar opposite lives, they were "the same in the end?" That they made an equally beneficial contribution to the world as a whole? How ridiculous. How about Mozart and Stalin? Or your mother and OJ Simpson. Of course not. In the end, society, as part of the process of historical recollection, will pass their own judgment on who is worth remembering and for what reason. There is no process of equalization and some go down (as the Beach Boys once sang) as "Heroes and Villains."
My friend, Jeff Neal, practices quite a bit of criminal law -- much more so than I do. I think I'll suggest to him that he use Kweller's line the next time he defends a rapist, a child molester or someone alleged to have been manufacturing meth-amphetamine. I can hear Neal's closing argument ringing through the rafters of the Courthouse attic -- "Judge, in the end we are all the same. Therefore, it only stands to reason that because we are one in the end, my client should not be punished in the here and now. We're all the same. As such, we should either *all* be punished or *all* shown mercy." I'm guessing I already know how such an argument would fly. In a nutshell, the law disagrees. We are not all the moral equivalent of murderers in the end. Only those who murder are murderers. We are not all the ethical end of the thief at the end of our days. Only those who stole are thieves and robbers. Quite the contrary, those who are to be punished will be punished for who they are based upon their provable actions. The rest of us are not saddled with the labels justifiably attached to others.
Finally, scripture indicates that the God who breathed creation in to life disagrees with Guru Ben. A few of the verses that would indicate that God just scored on Kweller:
And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life. -- John 5:29
For you render to each one according to his works. -- Psalm 62:12
I the Lord ... give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings. -- Jeremiah 17:10
When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness ... and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul. -- Ezekiel 18:27
For the Son of Man will come in the glory of His Father with His angels, and then He will reward each according to his works. Matthew 16.27
Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. -- Matthew 25:34-36
Case closed. Kweller lost.
What is especially golden (and remember that Robert Frost once stated that, "Nothing gold can stay") is the occasional message in a bottle that is tossed to shore by the waves of nonthingness. Those are the thoughts that stick with me through the clean up, trash bags and weed eating after the lawn is done.
Last night my wife and I had a cup of coffee at Starbucks. We were visiting with friends. (My astute readers will remember my earlier note on Starbucks' cup philosophies...) And, yes, on the back of the paper cup holding my velvety goodness of dopio espresso was the wisdom of that sage of the age, that poet laureate of our time, Ben Kweller. Who? Exactly. You can check him out on iTunes or google him, but you'll find that he is a not so impressive young man who has had the occasional well written song on a number of soon to be forgotten albums. And what did he have to say? What wisdom did he descend from the mountain to impart? What truth for living did he want to provide on the butt-side of your coffee cup? Nothing less than this gem: "In the end we are all the same." Really?! That's it? Really Ben? You couldn't come up with anything better for the nations best purveyor of caffeinated confections? That's the best you could do? Sad.
Now I have about one hundred problems with Mr. Kweller's life philosophy, the way he "sees it." But since you have limited time and attention and I have other things to do, I'll elaborate on exactly three:
(1) Society disagrees with Kweller;
(2) The law disagrees with Kweller; and
(3) God disagrees with Kweller.
Can anyone seriously advance the argument that history and society remember Adolph Hitler and Ronald Reagan as equals? That somehow, after polar opposite lives, they were "the same in the end?" That they made an equally beneficial contribution to the world as a whole? How ridiculous. How about Mozart and Stalin? Or your mother and OJ Simpson. Of course not. In the end, society, as part of the process of historical recollection, will pass their own judgment on who is worth remembering and for what reason. There is no process of equalization and some go down (as the Beach Boys once sang) as "Heroes and Villains."
My friend, Jeff Neal, practices quite a bit of criminal law -- much more so than I do. I think I'll suggest to him that he use Kweller's line the next time he defends a rapist, a child molester or someone alleged to have been manufacturing meth-amphetamine. I can hear Neal's closing argument ringing through the rafters of the Courthouse attic -- "Judge, in the end we are all the same. Therefore, it only stands to reason that because we are one in the end, my client should not be punished in the here and now. We're all the same. As such, we should either *all* be punished or *all* shown mercy." I'm guessing I already know how such an argument would fly. In a nutshell, the law disagrees. We are not all the moral equivalent of murderers in the end. Only those who murder are murderers. We are not all the ethical end of the thief at the end of our days. Only those who stole are thieves and robbers. Quite the contrary, those who are to be punished will be punished for who they are based upon their provable actions. The rest of us are not saddled with the labels justifiably attached to others.
Finally, scripture indicates that the God who breathed creation in to life disagrees with Guru Ben. A few of the verses that would indicate that God just scored on Kweller:
And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life. -- John 5:29
For you render to each one according to his works. -- Psalm 62:12
I the Lord ... give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings. -- Jeremiah 17:10
When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness ... and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul. -- Ezekiel 18:27
For the Son of Man will come in the glory of His Father with His angels, and then He will reward each according to his works. Matthew 16.27
Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. -- Matthew 25:34-36
Case closed. Kweller lost.
My Heart is Always Breaking (Repost from Facebook)
I’ve been thinking about a few things lately. Not that I don’t generally think about things. I do. Probably more than I should. But lately a few specific thoughts have refused to leave me alone. And those thoughts deal with my heart. And why it almost always feels like it is broken. I don’t mean that my wife or my boys, my friends or my family have broken my heart. Not that at all. Nothing like that. What I’m getting at is the feeling like my heart, who I am and where I live inside, is not completely put together. Not entirely whole. Broken. In need of a bit of binding up and healing. Like I’m sometimes kept together with duct tape and bailing wire. Regardless of how well or how downtrodden the day; in spite of the joys and sorrows of my situation; it feels, deep down, like there is a bit of an ache that just doesn’t go away. Like it never lets go. It has been reminding me of these words, “ He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3 (NIV) I’ve been thinking about them quite a lot these past few weeks. They are good words. T.S. Eliot reminded us to “wrestle with words and meanings.” Indeed.
And those words remind me of a song that kills me each time I hear it.
“The heart breaking makes a sound
I never knew could be
So beautiful and loud
Fury filled and we collide
So courageous until now
Fumbling and scared
So afraid You'll find me out,
Alone here with my doubt
Here it comes, a beautiful collision
Is happening now.
There seems no end to where You begin and there I am now
You and I collide
Something circling inside,
Spaciously you fly
Infinite and wide,
Like the moon and sky
Collide
Here it comes, a beautiful collision
Is happening now.
There seems no end to where you begin and there I am now
You and I, collide
Here it comes, Here it comes, Here it comes now
Collide
Here it comes, Here it comes now (You and I)
Feel it coming on, Feel it coming on now, Here it comes now”
(David Crowder Band, Collision, from “A Collision.”)
These words, like the words of Christ, feel weighty. Full. True. The weight is a gift. It’s gravitas. From Latin origins, it is full of quality of substance and depth of personality. Weighty. There is a blessing in the weight.
Because I learned a very long time ago that “this” is always about “THAT,” I’ve been praying and thinking and meditating on what these things mean to me. Here. Now. Today.
A few nights ago I was reading John Piper’s, “Desiring God, meditations of a Christian Hedonist.” It, too, is a reading where words will wrestle you to the ground. I was arrested. Perhaps it was his writing that began to put perspective to what I was feeling but could not articulate. Regarding a life of worship, Piper writes:
“There is a final stage in which we feel and unencumbered joy in the manifest perfection of God -- the joy of gratitude, wonder, hope, admiration. ‘My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food, and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips.’ (Psalm 63:5) In this stage we are satisfied with the excellency of God, and we overflow with the joy of his fellowship. This is the feast...
In a prior stage [of worship] that we often taste we do not feel fullness, but rather longing and desire. Having tasted the feast before, we recall the goodness of the Lord -- but it seems far off. We preach to our souls not to be downcast because we are sure we shall again praise the Lord (Psalm 42:5). Yet for now our hearts are not very fervent...
The lowest stage of worship, where all genuine worship starts -- and where it often returns for a dark season -- is the barrenness of the soul that scarcely feels any longing, and yet is granted the grace of repentant sorrow for having so little love... [God] is...glorified by the spark of anticipated gladness that gives rise to the sorrow we feel when our hearts are lukewarm. Even in the miserable guilt we feel over our beast-like insensitivity, the glory of God shines. If God were not gloriously desirable, why should we feel sorrowful for not feasting fully on His beauty?”
Amazing.
If God were not gloriously desirable, why should we feel sorrowful for not feasting fully on His beauty.
When I read those words I wince with the recognition of truth. My warm eyes as well as my hurting heart, but more importantly my broken soul, will testify to this innate truth. Like truth almost always does, it hurts. Because I relate more to the brutish beast than to the guest of the feast. But with the pain of recognition there is also freedom. And motivation.
I think it mostly answers my question. Today’s question anyway. Why does my heart always feel like it is broken? Because through the grace of God given by manner of repentant sorrow I am sparked to desire that which is infinitely desirable. God Himself. He creates this hurt in me to draw me back to Him. There is in me the creation of an incompleteness (longing) so that there is a recognition of what is truly complete (fulfillment). And in that recognition and fulfillment there is worship.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
How, exactly, does He do this? By giving to us the very thing that brings healing and binding -- Himself.
God bless the broken hearted. The kingdom of Heaven belongs to us.
And those words remind me of a song that kills me each time I hear it.
“The heart breaking makes a sound
I never knew could be
So beautiful and loud
Fury filled and we collide
So courageous until now
Fumbling and scared
So afraid You'll find me out,
Alone here with my doubt
Here it comes, a beautiful collision
Is happening now.
There seems no end to where You begin and there I am now
You and I collide
Something circling inside,
Spaciously you fly
Infinite and wide,
Like the moon and sky
Collide
Here it comes, a beautiful collision
Is happening now.
There seems no end to where you begin and there I am now
You and I, collide
Here it comes, Here it comes, Here it comes now
Collide
Here it comes, Here it comes now (You and I)
Feel it coming on, Feel it coming on now, Here it comes now”
(David Crowder Band, Collision, from “A Collision.”)
These words, like the words of Christ, feel weighty. Full. True. The weight is a gift. It’s gravitas. From Latin origins, it is full of quality of substance and depth of personality. Weighty. There is a blessing in the weight.
Because I learned a very long time ago that “this” is always about “THAT,” I’ve been praying and thinking and meditating on what these things mean to me. Here. Now. Today.
A few nights ago I was reading John Piper’s, “Desiring God, meditations of a Christian Hedonist.” It, too, is a reading where words will wrestle you to the ground. I was arrested. Perhaps it was his writing that began to put perspective to what I was feeling but could not articulate. Regarding a life of worship, Piper writes:
“There is a final stage in which we feel and unencumbered joy in the manifest perfection of God -- the joy of gratitude, wonder, hope, admiration. ‘My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food, and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips.’ (Psalm 63:5) In this stage we are satisfied with the excellency of God, and we overflow with the joy of his fellowship. This is the feast...
In a prior stage [of worship] that we often taste we do not feel fullness, but rather longing and desire. Having tasted the feast before, we recall the goodness of the Lord -- but it seems far off. We preach to our souls not to be downcast because we are sure we shall again praise the Lord (Psalm 42:5). Yet for now our hearts are not very fervent...
The lowest stage of worship, where all genuine worship starts -- and where it often returns for a dark season -- is the barrenness of the soul that scarcely feels any longing, and yet is granted the grace of repentant sorrow for having so little love... [God] is...glorified by the spark of anticipated gladness that gives rise to the sorrow we feel when our hearts are lukewarm. Even in the miserable guilt we feel over our beast-like insensitivity, the glory of God shines. If God were not gloriously desirable, why should we feel sorrowful for not feasting fully on His beauty?”
Amazing.
If God were not gloriously desirable, why should we feel sorrowful for not feasting fully on His beauty.
When I read those words I wince with the recognition of truth. My warm eyes as well as my hurting heart, but more importantly my broken soul, will testify to this innate truth. Like truth almost always does, it hurts. Because I relate more to the brutish beast than to the guest of the feast. But with the pain of recognition there is also freedom. And motivation.
I think it mostly answers my question. Today’s question anyway. Why does my heart always feel like it is broken? Because through the grace of God given by manner of repentant sorrow I am sparked to desire that which is infinitely desirable. God Himself. He creates this hurt in me to draw me back to Him. There is in me the creation of an incompleteness (longing) so that there is a recognition of what is truly complete (fulfillment). And in that recognition and fulfillment there is worship.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
How, exactly, does He do this? By giving to us the very thing that brings healing and binding -- Himself.
God bless the broken hearted. The kingdom of Heaven belongs to us.
Through the Looking Glass
Simply put, I'm tired of Facebook. So this is my response. Like the turn of the century Arts & Crafts reaction to Victorian architecture, I'm simplifying. I want a large front porch as opposed to Queen Anne gingerbread facia. Think of this as my four square response to the ornate indulgences of Facebook. Plus I'm never going to Farmville and I don't care if you, "just answered a question about Jonathan."
And I'd rather write. I read therefore I should write. Might be fun to have you along for the ride.
Nietzsche once famously said, "Talent borrows; genius steals." That said, the title of my new blog either borrows or steals its title from two sources: Lewis Caroll's adventures about a precocious and often dense young lady and the 13th chapter of Paul's first epistle to the Corinthians [12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 13 And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. (King James version with "charity" rendered as "love")]. I'll leave it to you to determine whether what is to come in the days ahead is (a) talent, (b) genius or (c) None of the Above.
For more information on how Alice of Wonderland fame and the Apostle Paul might peacefully coexist within these pages stayed tuned. Film at eleven. For those of you even a little familiar with my former Facebook status updates, enough said.
Thank you for spending some time here. I hope that you eventually find it to be as comfortable as your favorite couch and as challenging as your favorite book.
Godspeed.
And I'd rather write. I read therefore I should write. Might be fun to have you along for the ride.
Nietzsche once famously said, "Talent borrows; genius steals." That said, the title of my new blog either borrows or steals its title from two sources: Lewis Caroll's adventures about a precocious and often dense young lady and the 13th chapter of Paul's first epistle to the Corinthians [12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 13 And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. (King James version with "charity" rendered as "love")]. I'll leave it to you to determine whether what is to come in the days ahead is (a) talent, (b) genius or (c) None of the Above.
For more information on how Alice of Wonderland fame and the Apostle Paul might peacefully coexist within these pages stayed tuned. Film at eleven. For those of you even a little familiar with my former Facebook status updates, enough said.
Thank you for spending some time here. I hope that you eventually find it to be as comfortable as your favorite couch and as challenging as your favorite book.
Godspeed.
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