tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26353316355449014392024-02-19T10:20:46.848-06:00Ghost In The AtticUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-81521780816846362752011-01-22T16:12:00.003-06:002011-01-22T17:13:40.956-06:00TIME and INCEPTIONFirst, Inception. It was a good, good movie. Reminded me of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi3579511321/">Synecdoche, NY </a>in a lot of ways; That playful pondering of those things that are not quite possible, but close enough to matter.<br />Leo was inspired, and Joseph Gordon Levitt over acted a bit, but there was too much going on to really be distracted by it. Not as heavy on the special effects as I had expected, and yet they were poignant and meaningful to the movie when they came out. I loved that they hit hard on a couple of the magical aspects of dreaming. We can dream seemingly a days worth of stuff in a twenty minute nap, and I always wake up with a 'kick!' So in that way, I think it made everyone feel like they needed to pay attention.<br />And naturally, I experimented on Kelsey later on in the night by waking her up with my face a few inches from hers. The result was terrifying for both of us, I think. I don't know what I was expecting.<br /><br />TIME! I was already a little preoccupied with the subject before I saw Inception, but that certainly fueled it a little. I have a couple of thoughts:<br />Firstly, I realized that for the first time in my life, I am living in a season that isn't encapsulated with a defined beginning and end. Each school year has a beginning and an end, high school had a beginning and an end, and college had a beginning and an end (although admittedly I drug my feet through that one a little bit). And really, it affected the way I lived my life during those times. There were nights where I would tell myself, "I only have two more years of this, before everything changes." And we (most of those of you around me during these times, at least) lived petty frenetic lives in lieu of these predestined finish lines.<br />Some of it was immaturity, or just being young, but everything happened faster. We would meet someone, fall in love, or become best friends in a few weeks. We would sleep five hours a night, fearful of missing the few things that were happening while our eyes were closed.<br />I did my learning in condensed, late-night hours, jamming weeks of carefully thought-out lectures into my head with music buzzing through head phones and caffeine pulsing through my veins (how that worked, or even seemed reasonable, is already completely beyond me).<br />I am still proud of myself in a lot of ways. I did a LOT in 5 years. I had many of life altering conversations, ideas that would have made a difference had they actually been carried out. I drank lots of soda and I exercised.<br />Then I graduated, moved, got married, and for the first time in my life I wasn't being told when the next checkpoint was coming. I picture it sometimes as if I am a raindrop, first hitting the ground at some high elevation, then racing purposefully through channels and down a mountain. I start out in some tiny little stream, then we join up with other streams and gain strength. We crash onward until the ground flattens out, the now half-mile wide river deltas, and I am flushed out into this enormous lake. I look around, we are all panting, high-fiving if we feel like it, but looking around a little uncertain.<br />There were always times when I looked forward to things slowing down. But now I feel like a sprinter trying to run a marathon. It takes so much more discipline to get anything done, to keep up on dreams and passions, to spend time with people I used to see around every corner. I sleep eight hours every night! And sometimes I find myself excited about it... ugh.<br />I think about trying to find a hobby, or filling up my time with more obligations, but I know that until I can figure out how to live my life with more patience those things will only be prolonging the inevitable.<br />Admittedly, I do see the first-fruits of allowing relationships and wisdom to grow and mature within this patience. There is more depth, longer exploration of all these things in this world that are so deserving of our attention, of our senses. Embracing a sunset, driving with the stereo off, making a meal with my wife, listening more and finding that I have less to say. All firsts, all seem like pretty good things.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-48737825425629334422010-11-21T23:10:00.002-06:002010-11-22T00:01:53.031-06:00Interior Castle: A Return To Blarging<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">"I really think I have little to say that I have not already said </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">in other books which I have been commanded to write; indeed, I am </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">afraid that I shall do little but repeat myself, for I write as </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">mechanically as birds taught to speak, which, knowing nothing </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">but what is taught them and what they hear, repeat the same things </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">again and again. If the Lord wishes me to say anything new, His </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Majesty will teach it me or be pleased to recall to my memory what </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">I have said on former occasions; and I should be quite satisfied </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">with this, for my memory is so bad that I should be delighted if I </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">could manage to write down a few of the things which people have </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">considered well said, so that they should not be lost. If the Lord </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">should not grant me as much as this, I shall still be the better </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">for having tried, even if this writing under obedience tires me </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">and makes my head worse, and if no one finds what I say of any </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">profit.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">And so I begin to fulfill my obligation on this Day of the Holy </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Trinity, in the year MDLXXVII, in this convent of St. Joseph of </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Carmel in Toledo, where I am at this present, submitting myself as </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">regards all that I say to the judgment of those who have commanded </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">me to write, and who are persons of great learning. If I should </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">say anything that is not in conformity with what is held by the </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Holy Roman Catholic Church, it will be through ignorance and not </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">through malice. This may be taken as certain, and also that, </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">through God's goodness, I am, and shall always be, as I always </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">have been, subject to her. May He be for ever blessed and </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">glorified. Amen."</span><br /><br /><br />I decided to brush up on my 16th century literature this week, so I returned to an old classic of a friend (by "returned," I mean start again after having previously only made it fifteen pages in; and by "friend," I mean beast of a book that will hopefully replace my dim-witted idea of prayer with a more Promethean exploration of Unity with God) in <span style="font-style: italic;">Interior Castle</span> by Teresa of Avila<br /><br />I haven't, however, written anything since *see previous post* so I will focus my attention and efforts on this short little pearl I found at the beginning of the book. It strikes me in so many ways, so immediately. Her humility in the first few lines here is impressive, and I could quite easily model my entire life after the simple and dutiful way she approaches even <span style="font-style: italic;">writing</span> about God. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">"I am </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">afraid that I shall do little but repeat myself, for I write as </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">mechanically as birds taught to speak...which...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">repeat the same things </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">again and again. If the Lord wishes me to say anything new, His </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Majesty will teach it me or be pleased to recall to my memory what </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">I have said on former occasions...</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">If the Lord </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">should not grant me as much as this, I shall still be the better </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">for having tried."</span><br /><br />In more recent history, it seems like people write so freely and without caution about God that regardless of whether they speak any truth at all it feels disdainful when I read these words by Teresa of Avila. That's not to say that I don't or haven't in the past found some of these writers faith-inspiring, but the replacing of candor with reverence, of presumption with hopeful accuracy is so refreshing. "<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">If I should</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"> say anything that is not in conformity with what is held by the </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Holy Roman Catholic Church, it will be through ignorance and not </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">through malice."<br /></span>It seems crazy to find a person whose devotion to her church is so strong that she seeks only to speak words of reinforcement and affirmation. It seems like so many chapters of books about God start with phrases like, "What if," that it is so cool to start Chapter 1 of <span style="font-style: italic;">Interior Castle</span> with, <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">"While I was beseeching Our Lord to-day that He would speak through me..."<br /><br /></span>I know, I know, make a point, David. But it's these little things at the beginning of a new read that really capture my fancy and excite me. It reminds me that there is so much history behind that which I model my life around. There were so many brilliantly devoted people in this Faith, and that's awesome.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-2696059195631814972010-03-26T00:00:00.006-05:002010-03-26T01:24:10.036-05:00SanctityThe word doesn't get thrown around too often. There are few things left in this world that people still consider with a hope of inviolability, of earthly holiness and beyond. And yet somehow, in the midst of this universal skepticism of all things institutional or traditional, we still have this childlike hope in the sanctity of marriage. <br /> The statistics don't lie; no matter your religious affiliation, societal or economic status, marriage is a coin flip. The failure of man and woman to live up the the promise of 'till death do us part' stares us in the face as we grow up, half of us in divided households, fragmented families. You don't even have to go that far back into history before we find a culture where a failed marriage is a red flag, and badge worn shamefully by those who took part. And yet the wedding day is still the most celebrated day in most people's lives. <br /> And I LOVE this, for so many reasons (one of which, of course, being that I will get to experience this in two short months). I love the fact that we still live in a world of love, where we spend our lives searching for a person with which we might share life's greatest intimacies. I have seen a happy marriage from up close. My parents loved each other with a passion an joy that was out of this world. They would do anything for one another, even if it meant putting themselves aside, again and again. And while their marriage was at its core spiritually charged, what was just as astonishing was the normalcy with which they shared themselves completely. It is the purest form of coming together, of living as two and as a unified one at the same time.<br /> We have all, married or not, members of unified families or not, at least experienced 'that friendship' where things just seemed to click, to fall into place as you discovered an inordinate amount of commonalities. These things are born out of love, out of the sanctity of shared experience, shared passion, hopes and dreams. And you're a fool if you don't see God's hand in it all; our creation as relational beings and the way we cherish the opportunity to spend life WITH another. <br /> Some people will never be married, however, and some marriages are going to fail as we've seen. But all will benefit from living in a world where love is paramount. With a God like ours, marriage serves only as a prime example of, and not the soul route to, love. The sacrificial nature of successful marriages is only a microcosm of the sacrifice God made in order to make ultimate love possible. When my dad was sick in bed during his last month with us, he told me he was still glad it was him, and not my mother, that was having to suffer so greatly. And of course he should say that, but I knew he meant it, and I knew he could mean it only because of what God had revealed to him over so many years. "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life." John 3:16 is perhaps THE verse we all recognize from the Bible. Why? because God so LOVED the world. It's simply stated, and yet the implications of that love have changed history. <br /> So, I guess this little entry is turning into a call to arms. If we don't uphold the sanctity of God's blessing in marriage, the sanctity of the only thing bridging the gap between we the people and our Creator, then all is lost. <br /> Man, I am excited.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-49673618907120164462010-03-24T21:01:00.004-05:002010-03-25T02:32:52.313-05:00Broken BellsI sit here and listen to a record like the new <a href="http://www.brokenbells.com">Broken Bells</a> (James Mercer of the Shins and Danger Mouse of, well, Danger Mouse) and I can't help but be a bit disappointed. Every once in a while something new comes along that seems like it might be a bit different than the stuff around it. This was certainly one of those cases, as both the Shins and Danger mouse had consistently sat just beyond the realm of artists I listened to on a 'regular' basis. (This is where I really want to tangent down the path of talking about how today's music industry makes it nearly impossible to regularly listen to anything without being made to feel like you are severely missing out on countless other works. But I shan't!) I love Mercer's voice, and I have always been a sucker for an unlikely musical union, which up until only recently, had me drooling stupidly over <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mashup_%28music%29">mash-up trash </a> like the ten year old version of me drooled over the new graphics for the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sega_32X">32-bit Sega Genesis expansion</a>. I got to the point, however, where mash-up sounded like an angry stay-at-home mother trying to jam two puzzle pieces together that clearly didn't fit, but "dagnabbit all the friggin puppies look exactly alike."<br />So when this album came out with immediate favorable reviews, I was genuinely excited. I pulled the big vinyl disc out of its sleeve and lowered the cheap little plastic needle onto the outer edge. I sat and watched the arm work its way into the first groove and Danger Mouse danced out his playful intro. Mercer, in no hurry, joins in and the first track quickly settles into a refreshing experience. The album plateaued quickly, however, and the result is an interesting experimentation, a thought-piece compiled by two people that in the end seemed too different to be together relevant. Indeed, the eclectic duo turned out to be exactly what they had originally claimed to be, broken bells. <br />But what the album reminded me of (you be the judge as to whether it is a good thing or a bad thing that it has virtually nothing to do with music) is that we are all broken bells, put simply, and that there is something rejuvenating about that.<br />I am a wretched, rusty old thing, clanging and vibrating noisily when struck. Rest assured, you are nothing better. Lined up and sectioned off, we stand as a miserable, defunct orchestra of broken drumsticks, dented horns. And yet somehow, if only even for moments at a time, God impossibly composes beauty from what is otherwise garbage. Whether its Danger Mouse and James Mercer coming together in <a href="http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=102521439">"The High Road"</a>, a stranger holding the elevator door, or a dandelion growing through a crack in the sidewalk, it' always wonderful seeing the way God overcomes.<br />I can't help but end pretty much every piece of writing with God. He looms over me, sometimes like a spinning ceiling fan, refreshing, replenishing, and welcome; other times like a storm cloud that never rains. Nevertheless, He is undeniably there, penetrating even song tracks that more than likely had no intention of having anything to do with him. Yeah, a storm cloud that never rains, circling overhead; that sounds just like something i would say.<br />God, I'm ready for the rain. I'm a broken bell.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-27742126431414172962010-03-24T00:29:00.005-05:002010-03-24T01:41:08.636-05:00knewness vs. newnessWhen I graduated a year ago (seems like five), I knew that what lay ahead was highly unknown. <br /><br />1)I knew I would be leaving the one town I really knew.<br />2)I knew I would be leaving my best friends (those of whom hadn't already left themselves)<br />3)I knew I would be leaving my family<br />4)I knew I would be showing up with a part time job and the task of somehow saving up enough money to CONSIDER getting married. <br /><br /><br />What I didn't know, however, is what has turned out to be entirely more important. <br /><br />1)I didn't realize that I was not only leaving the only town I ever knew, but also the only town that ever really knew me. This fact didn't just hit me, unfortunately, as soon as I pulled into town. Rather, it settled in like a winter storm, silently at first, but blinding, stranding, and leaving me feeling pretty helpless. It has been hard to meet people, partly because I was used to largely being the guy that people met, not the guy that had to meet people (which was a perfect way to get around my debilitating shyness). I have felt generally misunderstood and/or misinterpreted by a lot of people. It's hard to feel like you have to prove to everyone who you really are, and living in Lawrence has really made me self-conscious about who people assume me to be.<br /><br />2)I have severely missed the inherent closeness I so took for granted with the people in my life I could go to about the stuff I was otherwise too proud to admit. Don't get me wrong, those of you whom I have found myself rather close to in Lawrence, I love and value my relationships here more than you could imagine. But for the months that I hadn't anyone but Kelsey to lean on, I realized I was really lacking in my relationship with God and in sharing that relationship with others.<br /><br />3)I had no idea that within seven months of my being gone, my dad would be bed-ridden and entering into the final stages of his life. I wasn't prepared to be with him as he passed, or to be there for his funeral. It seemed like the whole process had cut into the chronological line I had so carefully pieced together on my own (knowing, all the while of course, that God has little to no respect for man-derived plans if they don't fall within his will, again rightfully so). Looking back, I honestly don't even know how I have done it. The traveling, every weekend for months, then sometimes a week at a time. It pained me beyond belief to be away from my father, to be away from my mother while she was in the midst of losing her soul-mate. I would have had to have been drug out of Columbia last May had I known it would have all happened so soon.<br />(I don't necessarily feel bad for having moved, to be clear, but there will never be a day go by that I don't wish I had another afternoon with my dad. And only now am I truly entering into the challenge of possibly living away from my mom.)<br /><br />4)I never could have understood the amount of humility it was going to take to pack up my things and move somewhere new. It has blindsided me, the art of starting over, essentially, of walking away from a place where people thought a lot of me, where people wanted me on their side, whether it be in ministry, sports, work, writing, etc. I left a place where professors loved my writing, where I was a leader of sorts (God willing, by all means), and where people had faith in me.<br />And i showed up in Lawrence, showed up at a part-time job where I knew nothing about what it took to be successful, showed up in a place where people were different about the way they lived out their faith - for the most part in a better way. And upon showing up, I realized, and rightfully so, that I was a blank slate. There was no reason for people to assume that I was a leader, writer, or even a good person. And honestly, rebuilding myself into a new sociological structure, had I been willing to actually anticipate it, could have been a very fun and enjoyable thing. But instead, having come upon me like spring-time allergies, it really sucked. And perhaps the biggest blow to my unearned self-esteem has been my inability to settle into work. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brother_Lawrence">In a potato-peeling kindof way</a>, I know I should be thankful to have work, and to be able to worship God through even the folding of a t-shirt... this I do understand. But when I had saved enough money and courage for that fateful day, I got engaged to the girl I am so so in love with. And then it became about her, about providing, about supporting. And over the past 8 months that I have been searching for something, some place I could really invest myself in, some place in which I could really make some sort of an impact, some place that could pay me enough to support our life together, I have had relatively nothing. It has shocked me at times, infuriated me at times, and left me damp with my own tears at times. It has been hard, mainly to let God have control of the situation, but also to feel alone when I do. There is a glimmer of hope around this corner, and yet I remain tentative.<br /><br /><br />And so this year has been a lot. That's really the best way to describe it. And I'm not even married yet. I came into this new phase of my life with a lot of predetermined ideas about how it would all be. I knew how I wanted things to work out, and yet that certainly didn't seem to make any difference. Thank God for sticking with me though, for Grace sufficient to recover me from the depth of my own folly.<br />From here on however, the newness shall be met with excitement once again. And forget about "knewness" altogether. To think we really 'know' anything is getting increasingly more absurd sounding with each passing day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-34421865640837946882010-02-28T23:46:00.000-06:002010-02-28T23:49:40.569-06:00Eulogy <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/davidhall/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:"Lucida Sans Unicode"; panose-1:2 11 6 2 3 5 4 2 2 4; mso-font-charset:89; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:513 0 0 0 4 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">“If you are going to do something, do it right.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My dad must have said this phrase over a thousand times to my knowledge, and I really believe he meant it every time.<span style=""> </span>There are so many things I want to tell everyone about my dad, about how proud I am to be his son.<span style=""> </span>But what I have been learning over the past few days is that, for the most part, you already know a lot these things.<span style=""> </span>You might already know how devoted he was to his family, to his friends, and to the kids he coached in baseball and in life.<span style=""> </span>You might already know that he was able to capture the joy in the tiniest of moments, and that if you were someone lucky enough to receive love from my dad it was the kind of love that stuck with you.<span style=""> </span>My guess is that’s part of the reason why you’re here.<span style=""> </span>Because when Dad was finally freed from his tired old body, the messages and prayers started flooding in.<span style=""> </span>That’s about the time I realized I wasn’t the only one who understood how great of a man, a father, a coach, a boss, and a follower of Christ he was.<span style=""> </span>So my hope is that now, while we are all here together on his behalf, amidst the mourning of the loss of a truly wonderful man, we can celebrate how he lived his life and the things he did, because he did them right.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My mom always tells one of my favorite stories of Dad.<span style=""> </span>He was a victim of the unfortunate mustache trend in 1986, among many others I am sure, and on the day God brought me into this world, he had his proudly on display.<span style=""> </span>But when all was said and done, and I was tightly wrapped in my little blanket, Dad realized that his mustache certainly wasn’t suitable for my sensitive skin.<span style=""> </span>So he ran home and shaved it all off.<span style=""> </span>He came back smooth-skinned and probably showered me with hundreds of kisses.<span style=""> </span>He wasn’t going to let a mustache keep him from being close to me.<span style=""> </span>He was going to love me, and he was going to do it right.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of my greatest fears has been that I would first remember the long battle with cancer before anything else about my dad.<span style=""> </span>I was afraid I would remember the weakened and frail body he wore for the last months he was with us.<span style=""> </span>I was mostly afraid I would equate the fear, anxiety and frustration I felt with Dad when remembering our time together.<span style=""> </span>But upon looking back, I realized that when faced with the task of leaving this world behind, my dad gave us what is perhaps the most important message of all.<span style=""> </span>Day after day, no matter how he felt, my dad praised God.<span style=""> </span>Facebook was constantly plastered with his words of encouragement and wisdom.<span style=""> </span>His joy in Christ is perhaps best described by the last thing he posted, “Tell your loved ones how much they mean to you.<span style=""> </span>Give them hugs, real hugs! Be thankful for each and every blessing.<span style=""> </span>Live life big!” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">So while it breaks my heart to say goodbye to my dad, I really pray that this message might stick with us all; that we may live life big like my dad, and that we may all experience that powerful love of Jesus that filled him with so much joy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So dad, as you go to be with God, I think 1 Chronicles 16:31 says it best:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad;</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Let them say among the nations, “The Lord reigns!”</p> <!--EndFragment--> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-43659933305142102612010-02-11T15:03:00.004-06:002010-02-11T16:19:14.804-06:00AggregationBy and large, I would not consider myself a tech junkie, or even moderately knowledgeable on the subject matter . I do, however, think that is what makes me an appropriate voice to be heard regarding technology in one sense.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">Ag-gre-ga-tion </span><span class="pr">(<span class="unicode"></span>a-gri-<span class="unicode">ˈ</span>gā-shən)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">noun</span><br />1. a group, body, or mass compose of many distinct parts or individuals<br />2. a) the collection of units or parts into a mass or whole; b) the condition of being so collected<br /><br /><br />Finally, it seems safe to say this beautiful little word has made its way into the conscience of technology, entertainment, and media developers alike as they continue to push the envelope of what they can do. For years now I, along with many others I presume, have dragged my feet through the relentless world of Facebook, YouTube, Smartphones, iPods, the birth of the digital short and consequently the explosion of such sites as Hulu (thank you MacBook in-browser spell-check, for reminding me that no, you do not recognize virtually any of the words I typed for this sentence. It's ironic right? I may have just listed the next few years' dictionary additions).<br />As an English major, I was certainly oriented against the world of the "<a href="http://www.medialit.org/reading_room/article423.html">jolt</a>," as I sat in the next room thumbing through pages of <a href="http://us.penguingroup.com/static/pages/classics/index.html">Penguin Classics</a> while my J-school and Marketing friends clicked through endless seconds-long clips of visual media.</span><span class="pr"> It seemed like every new thing that came out was against its predecessor, separation being the key to success. Twitter was more immediate and useful than Facebook, Facebook was more comprehensive (and not as stupid) as Myspace, for example. The whole thing reminded me of <a href="http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v272/182/63/1189890007/n1189890007_30103568_6746.jpg">Big Tree</a>, a local favorite for Columbia, MO townies. As this tree grew, branches sprouted from the trunk, and new branches from those branches, and so forth. After decades, the leaves of these branches, from an outside perspective, all existed in the same general vicinity and yet seemingly had little or nothing to do with one another. And such is how I felt about all of these exclusive advances in technology. None of them offered enough in and of themselves to use on a daily basis.<br />In biology, however, we learned that even though we can pull a leaf or ten off an enormous tree, they are in fact all equally integrated and integral to a greater invisible system. Each leaf is responsible for absorbing nutrients that the tree then uses to support life.<br />So while I admit this revelation was majorly postponed due to my ignorance in the field of technological biology, I am still happy to see that the efforts to aggregate these otherwise disparate technologies and gizmos has finally taken precedence over simply feeding our societies need for wasting money (there are still <a href="http://images.apple.com/home/images/ipad_hero2_20100127.jpg">exceptions</a>, don't get me wrong).<br />This is all coming as a result of my recent crash course in RSS feeds, and how incredibly useful they are. I had been using one in the form of iGoogle for over a year, but never knew it. I have a smartphone for the first time because it no longer represents the fact that you can impractically check your email on your phone. You can use facebook and twitter and receive news blurbs and photos as they come, nearly instantaneously. This, finally, creates an appropriate niche for all of these things, as opposed to the embarassing hour and a half we all accidentally spend on them just before we go to bed, or during our "ten minute" study breaks. Seconds worth of information can now exist in the free seconds we have before more important details of our day, we don't have to manage them in some gluttonous display of media indulgence. So, in short, these things are finally falling into their own respective places; no glonger trying to be something they aren't, no longer replacing things they shouldn't, like <span style="font-style: italic;">real </span>face time with people, art, books, learning, and other substantial, life-enriching things. <br />So here's to 2010, the year technology re-earns its usefulness. In celebration, let's all go buy a gigantic, impractical, unneccessary ipad.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-5211666711388243452010-02-10T00:52:00.003-06:002010-02-10T02:03:36.321-06:00The Antlers - HospiceRarely does an album come along that fully encompasses the wicked spectrum of emotion that accompanies trauma. And I mean real life trauma; the lyrics throughout these songs are nothing short of exasperating, mournful, reminiscent and eulogistic. His words tell a story from a distance, one which perhaps Peter Silberman wishes he could have maintained for his own sake. Yet his tone, coupled with the music, has the power to make you feel as if you were the first ears these confessions have found. <br />The narrative is clear, and whether fictitious or autobiographically confessional, Hospice is primarily a story, and its existence as an album seems secondary. I don't want to fail to recognize its brilliance as a piece of music, however, because it is truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard. The ambiance and depth created by only three people is both astounding and mesmerizing. Each song unfolds patiently, creating and building our trust in wherever Silberman is taking you. The music comes at you in waves of volume, ebbing and flowing, working it's way in and out an alternating spotlight with Silberman's vocals as the complementary costar. The story and music collectively culminate in the last half of "Wake," the album's second to last song. The long-standing protagonist of previous tracks loses his identity and seems to plea with any "you" willing to listen;<br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">It was easier to lock the doors and kill the phones,<br />than to show my skin,<br />beacuse the hardest thing is never to repent for someone else,<br />it's letting people in."<br /> </span><br />And later, as he cries what he can only seemingly hope to be true;<br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Don't be scared to speak,<br />don't speak with someone's tooth,<br />don't take that sharp abuse.<br />Some patients can't be saved,<br />but that burden's not on you.<br />Don't ever let anyone tell you you deserve that."<br /></span><br />The Antlers carefully craft an emotional resonance that rivals the most memorable books and movies I have come across, but they manage to do it in less than an hour.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>It is unfair to compare the three mediums, I understand, but the idea that music can romance the human heart in such a direct and immediate way will always be a at the center of my life.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Rarely will someone come along and squeeze your heart between their fingers, strip your soul of its armor.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />I love this album. </span>Perhaps it is because<span style="font-style: italic;"> hospice </span>means more to me than the average listener. Perhaps it is my predisposition towards anything that can reach me in my most isolated and lonely moments. It doesn't really matter. The Antlers released Hospice on their own because they knew it was a worthy and important piece of art. And I agree.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br />***I do understand this review comes about a year late, but it is worth noting that I haven't ever stopped listening to it. Let that be an addition to the typical "day after" review.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-8707150972045010742010-02-08T23:52:00.002-06:002010-02-09T01:00:59.516-06:00Not So Large, A SpectrumIn my weekly travels east and west along I-70, the most traveled portion of highway in the country, a lot of thinking takes place. No matter the predetermined distraction, the distance between the mile-markers of 100 and 20 has become a place for the tying up of loose ends, and for the creating of new ones. On this particular evening I got an early start. The sun sat high behind the clouds, and I for once thought I may have a dry trip home, and in my excitement I turned the stereo up. I have been shuffling through my favorite cd's from my college years lately (<span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> tell <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> what that means), trying to work my way chronologically from my first year at Southwest Missouri State. [On a side note, I am finding more and more that, much like the school I went to my freshman year no longer exists after the name switch to Missouri State, my musical choices also should probably no longer exist as relevant options for my 23 year old ears.] But as the ruminations of a post-teen angst turned hyper -spiritually torn Brand New exalt themselves in my tiny Volkswagon's insides, those magical eighty miles quickly approached. And be it supernatural intervention or my failure to really anticipate the weather, around mile marker 99 the clouds darkened and the sun fell from the sky. In no more than ten minutes the sky was black and half-frozen rain danced hauntingly in my headlights.<br /><br /><br /><br />Now, I should say I have this oddity about me (well, one of perhaps many). In inclement weather, I turn my radio off; and it's not so much for safety reasons as for my fear of what cliché song might be pouring from my wrecked speakers as the paramedics helplessly stand aside my crunched up sedan. It is an awfully egotistical practice, and yet it has become such a thing that it seems the one time I may choose to end the silliness would surely be the day God received me to Chris Carrabba crying, "Again I Go Unnoticed," or something like that.<br /><br /><br />So needless to say at this point, I turned the radio down just in time to learn something from that same old painful stretch of mediocre highway. This, after so too many words, is where I reach my point, and my hopes are that this preliminary thought turns into a larger series of thoughts on the matter. As I drove up and over and down again the easy slopes of western Missouri, the unsure rain/snow started doing strange things. One minute my windshield would be showered with dirty rainwater from the butt-end of an 18-wheeler, my eyes squinted beyond comfort to find the edges of the road. I would struggle around them, wincing over the roar of the perforated edge of the road. But as I passed a moment later, atop a long incline, the spray from the truck's tires would fade and I would find myself looking down on the most beautiful mosaic of streetlights, stars, and glistening pavement. It was the warmest natural glow, peering in at me from the frigid, lifeless night. In an instant, a matter of seconds, the world transformed in from of me. "It's really pretty," I whispered to Kelsey as the noise faded, and she nodded in agreement. The next truck was already approaching, however and just like any great battle, these flashing elements of serenity and fright, of excitement and frustration would go on trading equal blows for the rest of our drive. It's just as my good friend Matt has come to so patiently learn; it is in these fleeting moments of filthy-turned-beautiful that the God of the universe speaks to us. And so often what I believe He is proclaiming is that this spectrum of good and bad, of life and death, isn't as divided as you and I think. And as my windshield wiper blades shove aside the muddy water to reveal the wonder of a rain-soaked earth, the story of the gospel is told, and I can't help but agree.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-68751478000544393602010-01-16T01:07:00.010-06:002010-01-19T02:23:42.214-06:00A Few Old Faves<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/S1Vr-bJ8ZfI/AAAAAAAAAEo/vFxkznYUR2w/s1600-h/PAUL.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/S1Vr-bJ8ZfI/AAAAAAAAAEo/vFxkznYUR2w/s400/PAUL.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428363646050526706" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/S1FtpAxQ1qI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/XuzeqDhawTs/s1600-h/DSC_0940.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/S1FtpAxQ1qI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/XuzeqDhawTs/s400/DSC_0940.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427239577306846882" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/S1FtV0ZOAkI/AAAAAAAAAEI/0lrdwRN4q8E/s1600-h/DSC_0867.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/S1FtV0ZOAkI/AAAAAAAAAEI/0lrdwRN4q8E/s400/DSC_0867.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427239247567258178" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OI5GhwFlFNDY1QV0bMaEMcv4TARR90oogULvs3qanGuAvliF49ENE7t3T15KpQmW3CeexpnhA4DR1OfpizI8J6_VHxzPFBQTDttUQGIW2TPaIYQusJRnAqAyjChv2F6JxrGxdUfbvxA/s1600-h/DSC_1035.jpg"></a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OI5GhwFlFNDY1QV0bMaEMcv4TARR90oogULvs3qanGuAvliF49ENE7t3T15KpQmW3CeexpnhA4DR1OfpizI8J6_VHxzPFBQTDttUQGIW2TPaIYQusJRnAqAyjChv2F6JxrGxdUfbvxA/s1600-h/DSC_1035.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OI5GhwFlFNDY1QV0bMaEMcv4TARR90oogULvs3qanGuAvliF49ENE7t3T15KpQmW3CeexpnhA4DR1OfpizI8J6_VHxzPFBQTDttUQGIW2TPaIYQusJRnAqAyjChv2F6JxrGxdUfbvxA/s400/DSC_1035.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427238321451700514" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-67463118566300606872010-01-14T18:54:00.002-06:002010-01-14T19:54:22.745-06:00VinylItunes has become the bane of my musical appreciation. I truly miss the days of surfing the download lists on Kazaa and Napster, of using toothpaste to fix a scratched CD. Really, I can't even imagine spending enough time with a particular album to wear it out (this is, of course, taking place in an imaginary world where someone might still consider listening to music on a CD). Instead, I spend my evenings pointing and clicking, playing the with <i>idea </i>of music. I will 'buy' (interpret these quotations as you may) tens of albums in a night, all painstakingly created by people who hang on each key change, who scribbled lyrics into their little black notebooks with the hopes of sharing something special with me. And yet, while I may download some music because they sound like some other band that sounds like some other guy that I listened to a couple of times because he was in this other band I used to listen to all the time, I will probably never feel what they intended when they spent to years pushing the envelope to give me something perspective-changing to listen to. It's a shame. It really is. My Itunes library has become a graveyard, a mass-storage device of musicals untold.<div>And yet as the gluttonous, tag-teamed hands of technology and American culture tighten their choke-hold on my musical integrity, I've found one defense. I had to travel back in time a few decades to a time where four songs were the size of a frisbee. Yep, we're talking the recent Urban Outfitted fake glasses wearing, indie child of the 90's phenomenon: the record player. Cliché? Yep, unfortunately. But screw that. Finally, I found a form I simply HAVE to respect. The physical nature of a turntable playing a record is rather beautiful, really, when compared to the tedious scrolling of that insidious little bar at the top of my itunes window. </div><div>I can sit and watch the needle of my record player slowly work its way to the middle of the vinyl, moving faster and faster as the rounds grow shorter and shorter. But more importantly, I can listen with respect as the sounds of the needle on vinyl remind me of the buzzing of vocal chords, the static of a buzzing amp. I can hear the reverberations, the tiny scratches in the silence remind me that music is being <i>made</i> in my very bedroom.</div><div>And then there is of course, the fact that there is no getting around the practice of searching out and <i>buying</i> a record. It humbles me to hand over dollar bills in exchange for the privilege of hearing someone's story. Consequently, I may never have 4197 songs or 419 albums to listen to on my beloved record player, but that is probably a good thing. So hears to you, Neon Indian, Dirty Projectors, Cloud Cult and the like; you may still never ever be listened to by me, but at least I don't have to feel so dirty anymore for using you like that :) </div><div><br /></div><div>Things I should have included in this article but didn't:</div><div>-The added fun of listening to bands who existed when it was normal to listen to music on a record player.</div><div>-The metaphorical meaning of handling records (music) with the physical and emotional care with which they deserve (This didn't make the cut simply for the fact that I has already gone sappy and cliché too many times in this little article).</div><div>-Shameless plug for my friend's blog where he records and reviews his record player endeavors as his collection grows at www.seanconned.blogspot.com. Waaaiiit...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-92216628211748346862010-01-10T22:57:00.004-06:002010-01-11T00:30:01.518-06:00Some Thoughts On Aspirations.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">"Cover yourself with the dust of [your rabbi's] feet." - </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px; font-size:15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Yose ben Yoezer. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;">In the ancient world, when a disciple decided to follow the rabbinical call, his aim was to live his life on the coattails of his teacher. The disciple would follow, both metaphorically and literally, just behind his teacher down dusty roads from place to place, listening to his sermons, listening to the conversations he had with people. His goal was to learn all the ways the Rabbi would translate the Hebrew scriptures into real world application. He often times would have already memorized the entirety of the Hebrew Scriptures before he even considered accepting the call to be a Rabbi.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;">The sermon went on to call believers in Christ to act accordingly in their faith. To follow Jesus with the same fervor and desperation as a disciple might have shadowed his master. Good advice, I believe. Good advice to anyone who wishes to truly invest him or herself in their faith in God. After all, "Draw near to God and He will draw near to you."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;">But what of those of us who feel the trusting hand of our Rabbi on our shoulder, who hear the words, "Go home and love your God as a blacksmith, or carpenter, or computer engineer, or creative writer. But to be a rabbi is not your calling." I think it is at this point that this simple phrase becomes doubly important. Not only is it nevertheless important to cover yourself in the dust of Jesus' feet, but it becomes altogether important to practice the same devotion and desperation when it comes to whatever it is you aspire to do. Cover yourself with the dust of the feet of those who inspire you. Whether you write music, draw cartoons, write poetry, teach kids, or play basketball, cover yourself with the dust of feet. Get to know those who have gone before you, walk in their footsteps, and (this is where my worldly analysis of this quote diverges from is spiritual origins) finally come to a point where you can make your own.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new', serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px;font-size:15px;">This is precisely why I believe there can be no other way than that of Christ. Because when life leaves you nothing else, when your wish-filled bottles wash back up on shore (and it seems they always do) there is only one way to go about doing <i>anything</i>; and that is the same way we ought to pursue God.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-3278389010535805542009-12-27T22:55:00.003-06:002009-12-27T23:45:56.874-06:00MoviesI saw <i>Up In The Air </i>with Donnie tonight.<div>There are many people I know that typically like to qualify movies into one of four categories: happy, sad, action, or funny. Now, to suggest that these are the only four necessary genres to categorize films would obviously be silly, but nonetheless it generally gets the job done. Now for the most part, with these categorizations, we are defining what these movies <i>do </i>to us, right? When we all saw <i>The Wedding Singer</i> we dually categorized it as both happy and funny because it had an ending that made us truly glad for the characters, and yet also made us laugh (in my case, a lot) throughout. The Bourne Series, featuring Matt Damon, is a classic trilogy of action flicks because that's what it does to us; it gets our hearts going, stimulates us. </div><div>But what about <i>Up In The Air</i>? It's a movie that makes you ask why and how you classify a film, or anything for that matter... which is something that I think makes this particular movie very noteworthy. </div><div>Is it sad? Yes. But at what point does your assessment stop being about what happens to the characters and start being about what happens to you? For me, personally, this was a very happy experience. Yeah, George Clooney's character ends up with pretty much nothing. But it isn't really about him, so if you walk out of the theatre sad, then you haven't really been listening. Even George, as he narrates the end of the movie, seems to be telling you, the viewer of the films, you, the person who has what he does not, to be thankful, to take in his experience, his circumstance as a reason to be thankful for what <i>you've </i>got. </div><div><br /></div><div>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;">The stars will wheel forth from their daytime hiding places; and one of those lights, slightly brighter than the rest, will be my wingtip passing over." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div>He speaks directly to those who have a home, whether it be four walls or a wife and three kids that you consider to be <i>home. </i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">And I have always really loved that about some movies; that they have the power and willingness to address the fact that there are people <i>watching</i> these characters. </span></i></div><div>So this was a happy movie, a sad movie, a funny movie. But perhaps more importantly, it revealed to me that I am a happy person, a sad person. In left me introspective. Reluctant to speak of the movie, eager to think of myself, of "what is in my backpack."</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-45211346056352382642009-11-19T18:20:00.005-06:002009-11-19T18:35:10.988-06:00Frustrations.I am having the post-college life beaten into me with a sledgehammer. Not to say that I don't need it or that I didn't have it coming with my year of half-time student, part-time work "preparation/transition." But really, every day, the same thing over and over again. The adventure is lost when your schedule falls opposite to the people around you. I save money, eat at home, make t-shirts. There is this idea in my head that things should indeed get better when marriage comes, when this little "year of my life" meets its end and there are new things to be excited about. There is also, however, the much more intelligent and mature portion of my mind that screams, "Goodness David! How on earth can you reconcile spending a year in waiting, making little good of yourself save for the few dollars you have collected in your bank account?" <div><br /></div><div>Well, smart-part-of-myself, I don't know how I do it. I don't know how it is possible to feel satisfied with what I have accomplished over these past six months, but somehow I am partially doing it. Yeah, I should make a change, but like C.S. Lewis put it in some letter I read the other day, a passionless life certainly always leads to an insurmountable lethargy worth taking notice of. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I am writing about it, taking notice of it. Where do I turn when I am too ashamed to pick up where I left off with some things? How embarrassing will it be to acknowledge how far back I must trek to find those loose ends? PRetty embarrassing potentially. Almost embarrassing enough to convince myself to not do it. But it's like going on a run for the first time in too long; you know exactly how painful it is going to be to face your shriveling lungs, to face your achy knees and unnecessary side cramps. Once you make it trough the humiliation, you realize each day will be slightly better. </div><div><br /></div><div>And here I am, in some stubborn way, preaching an impossible gospel. I know what to do, but I will be right back here in another six months if I don't figure out why I am doing it. God, to surrender is something foreign to me. I have never really surrendered anything to you, I don't suppose. But here it is, my umteenth shot. I can tell this time is the most serious. Maybe that means something. The thought that even one person besides myself will read this has literally no vanity involved anymore. Vanity hasn't been an issue since I got facebook. If anything, it may make me feel responsible to someone, seeing as it hasn't necessarily meant much to try to remain responsible to myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>So let's give it another shot.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-47027669131435486652009-08-30T21:18:00.003-05:002009-08-30T21:37:40.176-05:00The Reason For GodI have been reading <a href="http://www.thereasonforgod.com">this book</a> this week, and it has been really, really good. I have so much respect for the way Keller has organized this book. He clearly has the agenda, that which is stated in the title of the book, but he is so tactful and wise in how he writes about it. i am only 80 pages in, but the first half of the book is about the top seven problems people have with Christianity and the God it is centered around (or not-so centered around, as he might say in some cases). <div>To me, this is a pretty gutsy decision in how to start your book. I mean, I live in the midwest, a predominantly welcoming portion of the world when it comes to Christianity, and even I know what it is like to sit across the table from someone who has problem after problem after irreversible problem with the Christian church. But Keller patiently explains the problem from the perspective of someone who might actually have it, and then moves forward into his explanation for why these problems are, in fact and in the end actually answered by God and Christianity, as opposed to created by it. He does, however, acknowledge the vast betrayal of the faith by certain groups of people throughout history. </div><div>Overall, he is a very humble, and yet very brilliant believer. And I really think that is exactly what it takes to explain away some of the betrayal and misfortune the church has suffered through over the past century. I am excited to read through the first half and reach the second half, where, after having built upon his trustworthiness and credibility, Keller goes on to give his "reasons <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">for</span> God." </div><div><br /></div><div>I will update you on the rest of the book as it comes along.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-66264283346831515512009-08-14T02:46:00.003-05:002009-08-14T13:30:19.500-05:00Adbusters hates its readersThis guy wrote this article <a href="https://www.adbusters.org/magazine/79/hipster.html?page=133">bashing hipsters</a> for their apathy and unwillingness to stand for anything worthwhile. He points out some characteristics identifiable to hipsters, picks them apart, suggests them to be pointless, and then the article ends. <div><br /></div><div>To me, the striking thing about this article is the lack in noticeable difference between a hipster (as defined within the article) and the article writer himself. Hipsters deny mainstream culture in favor of an alternative trend that is equally motionless and meaningless. The writer of this article denies the legitimacy of hipster culture as a counter-cultural practice, and yet provides no meaningful or practical alternative. Now to me that pretty much places him in the same boat. Maybe someone should tell him hipsters already hate on hipsters, and that if he really wants to be hip, he will come up with something new. I just hate to see purpose-driven Adbusters center an entire issue around a directionless and hypocritical piece such as this one.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But mainly I am just mad that he hated on fixies.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-83988897405618073772009-08-13T02:10:00.001-05:002009-08-13T02:11:48.988-05:00One of my favorite pages of all time.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/SoO8aRpsmoI/AAAAAAAAABo/16zgLkCBVWA/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p5umT_6Ez84/SoO8aRpsmoI/AAAAAAAAABo/16zgLkCBVWA/s400/Picture+2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369342340356676226" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-85232575446517900102009-08-13T01:40:00.005-05:002009-08-13T02:04:52.319-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.nightskynation.com/pics/meteor-showers.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 410px; height: 410px;" src="http://www.nightskynation.com/pics/meteor-showers.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Meteors are so beautiful. Tonight I walked outside and laid on the trunk of my car and asked God to show me a meteor. He did. Then I asked Him again and He did. This process went on for about thirty minutes, with my only really having to wait on God for a few minutes at most to get a response. Just a little response in my eyes, a flash of light that might span two inches of the visible sky; but really such a huge huge response. The huge rock-creation plummeting through space and into a vast emptiness. It's easy to pretend as though its sole purpose was to light up the sky for only a moment.. This is far fetched, I understand, it it very much sounds as if I created this convenient equation for God to answer my requests. The trick, though, isn't so much a trick as it is a tiny little model for the way we should really be living our whole lives. <div><br /></div><div>You see, I asked for exactly what God wanted to give me. Granted, I personally really wanted to see some meteors, but there in lies the true beauty of the meteor shower, me, and God tonight. For a brief thirty minutes, and for what seems like the first time in ages, my desires and God's will came together, coincided, became one. We must be willing to live like that! We must be willing to toss our desires to the wind and watch God carry them as he pleases because when it all comes together, when God "gives you desires of your heart," it really is something beautiful. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think too often we proactively request things of God. I want to have a more reactionary faith, i want to receive the tiny (and yet enormous) promptings of God as they come, minus my own presuppositions and "desires." I want to want a meteor shower because it is God's gift. I want to want a meteor shower when God gives us a meteor shower. I am certainly glad I don't go outside every night and ask God for one. I feel much more comfortable having received this one; having delighted in God first, and thus receiving the desires of my heart thereafter.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-24030535331202039872009-07-31T03:04:00.004-05:002009-07-31T03:17:35.272-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhloggOVN0nH2Jc2QnIyQtHQsQv2apeR3Fkihj6Hk2iRee3bvB8MpIeGSiYri2DaTSGW-8APfRuhQW3oYE5BqPcYp-RHYiQ4ORDWnPlQe8UVsCNCL33f7gj7tf7xRCsnDOsJNJ3R9PSs6A/s1600-h/DSC_0622.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhloggOVN0nH2Jc2QnIyQtHQsQv2apeR3Fkihj6Hk2iRee3bvB8MpIeGSiYri2DaTSGW-8APfRuhQW3oYE5BqPcYp-RHYiQ4ORDWnPlQe8UVsCNCL33f7gj7tf7xRCsnDOsJNJ3R9PSs6A/s400/DSC_0622.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364532537593943218" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Went to Colorado.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnq0hbKzYQ_SYvC3mH53vwVAZPTzD86heEgPCjYLNm9a9pw82SsLPMWrRu5KOMHwjuN1HrlvplLqp2EILnBHA4gLxL7zINzxTu-lrtTISHPjq-K89T_szQtlKN03WSkumxVbqAvCcGiQ/s1600-h/DSC_0569.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnq0hbKzYQ_SYvC3mH53vwVAZPTzD86heEgPCjYLNm9a9pw82SsLPMWrRu5KOMHwjuN1HrlvplLqp2EILnBHA4gLxL7zINzxTu-lrtTISHPjq-K89T_szQtlKN03WSkumxVbqAvCcGiQ/s400/DSC_0569.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364532802114642386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Climbed this mountain.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERen6kH_aysoUKPi5GSVOCb13p92ZveKAeYvMOH-NPxLoDIDYax0HLLGxcTRXQjjPG2pfvpY0rfPls8fwWouMvVoYi5EQpuplGtTmHJtg0aHISfkOfFtGZmaEfszE2u8nV_QXq5rt-a4/s1600-h/DSC_0568.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERen6kH_aysoUKPi5GSVOCb13p92ZveKAeYvMOH-NPxLoDIDYax0HLLGxcTRXQjjPG2pfvpY0rfPls8fwWouMvVoYi5EQpuplGtTmHJtg0aHISfkOfFtGZmaEfszE2u8nV_QXq5rt-a4/s400/DSC_0568.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364533934071801538" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The scenery was prime.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuND9z1lW34WTCWFOrtiPrsxhkkjTdsUzXmyTD6tWHk6FiaTDgpwa7WRMecd6f2K9-0bhBcWlyqMCvC8vH2_GTwde3OB8GPXTxJztgjwGq6p9to_ztriwxvNPdHYCGzETivpOtIUx03M/s1600-h/DSC_0842.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuND9z1lW34WTCWFOrtiPrsxhkkjTdsUzXmyTD6tWHk6FiaTDgpwa7WRMecd6f2K9-0bhBcWlyqMCvC8vH2_GTwde3OB8GPXTxJztgjwGq6p9to_ztriwxvNPdHYCGzETivpOtIUx03M/s400/DSC_0842.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364535313415329986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Time to move in to my new home.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2635331635544901439.post-14767843040615176032009-07-31T01:17:00.001-05:002009-07-31T01:34:08.082-05:00SO many blogsBlogging is great. There are complicated blogs for the professional profess-er. Then there are the simple blogs for the "i'm new to this and i don't want to seem like i take myself as seriously as i actually do-er." And here I am, Goldilocks, in the midst of my ravid search for the blog that is 'just right.' My friend Adam and I read a book every week and blog about it. We don't actually read a book every week, but it sounds more impressive to name the blog as if we actually did. Nevertheless, check it out, it's part of our self-implied, manifest plan to save the literary world from the plunders of, well, blogging and tweeting. Ironic, I know, but Jesus entered into the world of the sinner in order to save him. So we descend from our literary throne into the blogosphere once a week (more like once every two weeks) to save yous guys from your literary death. <div><br /></div><div>Anyways, blogging is great. This is like my fourth blog. I have discovered that, in order to maintain hope that my previous blogs didn't plateau in their popularity prematurely (3 p's...), I quit on them, destroyed them, left them to rot in the virtual deserts before I was forced to face reality: I am not a good blogger. </div><div><br /></div><div>But yeah, blogging is great. I am gonna stick with this one until I decide upon some trite inferiority in its interface or popularity, or usability. So read it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2