Who is Your Master?

A while ago I asked someone the question, "Are you a Christian?"
              In general his answer was that he believed that there was a divine host that wanted a relationship with him but he did not believe in attending church.  We talked for a little while why he didn't like church and I have to admit there was a lot of merit in his reasons. He says that he always got the impression that there was a sense of fakeness and judgment that comes with church. In a lot of ways I agreed with him. I have worked at a Bible camp for the last four years now and I would have to say that they were some of the best times of my life. I have made a lot of good friends at camp.  However, some of the people at camp that I spent many intimate hours worshipping with in the Chapel, I do not completely trust. Since coming to college I have made my fair share of mistakes, I am human, but I don't feel that all the people from camp are available for support because I feel like I would be judged by them, and that is not Love, that does not represent the God I believe in.  So that is where I can relate to what he said.
               In a lot of ways I really agreed with him, and I neither negated fellowship, or pushed its merits on him. What I did do, however, was thought of it constantly for days following that conversation.  I came to a conclusion as God gave me a vivid image of what fellowship really means, and I wish I had written it down immediately so it was as clear to you as it was to me, but I'll do my best now to recreate that image for you.

               When I am at church I have choices. I can come in, and sit down, or I can stand in the back. I don't have to talk to people, but I can also find friendly conversation wherever I turned if I wanted to.  During worship I can sing for all I am worth, or mumble the words.  During the service I can get as much or as little as I want out of the sermon. It does not matter to anyone but myself and God why I am there, it simply matters that I am.  There is no room for error when a person is in church (things change when leadership roles are considered but that is entirely for a different blog) as long as a person is in church there is chances of God working something in them.
               Everybody has different reasons for being in church. Some are there to worship God and be fed with the full intention of going back into the world and serving God for the week, church is their weekly progress meeting.  Some people attend church because they are lonely and simply need human contact. Some people attend church, and these are the people that run the danger of taking on leadership with the wrong motivations, because what other people think matters to them and they have the need to be seen in a good light.
                There is fakeness in the church, but it is not my place to point fingers, or place blame, conviction is not mine. That is judgment, and judgment is not mine to place on anyone.  That judging attitude is not Love. God says that it is nobody's place to judge another man's servant.  Everyone at church is a servant of God, whether they realize it or not, so I have been told to not place judgment on them, and they have been told to not place it on me. In the same token, I am not to worry about their judgment, I must look to God for everything. To God must I turn for judgment, conviction, validation, correction and forgiveness. Because he is my master, and no other besides him. Worrying about the judgment of others is giving them power over me, I am making their opinions my master. That is sin, that is adultery. GOD is my Master.

"Who are you to judge another's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. Indeed, he will be made to stand, for God is able to make him stand."  

                                                             ~ Romans 14:4

Thank God for a Good Day

             I've been having a tough time lately, that little squirrel in my head just keeps runnin' the wheel off the tracks and I'm having a hard time keeping up.  I wrote my General Agronomy final this morning, crammed for two hours in the library prior to the final and then went and let the information I'd crammed into my brain ooze back out onto the paper. I got the bonus question right, that much I know for sure.  (A big rancher and a little rancher are neighbours.  The little rancher is the big rancher's son, but the big rancher is not the little rancher's father. How is this possible?)
             Then I spent the day puttering in my room, I got a care package from the church I grew up in and it made me smile and feel very strengthened.  But then I had a nap, and I woke up not wanting to wake up, I didn't want to go out and face the world again. I dragged my butt to our review session with my Range and Forage Crops teacher, then I dragged my butt out to the barn.  I dawdled along, saddling my horse at a snail's pace.  Finally I lead her into the arena to warm her up.  Even though I said a prayer to God for help with my bad attitude and a plea for a good ride I was still in a foul mood. I'm always a little more focused and immediate with my training when there is less people around, so when Billy dropped her shoulder as I was longeing her around I lost patience and gave her a good snap on the rump with my rein.  It got her attention, she didn't like it very much, but I told her that frankly, I didn't care, I was sick and tired of her attitude and if I had to get over my bad attitude so did she.  I hopped on her and the little nag didn't even shy at a darn thing, sure she looked at some things and she sheepishly ventured to drop her shoulder in, but I put a stop to it with firm hands on the reins and a leg on her.
By the end of the ride she was picking up her right lead departures and moving around her circles collected nicely. I REALLY have to ride her going to the right, but once I focused she got the point, and it felt great!
                I don't know how the riding exam is going to go tomorrow, but at this point in time I'm not too concerned because my horse did good today and that is all a trainer should ever ask for or worry about. Besides, I know my pattern. I asked a friend for advice and he told me, "Just ride your horse. Don't think about it, just know what you have to do, and ride..."

So tomorrow I ride! And tonight? I simply thank God for a great day.

Excerpt from "Nomad" and thoughts on sexual sin...

Nomad’s heart longed for him, he fascinated her mind yet relaxed her. With him she felt nothing but the pleasure of simply being.  With anyone else she felt like she was never going to be good enough and she had to try to be perfect. There was no pressure from Taye, just gentle and silent reassurance.  Guilt suffocated Nomad till she was ready to cry.  Her gut wrenched at the thought of why she should not strive towards what she wanted, Taye.  She felt as though she didn’t deserve him. She had lost her innocence, she had lost her honor.  She had given them away to somebody who did not value them in any way.  All Demetrius had valued was the self-satisfaction they brought him.

        Nomad had given them to him before she understood their value, their value was equal to her value. She had not understood that she was worth better, she had not understood that she was worth being cherished. Only somebody who completely treasured her deserved that gift, but she had given it away without knowing what it meant. Because she had known that you should not give that kind of thing, but knowing and understanding are two different things. 

        She knew now what it meant though. What scared her to the most was that she would not have that connection with the right person. Giving your body to another was like building another room in your being. You open a new door and allow them to move in.  However, it is only when the connection is pure and from a place of love that the room is actually inhabited and looked after.  Instead of having a bright, comfortable refuge for herself though, Nomad had created a room that was left empty, dark and echoing with regret.  She had tried to close the door to that room, forget about what should have been, but the soul is a house without doors, designed for us to wander freely from room to room.  Nomad used to be comfortable with her soul, wandering through it, but as she had gotten older it started filling up with dark corners that she liked to avoid.  Now there was a whole room made up of darkness and she could not seem to avoid it, no matter how hard she tried.

I felt a lot of fear in me as I wrote this and decided to post it. I thought maybe I could post just the excerpt and it would be enough but I felt compelled to add some personal thoughts and scripture to go with it.  The fear comes from the devil, trying to keep me from using my life experiences to minister. I was talking to somebody tonight and thinking about how she seemed to be the semblance of an ideal young Christian woman, and that she would do amazing things for God. And then I thought, God has made me this way for a reason, and even though she will do amazing in ministry, I will be able to minister in ways that she can not.  That's not to say that I would ever wish any of my experiences on anyone because they are better left unexperienced.  

I am afraid, as I write this and think about posting it that people will stop loving me, or not want me in their ministries anymore because of my sins this year, but I have thought about that also.  When God looks down from Heaven, all sin looks the same to him, like pennies stalked on top of eachother, he only sees the top one.  So I have sinned, but I have repented and I am working towards holiness once again. God knows this, and I know this, what anybody else knows or thinks they know is irrelevant. I made a list of all the things I did in the last few months that I have regrets over and then I tucked it in my Bible beside a newly treasured piece of scripture, Luke 7: 44-47 

                    "⁴⁴ Then He turned to the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave Me no water for My feet, but she has washed My feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head. ⁴⁵ You gave Me no kiss, but this woman has not ceased to kiss My feet since the time I came in. ⁴⁶ You did not anoint My head with oil, but this woman has anointed My feet with fragrant oil. ⁴⁷ Therefore I say to you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little.”

As well, sexual sin, even though once committed feels like a prison, is not something that can not be overcome. God can overcome anything.  There is proof in the Bible everywhere we look that he worked through that kind of sin many times.  Tamar, beguiled Judah into giving her a son, Rahab was a prostitute but was saved by faith, Bathsheba cheated on her husband with the king, David (a man after God's own heart by the way). All of these women, ancestors of Jesus Christ, were slaves to sexual sin. Slaves released from their bondage, by God.  

I have sinned, I feel guilt, but God has seen me, and God has saved me. Praise his holy name. I will praise him that I sinned greatly if it only means I have loved him, and will love him, greatly.

p.s. A big "Thank you!" to a wonderful blogging woman in my life that inpsires me to challenge myself in the honesty I display with my writing. My Lord has made me to be who I am, who am I to try and hide what he has created?

Close Enough, to the Truth

            “Nomad do not walk away from this. Why will you not stay so we can talk this through?”

            “Because, Demetrius, there is nothing left to talk about. I told you already I want to move on, I want something more. The path you are leading me down is not the path I want to be on.” Not only that, thought Nomad, but it wasn’t the path that the Guiding Power wanted for her. If she didn’t get back on the right path that had been originally chosen for her soon it would be too late, the paths would be too far apart and she would not have the time it would take to get back to the original path left in her life.  Demetrius wouldn’t understand that though, he was a narrow thinker, he felt what he wanted and let that shape his thoughts. He thought he was doing what was best for both of them, but Nomad new better, she could see a different, more insightful, perspective. 

            “Please, just give me a chance to show you how much I really care about you. Let me show you how nice I can be.”

            “No, Demetrius. You had your chance, it should not be that difficult to show how much you care. If you really cared for me it would be instant, and easy, and genuine.”

            “You know what I think Nomad? I think you are just scared. You do not have the ability to trust. You say I do not care, you say nobody cares, but you will not let anyone get close enough to show you how much they care.”

            Nomad felt like taking a step back to absorb the impact of his words. They came as a slap across the face, a blow to the heart. A concept that awakened the truth from the depths of her existence and set a crack across the mirror of her soul.  The thought settled in her mind while the emotional part of her ran like a scared child, ran to find the comfort of the familiar shadows of ignorance and oblivion, but they were gone for now, not allowing her to lie to herself any longer.  The practical side of Nomad’s personality stepped up to take control at that point in time.  She signaled for emotional Nomad to get a grip and then walked around the new concept a couple times, analyzing it, looking for flaws or incorrectness. 

            Practical Nomad almost came up empty handed, almost had to admit that the man was one hundred percent right.  She almost felt obligated to submit and follow him. However, as she was turning away from the notion she tripped on something.  It was a line of thought, a series of memories. It was the series of decisions she had made up to this point. The most recent ones caught her eye.

            She had decided to ignore the Guiding Power. She decided to follow this strange man down the wrong path.  But she had always felt that guilt, for not going down the other path. Every now and then the paths would run close enough beside each other, or they would intersect and she could get a good look at the other one. She wanted the other path, she liked what she saw there. Her soul thirsted for the rich springs that could be found on the other path. On the path she had selfishly and foolishly chosen her eyes strained in the dark, she fumbled and searched, her knees and hands were scraped from the trips and falls, at times she had crawled along just trying to get her bearings.  Yet the dark path for a while had quenched the loneliness and insecurity. 

            And then Nomad looked at the reality she had been introduced to just a while ago. She was valuable. She was worth the love. Worth the love she could not seem to require from this man. Could not seem to find for herself. Could not seem to accept. She had made a decision to teach herself to accept that love. She was determined to learn how to love herself and understand that her value did not change based on what she did. Her value was a fixed price. The Guiding Power wanted her, and he didn’t not want her to sell herself to Foreigners simply because she didn’t understand the cost he was willing to pay for her.  That understanding, that love, could only be found on the path she had left, the path she would soon never be able to see again. 

            Nomad looked again at Demetrius’s familiar face.  His eyes were set deep and his brow was dominant, making his face look arrogant and egotistical.  His chin was strong, stubborn.  His blue eyes laughed and sparkled, playing games with her mind and heart.  When he smiled, that is when she melted, because the smile promised to give her things, to comfort and protect her, to make her feel loved. But those things that he was promising her were not hers to take, at least not from him, and they were not his to promise.  One day he would understand that he was glad he got to save them for somebody even more right than her. For now he would simply be hurt and angry.  But Nomad needed to be okay with that. Because what Demetrius had said was close enough to the truth to tempt her to make the decision he wanted her to make, however she saw the complete truth that he did not see.  If she was ever going to learn how to accept that others cared for her, she needed to learn to take care of herself. Right now she was taking care of herself.

            “Take care of yourself, Demetrius, best of luck to you.”

            Then, Nomad turned and walked away, stepping of the wrong path into the wild. It would be rough, trying to get back to the path she had strayed from, but the Guiding Power would protect her.  The wilderness may even be his way of disciplining her, so she would understand this had been a lesson.  But, as Nomad listened to Demetrius’s familiar voice calling out behind her, “Wait Nomad, please do not go. I promise, I will show you how nice I can treat you…” she wondered, would taking care of herself always be this painful?

“And straighten the paths of your life, so that your lameness will not become worse but  instead may be healed.”

                        ~ Hebrews 12:13 (ISV)

-Excerpt from "Nomad", 2012's NANOWRIMO challenge.

A Real Sacrifice Recieved

           I once said I wanted to write something beautiful. I did. Then I gave it away.  It was hard for me to give him my words.  It wasn’t hard to give them away when they didn’t mean anything. This time, when my real emotions were invested in them, when I knew my words might have negative consequences, when what I wrote was so pure and true, I wanted to selfishly keep those words to myself.

            My words are a part of who I am. Every time I write something I place a piece of myself down on that paper.  I gave other parts of myself to him. He left with a large part of my innocence and a little piece of my heart.  Yet my soul doesn’t seem to mourn for those the same way it grieves for my lost words. 

            Writing has always been my escape. When life gets too real for me, I can hide myself in my words. Writing is my release. When my emotions get to be overwhelming I can verbalize them in a positive and safe way by setting them down on paper.  When life is on paper it isn’t as scary. When my feelings are on paper they don’t have to be hidden away inside of me anymore.

            Trust is not something that comes easily to me. It used to, but I was disappointed and betrayed too many times. It is probably the reason I don’t make friends very well. I have to know a person is completely trustworthy.  That’s why I have such a hard time giving my words away. I don’t trust him, yet I gave him one of the purest and most treasured parts of me. 

            This must be what sacrifice really means. God doesn’t ask us to do what is easy. He doesn’t ask us to give up things that aren’t important to us.  He set the example by giving away his only son, for us. Now he’s asking me to give somebody my words, words that, realistically, came from God in the first place.

            This is my new challenge and prayer. God show me ways that I can give away my words. Show me how to do that. In doing so I may give them back to you, as a sacrificial offering of praise and thanksgiving for the forgiveness and sacrifice you gave me.

           

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,

a broken and a contrite heart—
These, O God, You will not despise.”

~ Psalm 51:17

Torn

                  I know now what temptation means. It means so much more than the young, sheltered girl I used to be understood. That girl I used to be a mere nine days ago.  Temptation means feeling torn. Your heart and soul become torn.  The spiritual connection with God starts to tear.  You become, sorry, I become torn between something I know isn’t pure and right and something that feels exhilarating, and new, and, strangely, flattering. I don’t care if anyone says differently but girls like to be flattered.  And, Lord, have I been flattered in this last week and a bit.

            It started with a dance that quickly turned into five dances.  Three days later it was every danceable song but three.

            What made him ask me to dance?  What made him single me out of the crowd and gave him the bravery I know it takes a man to ask that?  I could have said no. I could have rejected him. But, God, I wanted to dance.

            It made me feel special and confident and secure.  Validation is an unhealthy addiction for us humans though. The sense of confidence and security were false. I’ll admit, I was tempted to allow myself to be impulsive and superficial for once, still am. 

            I don’t know this boy. He is a gentleman by far, and he seems open and sincere, but I don’t know him.  Because I don’t know him, I don’t know his motives.  Motives mean a lot to me.  As soon as I’m asked a question, I ask why?. Not because I think they’re being nosy, or I am defensive, but because I sincerely want to know the “why” behind their question.  So, why is this boy choosing to flatter me? Why is he choosing to be a gentleman to me?

            The way I was raised has a lot to do with my torn feelings right now.  I was raised to have a deep abiding faith and reverence for my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I cannot live in faith and reverence if I have yoked myself with one who isn’t also living life in such a way. It says in the Bible, “Do not be yoked together with unbelievers.” (2 Corinthians 6:14)

            Is it enough that he believes in going to church? Or that he believes in God? Or that he believes he was saved as a child and he’s set now? Personally, I have to, with all honesty and boldness, say, “No.” It is not enough for me. I must be yoked with somebody who believes in the power of the crucifixion and sacrifice as much as I. Somebody who believes in the awe filling majesty of the resurrection and ascension. He needs to understand and believe in the reality and significance of the Book of God.  The Bible is not just a book it is the Word. Christ our Savior himself was the Word embodied. Most of all I need a man who believes in bettering himself. Faults, temptations, and mistakes can be forgiven, but ignorance can only be an excuse until you have passed up an opportunity to learn.

            I feel bold and empowered in the Spirit of God as I write this. I thank the Lord for his never ending care and support in my life. That he gives me these opportunities to strengthen my faith fills me with awe and gratitude. Bless the Lord oh my soul! O-o-oh my soul…

                                                                                                    Amen.

Think Deeply

We do not think deeply enough. We do not take anything seriously anymore. We fear the power of other people’s thoughts and words and refuse to take responsibility for our own thoughts and words. If we thought deeper we would perhaps see the severity of our situation. I am talking about the fate of our souls.  I refuse to believe there is nothing after death. In fact I know what comes after death, for me it is eternal life in Heaven.  Do you really want to risk missing out on that? Don’t you want to give yourself the best chance you possibly can?

I believe in the amazing blessing and miracle that is our bodies. It saddens me to witness people abuse them. In the name of fun and bonding we poison ourselves with drugs and alcohol.  I do not judge, however, because I have been there before.  In weak moments I have abused prescription drugs because I liked the way I didn’t have to be in control anymore.  I have felt the need to drink alcohol so I could be as relaxed as the people around me and have a good time.  Yet, during those times, I felt nothing but fear and conviction.  Just last night I went to the bar with friends and I had a great time. I didn’t have to drink at all. I learned how to two-step, including a complicated spin. I had SO much fun and I was STONE-COLD-SOBER!

Most people don’t stop to consider the different levels their being consists of. I believe there is three (kind of four) parts. There is our mind, our active conscience; our body, the physical part; and our soul and spirit, the, of course, spiritual component.  It is our spirit and souls that we do not stop to consider as often as we ought.  God created us with our soul and spirit, very intricately I might add. He knit them, and He knit us together in the darkness of our mother’s womb.  Before she knew us He did (Psalm 139 “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb… My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.”).  Our spirit is a powerful place in our being. God designed our spirits as a place where he could reside in us.  Where we could come to meet him. 

Our soul is the human part of us and it is comprised of our emotions and instincts.  The soul is intertwined with the spirit. So if we allow ourselves to sin (sin instills itself in the soul) it can in turn taint our spirits and cause a gap to form between God and ourselves.  We cannot have a living relationship with God when his dwelling place within us has become impure. However Christ Jesus, the Word, became flesh (John 1:1-14) and by believing in him we fortify ourselves against sin.  Our being is cleansed and because “the Word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit…” (Hebrews 4:12) we don’t have to lose our connection with God. We must continue to renew the power of the Sword of the Spirit though! A sword cannot be wielded and brought against the enemy unless it is picked up!

Is your soul tainting the dwelling place of God? Or is God not in his dwelling place because you haven’t had the chance to invite him in?  I encourage you to clean house and let God in.  Our bodies are the temple; may we hold them in reverence and may we be sanctified.  Yield the Sword, meditate deeply in its meaning.  Do not fear what it says, that is the devil trying to steal God’s power in our lives.  Think deeply my friends, reflect, how do you want your eternal soul to look? 

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood,  but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

                                                                        ~ Ephesians 6:12-17

Fall, My Friends, and SOAR!

             You’re running.  Running from what, you don’t know.  It feels like you are hardly moving, and that you aren’t running fast enough. There's sweat running down into your eyes and your clothes are plastered to your skin.  You're breathing harder, and harder.  Your heart is pounding and it skips everytime you look over your shoulder and think you see a phantom in the shadows, and then, suddenly, you are falling, and you wake up.  That feeling you get when you fall and than wake up? That is what I’ve been feeling every day for a very long time. 

            Every now and then I think about things and I get breathless and tense, as if I reaching for something, anything to hold onto.  I just don’t want to hit the ground.  The things I worry about the most are out of my control.  If I stopped worrying I wouldn’t have to feel that way. 

            I think it is when we cease to worry, and when we cease to surrender to fear, that we can embrace the free fall. In embracing the free fall, that is when we learn to fly. So, my friends, embrace life, and soar…

"but those who hope in the LORD 

will renew their strength. 

They will soar on wings like eagles;

 they will run and not grow weary, 

they will walk and not be faint."

                                             ~Isaiah 40:31

  

Narrator

                  Sometimes I get so caught up in my own mind that I separate from reality.  I become a third party who doesn’t interact but simply observes.  Maybe that’s the writer in me, I become the narrator, and I make my life a simple story, telling the parts that are light and happy. That way I feel like I can control life, show the parts of the plot that are full of humor, action and romance. Life lessons are easier to take when they’re learnt by somebody else. I can feel the emotions by reading the story, but the pain isn’t as vivid and I can cut it off whenever I wish, simply by snapping the book shut. As long as I’m the narrator I’m safe.

Blessing in Disguise

                  “Maybe it’s cause you’re getting old.” I said it like it was a fact, because it was a fact.  He’d run this farm his whole life, the first eighteen years by his father’s side, the rest of the sixty-two by himself, except for his wife and sons, but his wife was dead and his sons were gone, and he was still holding on, even though he’d earned himself a break.  Every time something on that farm required a repair he got even more angry about it than the time before that.  I was the same way as him, I was a perfectionist who liked everything a certain way and if it was changed, broken, or didn’t run without a catch I got uptight.  I was only seventeen but in my seventeen years I had learned better than he had that it doesn’t always work that way. Things broke down, things weren’t always perfect.  I guess I probably learned that pretty quick because that was the way my life was, if it ran a day without a catch I’d think I was in Heaven.  He was eighty and still holding on to the old farm, even though he had diabetes and a bad hip he thought he could make it run as perfectly as the day he had inherited it, and this time when something went wrong he lost his temper again, this time throwing his hands up in the air and asking the mental to do list he kept, “Why is it getting longer every day, it used to be I had five tasks a day and I could trust that at the end of an honest day’s work they’d be done, and I’d be ready for the next day. But no, everything has to go wrong.  A fence post breaks, so I repair it, but the post pounder I need to repair it is missing a part, and when I go into town to pick up the part it won’t be in until Tuesday, in the meantime my purebred angus heifers are in with the neighbour’s blasted hybrid bull! Why is everything going wrong?!”

                  And I couldn’t keep my opinion in any longer, “Maybe it’s cause you’re getting old.”

                  “Don’t tell me I’m getting old!” He threw down the wrench he was using to do the job of a hammer, a hammer that he had misplaced two days ago and still hadn’t recalled the exact location of. 

                  “What’s with it with you people? Everybody thinks there is something wrong with getting old. Well in my mind there isn’t, least not if you’re a Christian.  If you’re a Christian getting old means getting one day closer to meeting your Maker.  For me? Getting older means one more day towards college, or a new job. And you know what that means? That means new people who vex me and don’t understand me but tell me they know me, and then get after me for what they think they know. It means another day of seeing shit happen in this world that could be changed if everybody in the world knew and believed and loved the Truth.  And the only way that people are going to come to know and believe and love the Truth is if the people who do know the Truth get off their lazy asses and start knowing and believing and loving the Truth themselves.  Which sucks because that means we have to do something more than love ourselves. 

                  “So don’t tell me to not tell you you’re getting old. When I say you’re old I’m saying it with jealousy, I wish I was one day closer to not having to have to get out of bed every morning and face boys talking about which drunk girl they had sex with on the weekend, and then talking about their one virgin buddy who hasn’t given it up yet and is too lazy to get a girl, and wanting to stand up and yell at them that maybe he doesn’t want to give it up, maybe he’s saving it for somebody special. I don’t like the idea of not being able to yell at them that they’re just jealous that they haven’t had the self control to hold onto it, but I couldn’t say that in love, so I don’t say anything at all. And then for the rest of my week, my month even, I wonder if perhaps there was something I could have said in love to make them want to know, believe and love the Truth.”

                  “Getting old is just one less chance of seeing the year when they finally outlaw religious practices of any kind in the name of equality. Getting old is one less chance of seeing the year when water stops being free.  Getting old means you don’t have to watch as Earth rips herself apart trying to maintain a livable environment for humans while we pump her full of toxins.  Getting old is one less day of having to watch humanity rip itself apart.  It’s one less day to watch this world come to a painful and dark end.”

I stopped ranting for a moment to pick up the wrench and put it back in its proper place.  Then I handed him the hammer I had found beside the broken fence post that morning.  I wished it was all I could do to remember where I had placed my hammer, or my reading glasses, cause maybe if I was that absent of mind I wouldn’t have the sanity to dwell on the things that make me want to stay in bed for weeks at a time.

                  “Face it old man, getting old’s a blessing in disguise.”

To Hell With an Eggbasket

             She struggled with the big barn door. Finally it opened.  She balked at the incessant clucking from inside.  Picking up her basket containing a small bed of straw she stepped forward, muttering under her breath, “Help me God. Ease this coming hardship. Life has got to be more than this. Lord save my soul, and my shoes. Cause ugh… everywhere I step there’s chicken poo.”

Murmuration

           Have you ever seen a murmuration of starlings?  A murmuration is a group of starlings and there are times in their lives when they gather into a large murmuration of almost thousands of birds.  As they fly they almost seem to become one being, and the group breathes and moves as a whole.  Life, is like a murmuration. It is a conglomeration of many different small details working together to make a whole. These details flow into each other, much the same way each wave flows into the other with the ocean tides, or much the same way a single starling flows inside the whole.

            How do they do it? It would be hard to say.  It’s the animal instinct, for a large part. Their instinct is just so powerful that they are able to see a signal, the slightest tip of their fellows’ wings and they react immediately.  Humans don’t always rely completely on their instinct, they like to use “reason” and “logic” but our live always seem to be rough and uncoordinated.  Perhaps I will begin to make decisions, not on impulse, but on instinct. I will follow my gut feeling.  That way my life can feel more natural, more fluent, more graceful. 

            Why do the starlings create such wonders? Why do they gather in such numbers every year to perform such a dance? That is the way God created them.  Now I don’t believe God is always speaking to us, but I do believe that there are times in our lives when he gives us a succession of opportunities and suggestions alike. We are supposed to be attuned to his will so that we can react on those opportunities quickly.  The way the starling is attuned to their murmuration, so they may move quick enough to perform their dance of nature. My wish, my hope, my goal is to make my life look like a murmuration. I will be always finely attuned to my circumstances around me, and the will of God, so that I may be able to become part of that fantastic dance.  The fantastic dance that rises and ebbs, with success and failures, defeats and victories.

A video of a starling murmuration:

http://vimeo.com/31158841

The Canadian Way

The Canadian Way

The cold on your butt

The warmth from the heater above.

The smell of fries and coffee

And the taste of licorice as

You chew it nervously.

The rise and fall of the crowd

As the m.v.p. skates by.

The feel of the ice on your face

And energy coming off the players as they

Walk to their change rooms.

It’s the sound of the air horns

For period break, power play, puck in the net.

The oohs and the ahhs of the crowd

The slap of the sticks and the

Thud as one body hits another

The glass shivers under impact.

What is this? Just another Saturday night.

This is Hockey, this is being Canadian.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                  We never really got along. A large part of it was the fact that she stole my man, even though he wasn’t mine in the first place.  But it also went further back than that, it was a personality clash.  No matter how much we glared at each other and directed all our angry feelings towards each other, though, there was always those Friday or Saturday nights.  The two of us would go to his hockey games together, her wearing his jersey and me rolling my eyes because I knew that later on he’d be going on and on about how, after, it’d smell like her vanilla perfume.  The two of us would sit on the far side of the arena where nobody else would sit and we’d watch them all skate onto the ice.  Both of us would always have one eye on Number Nine, all the while pretending like all we saw was his other teammates. Our cover up being the jokes we made about them.

            “Look at that guy, with the long, black hair.”

            “Ooh, he should be a Pantene model!”

            Both of us would genuinely laugh and have a good time.  Then we’d watch as, during the second period, Number Nine would jump off the ice onto his bench.  You could almost imagine the sound of him cussing out his teammates as he threw his stick at the bench in righteous anger.  We turned to each other, night and day, her blue eyes, and my brown eyes, wide, and then we burst out laughing. 

            He never found his anger funny, and I’d never found anybody else who could laugh at it like I did. We watched the rest of the game, laughing hysterically when Number Nine went sprawling on the ice with no one around.  I knew that when we went back to his house to watch a movie, she would sit on the couch in his arms, and I’d go back to resenting her because she had made me the third wheel.  But for right now, in this hockey arena, we had found a common ground. I guess that’s just the Canadian way.