29 December 2011

Choices, Circles

Which story should I tell? I am profoundly unhappy, said the man
on the barstool three down from mine. His mind, I could tell, was
unwise. He spoke with an accent underdefined. The tip of his
tongue was on the roof of his mouth half the time, just waiting
to be unraveled and rewind. I am thoroughly unsatisfied, he told me,
and his stare held mine. Soft whiskers around the shape of his mouth
began to waggle, he shook his head to allow the pain to unravel.
It came off him as energy—a dark, distant light—like mourning dew
off a leaf that could no longer bear to maintain its form, to cease to be
the cup that holds its gift from heaven. Unsolicited, it was, and heavy.
It came off him like the radiance of majesty that leaves the mane
of a lion stretching his prowess and freeing his mind. A growl
that leaves the ground shaking. The itching of a paw that leaves
mountains breaking. I cannot hold on any longer, he whispered,
like pine needles rattling like frozen sabers. The pages of an old
leather-bound bible flapping in the wind to a wispy echoing.
Cryptic lyrics began their long walk home to grievings and groans
undertold. Old memories revolt and unfold. I am deeply troubled,
he relates. I have lost my entire life's way. Where was I? He begins

25 December 2011

Slashdot on Democracy.

A: Voting with your wallets is much more effective then the fake choice presented in elections. Hopefully, people will finally realize that in today's world, it's the best way to start making a difference.
B: Good thing everyone has the same number of votes in their wallets...

05 December 2011

He is jealous for me. (Moved from Tumblr)

A person in love has one true concern. She is concerned about the person she loves. Everything else seems insignificant compared to her lover. All other things are unworthy of her time. But yet, no one wants someone who is completely absorbed in them, approving of their every move. You want a bit of a challenge. You want some ruffling of some feathers. You want to be told when you’re wrong, and you want your loves to fight to keep you.

I don’t know why we are made this way. Why we harbor such irrational inconsistencies. Why within man exists such paradox. God could’ve made us otherwise. He could’ve had it where all our contradictions were outward. Where our wrestling was external. Where conflict existed only between people, never within. But for some reason or other, God chose to make us harbor inside of us the capacity for self-contradiction. He gave us this potential to fight, to wrestle, to have to strain with ourselves in doing the right thing.

He made it so that we have two people within us. The old self, and the new. The flesh, and the spirit. And the desires of each do battle daily inside of us. Clashing among us, waging war within us. There is a prolonged conflict between the two selves. To do what is right, or to do what is wrong. To seek after God, or to seek after the things of this world. We are often posed with two choices. They are framed in such a way as to tempt us from Christ. To sway our affections from our one true love.

God is single-minded in his love for us. He is never tempted to stray. He remains faithful and steadfast always. There is never a doubt in his mind of how much he loves us because he has already demonstrated to us his great love for us. “If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”

He who did not spare his own Son. How will he not?

He is jealous for me.

I came to God today in prayer asking him to show me how much he loved me. I was full of doubt, distant, indifferent. I remember once as a child disappointing my dad. I don't remember exactly what I did, but I remember crying out the entire night, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I cried so much that night that I got sick the next morning. My dad never came to comfort me. I had disappointed him. And it had devastated me so much to let my dad down. I wanted his approval. I wanted his acknowledgment. I wanted his recognition.

I had a friend who shared with me that he never argued with his ex-girlfriend, except once. And that one time that he raised his voice, she began to cry. He immediately stopped and asked her why she was crying. She said, "Because I made you mad."

I came to God today asking him how much he loved me, and he showed me something first, before he overwhelmed me with his love. He showed me the state of my own heart. How much I've wanted. How that want has turned to lust. How that lust has overwhelmed me and consumed me. How my heart has coveted possessions, and how my affections have wandered from my one true, first love.

I broke down in repentance. "I have not put you first. I have not put you first. I am so sorry. I am so sorry." It was a startling realization, for one so blindsided, so single-minded. I have not put God first. He has not consumed my thoughts. He has not been my one true concern.

Then he pointed me to a passage I thought I knew well, but seemed all too foreign to me as I ran my hands over the words of the page. Romans 8. "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us." And, "We know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose." And, "No, in all these things we are more than conquerers through him who loved us."

And, "What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?"

He who did not spare his own Son. How will he not?

01 December 2011

The Ancients

He lived two years in a cave, three in a den
inhabited by others like him. Strange men. Chiseled
jaw bones and pronounced brow ridge, wandering
about deserts and wastelands dressed in sheep skin
adorning many piercings. Scarred faces from many
long nights sitting in front of fires and falling flat
in desperate prayers to foreign gods. Calloused feet
from many long nights dancing in the shadows
of the cavern walls, putting on puppet shows for
the foreign gods. Strong hands from hard labors
whittling spear tips and stone axes. Bare arm from
hard fall from high place, stung and stunk for days
but prayed and prayed and prayed. Chants worked
and arm healed, now used for gathered honey. Stir
the beehive, run and hide, grab nest and harvest.
Eat for lunch locust and dinner catch fish. But once
for a long time, the world turned strange—absurd.
Dry, dry, dry. Death and decay. Message from the
native God—He still here. Message from the native
God—He still cares. But torture and torment, and
tragic regardless. He called me. The man two years
in a cave, three in a den. Prepare, make way, he said.