A boy with two hearts

1 Peter 4:12-13,

2012-01-30T01:32:00.003-05:00

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ's sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed.

And yet, somehow, I am always surprised.

When falling,

2012-01-30T00:41:00.000-05:00

It becomes clear what you value most. You will cling to it. You won't let it go. I remember hearing once, don't know if this is apocrypha or not, that the passenger side of a car is most often impacted in an accident because drivers instinctively swerve away from an oncoming collision, thinking only of protecting themselves and actually using others as a shield from the damage. After hearing this, I thought to myself that I would try really hard to put myself in harm's way for the sake of others. But then I had to consider a situation, which I think would make the application of this resolution even more difficult, what if my car is empty but me? Still, I think it is better to think of the other who is not there, than not to think of others at all, right?

Coming down.

2012-01-30T00:33:00.003-05:00

How could you not feel when listening to this song? The sorrow? The sadness? The passion of something loved but lost? A fading, forlorn hope?

Yes, please. Trying.

2012-01-29T19:14:00.000-05:00

“Therefore we must not overinvest ourselves in anything besides the kingdom. Though we have possessions, we should live as if they weren’t really ours, for our real wealth is in God.”

— Tim Keller

I am self destructive.

2012-01-25T20:03:00.005-05:00

Like Dr. House. A ticking time bomb that wants anything but to go out with a whimper. But then there is Christ. He says, yes, come and die. Only then will you live. And suddenly, life has meaning again.

"We glorify what we enjoy the most...

2012-01-24T19:42:00.004-05:00

...and it isn't God.

Therefore sin is not small because it is not against a small Sovereign. The seriousness of an insult rises with the dignity of the one insulted. The Creator of the universes is infinitely worthy of respect and admiration and loyalty. Therefore, failure to love him is not trivial—it is treason."

— For Your Joy, John Piper

Nerd alert

2012-01-23T18:50:00.003-05:00

I've finally surpassed 1,000 reputation on Stack Overflow :D

Judges 16

2012-01-21T00:24:00.001-05:00

D: Why aren't you shaving?
S: To remind myself that I am on a mission and that I don't have time to waste with inconsequential things.
D: Like shaving?
S: No, like wondering why girls don't like me and what I can do to fix that.

The Scientist

2012-01-18T04:07:00.003-05:00

I used to think that no one around me could die. That somehow, I was the special thing that kept people alive. I'd hear stories, but I had never met these people. Then, one fateful day in late elementary school, someone I knew of had died. I met them. But I never touched them. So I rationalized, it must be my touch. That must be the special key. And then, years later, another died. Someone who I had touched. And another, and another. And I realized, I am not very special at all—or, if I am, not very good at it. That either death was upon us all, or I was a great disappointment.

Death is scary, folks. But, somehow, there is Life.

Breathe it in
And let it go
Every breath you take is not yours to own
It's not yours to hold
Do you love me enough to let me go?

8 Months (Or Until I Get to California)

2012-01-18T03:36:00.004-05:00

That's how long I'm fasting shaving my beard.

I've been journaling lately. It might seem like I haven't been writing anything of substance these days, but I have. It's just become more personal, and it's all been going into my prayer journal. Maybe, if I find the time, I'll come back and update this blog. I have a few stories I'd like to tell. One of them about my mother's love for me and how it is shown by her sacrifice in the little things. Another about how my blog posts about Jesus are like two playing cards propping each other up. How they are a flimsy construction, but when viewed at a certain angle—and the angle here is key—come to be a representation or image of something beautiful. Another, a story about how most people don't really believe what they say they do, but that there's still hope out there somewhere. And lastly, about my grandma who has stage IV cancer and is going to die. How I love her, and have prayed for her, and pray for her still. And how she is a Christian, that they're aren't many in my family, how her courage inspires me, and how her service humbles me. She is a faithful, praying woman of God, and I really don't want her to go. I wish I could spend more time with her, but I'm here in New York, and she is in California. And that thought, sometimes, tortures me.

I didn't know that most girls don't like nerds.

2012-01-13T22:53:00.003-05:00

Until I came to New York. I guess this is the real world, huh?

The Other Side

2012-01-10T02:22:00.000-05:00

It is the most funny feeling. To have nostalgia about constructed memories. To be dreaming and feel a sense of loss for the things that never were. I have this whole other world on the other side of waking. When I dream. It's this self-contrived universe, full of its own mythology and history and workings. When I enter it, it feels familiar. It all comes rushing back to me. I remember things that happened in dreams before. Vague recollections of a distant past. And I get that fuzzy feeling. A sense of heartache. A sense of loss. But these things never were. They never happened. That's what's funny. It feels so real. So real. And sometimes, I wish it were. The good and the bad. I wish it were.

Exodus 16:31

2012-01-08T01:11:00.002-05:00

It was like coriander seed, white, and the taste of it was like wafers made with honey.

No prob, Bob.

2012-01-07T01:29:00.001-05:00

I overheard an older man once, while sitting outside of PC East, speaking with a woman around his age. He talked about what was wrong with this day and age, how all of us college students weren't prepared for the real world, couldn't grapple with untidy ethical dilemmas. Then he mentioned something—the one thing about his conversation that really stuck with me—he mentioned that he couldn't stand how young people our age have replaced the formal you're welcome with the casual no problem. He said it insinuated something. That the deed done really was no problem, and because it had no cost, was neither worth doing nor needing gratitude. A thank you he said should always be followed by a you're welcome.

To this day I still say no problem, but perhaps I should give up this pretense of false modesty and change my ways. Old man, wherever you are, you're welcome.

The Romcom

2012-01-07T01:19:00.000-05:00

B: Faith isn't about getting what you want. It's about doing what you think is right.
G: And you think this is right?
B: I like you and I don't think it's right to give up without giving you my all.

Choices, Circles

2011-12-29T22:42:00.003-05:00

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

Slashdot on Democracy.

2011-12-25T23:15:00.003-05:00

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...

He is jealous for me. (Moved from Tumblr)

2011-12-05T21:30:00.000-05:00

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.

2011-12-05T21:10:00.001-05:00

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?

The Ancients

2011-12-01T01:18:00.001-05:00

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.

Crown

2011-11-28T01:48:00.001-05:00

Look at the trees, and the faces in the trees. The old hag's faces and
the witch's warts. Misshapen figures dancing in the shadows with
shaken leaves, like bears suckling honey. Fallen branches jutting out,
like claws cupping daisies. Dark protrusions in the shade. Flower bed
circling the trunk, like a ring of dancers in twilight worship, or an eel
circling its tank, like vultures circling a carcass. The elm among
the evergreens, these bare and naked boney trees among the buildings
surrounded on all sides by scraped skies, like abandoned cities
overgrown with ivy, yet still dead and dying. The empty park
benches with names scribbled on them in ink and engraved
on metal and with knives, the arrows through the hearts bound by love
and bound by time — two names forever intertwined like a monument
of love that's a tomb dead and dying, filled with bones and dark ash
from within its whitewashed walls, like the scrawl of the nails
of a prisoner buried alive with just enough time to etch out his days
like a book that's a box made of rock with a pen that's his head
filled with ink that's unseen—and it leaks and it leaks and it leaks

One by one.

2011-11-21T01:38:00.001-05:00

God is stripping me of my idols.

Today I've finally come to the point where I'm considering going alone.

Selfish ambition and vain conceit.

2011-11-19T19:22:00.001-05:00

I always take on more than I can handle. And sometimes, in the humbling, I think it is good for me.

One, or the other, or both but neither.

2011-11-19T11:36:00.001-05:00

I have this habit of wrapping up my thoughts in nice tidy pieces. As if, the only thoughts worth sharing were the lovely ones. In fact, I have many unlovely thoughts. Thoughts that reflect upon me in unseemly ways. Thoughts that show what I really think, and who I really am. I hide these thoughts from the public, from you, because most people just don't want to hear it. I call it the capacity for truth telling. We just don't have a very high tolerance for ugly truths. Us, Christian peoples. When we speak of having the monopoly of truths—the Gospel message. But we don't want to hear the dark things, the unsightly things, the things that crawl and creep in the night.

So the job of exploring the ugly truths goes to the secularists. The sacrilegious artists. The facetious humorists. They have all the fun with the messy things, the things that we can't yet exactly wrap up in a bow. The things that we know are there, but turn our eyes away from. I'd like to touch upon these truths. I'd like to explore them too. But to do so would reveal just how much of a sinner I am. And it's the truth. I am a sinner. But to what extent do we really believe that? To what extent can we stomach the fact that our neighbors, our friends, our family, our roommates and colleagues are all the monsters that we speak of when we tell of our darkest fears? We are the monsters—the good monsters, yes—who come out at night.

The intriguing thing about zombies is their metaphor. That thing. That undead thing. That ravenous spirit which desires the flesh of other men and will stop at nothing, even as its limbs are being torn off, and its flesh is rotting away, and its soul is dead, to have what it wants. That thing—is us. The intriguing thing about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was not the semi-magical way he transformed by potion, but it was the uncovering. The letting go. The tearing apart of all inhibition. That monster, Mr. Hyde, was part of Dr. Jekyll this whole time. He was it and it was him. And they were one in the same. So that monster, really, lurks within. The greatest battles we will fight, the greatest obstacles we will overcome in life, exist not out there, but in here. We are our own greatest enemies.

But how often do we realize it? How often are we willing to confront our own dreadful sinfulness? How often are we willing to admit to our capacity for harm? We aren't. And we don't. And we go on living lives like we aren't the things we say we are. And we go on picking up trash in beautiful dresses. And we go on writing things that no one will read because it doesn't strike that chord between beauty and truth telling because its censored. It's not even good writing. It's just honest.

This is a dark time in my life. I wonder if that's ok? If I'll be ok?

I really should stop telling people

2011-11-08T04:50:00.001-05:00

I want to be a missionary when I grow up. It's really hurting my game.
(That was a joke, please forgive me.)

Pen pals.

2011-11-05T17:34:00.001-04:00

I am the postcard I send to you.
Your very own self addressed stamped envelope.

I'll be in California December 13th until early January.
Let's play?
:)

I ripped my pajama pants today.

2011-11-02T23:26:00.001-04:00

It's time to start running again..

I am tired of winning hearts.

2011-10-30T01:39:00.001-04:00

Why can't things just come easy?

But perhaps this is preparing me for the rest of life.

I worked like 13 hours today.

2011-10-25T01:05:00.001-04:00

How long can I keep this up?

I stay up nights

2011-10-23T06:18:00.004-04:00

because I just can't believe it sometimes.

He loves us.

The Portrait

2011-10-22T03:59:00.000-04:00

She is in her thirties, a woman of business in a suit,
waiting outside for great things to happen and
life passes by while she holds electric fruit to her face,
a truck scrapes the curb, and chain-link chunks fly upward—
she covers her face from the sparks and the stench,
and speaks quickly into the air. Her words transmit a thousand miles
like light speed, but she's worried about her desk and how it should be
her makeup's a mess, hair disheveled, and she looks careless
but that is far from the truth. He is outside waiting
as life passes by. A man in a brown trench coat who wants the good
labored leather boots with the steel tips for work and fights,
ready at any moment to throw down, has to wrestle now with life,
his daughter, just six, just died. He grabs his hair—
she is thrown out the car window on the reverse side,
the car flipped, rolled, coasted, and skid. Her body thrown,
like a toy doll, fell apart, mangled and slit—pulled inside out
like socks in the laundry or pig's intestine to be filled
with its own innards. He loses the feelings in his legs,
falls on his knees, flat on his face, and prostrate prays.
The woman in her thirties sees and phones the police,
and as she leaves, though many notice and feel the need,
fail to mention that black stains are streaming down
her face, like the canvas of the sky after an abstract paint
of two colliding worlds and all their angst, like the insides
of buckets after all is drained. The leftovers:
the smears, the spots, the splatters—and pain.

Thesaurus.

2011-10-21T18:27:00.002-04:00

Treasure. It's almost poetry.

VERBS 10 feel, entertain or harbor or cherish or nurture a feeling; feel deeply, feel in one's viscera or bones, feel in one's gut or guts; experience 831.8; have a sensation, get or receive an impression, sense, perceive, intuit, have a hunch

Meet the Metaphor

2011-10-15T15:45:00.001-04:00

Your relationship with Logic makes me think you met it once at a party, shook its hand to be polite, and then moved on to talk to all the interesting people never giving it a second thought.

— flosofl, a Slashdot user

This is my favorite time of the year

2011-10-14T21:58:00.001-04:00

:) I wish it would stay like this always.

Sometimes I just want to be a nerd.

2011-10-13T00:02:00.000-04:00

And I just want to talk about nerd stuff.

From the Apple documentation, "Core Data is not an entry-level technology." Today, I begin my tackling of this technology. This is what makes programming fun, the challenge. And in case other nerds are out there reading this, Apple's documentation is by far the most enjoyable documentation I get to read. Google's is not bad, but from there, everyone else just falls off steeply (especially Microsoft and IBM, ugh, even the font and the way they organize the information turns me off). Honestly, I love coding, and I love writing, and I wouldn't mind one day to be writing some clear and understandable documentation for my fellow programmers out there. It's nice to read a good article or two and comprehend something that you hadn't before, and to be able to use that newly found knowledge to try to create something worthwhile with the hopes of making people's lives better.

I love fall weather.

2011-10-12T21:31:00.000-04:00

It is full of anticipation! :)

I don't know how yet to describe the way this weather makes me feel, but I will try in the coming days to put it into words.

Here is a song that comes close to doing it for me,

Window Sleep

2011-10-11T15:23:00.000-04:00

There's a rustling in the leaves where there's talk among the trees
where there's stories being told of the ancient and the old:
a strong and restless wind makes its long way home
it speaks, incants, invokes, gives life and breathes and shows.
The strong and restless wind rustles in the leaves
it tickles in between the long tall trees's toes,
it scratches endless itch of the pecker and the tick
the rhythm and the beat of ancient folk music.

There's a rustling in the leaves and there's talk among the trees
that there's stories being told of the ancient and the old:
the fallen leaves that speak of morals to uphold
in faraway waters where windless sails snap close.
Let the spirit thrive, to find its way inside, to let its meters run
and fill it with the deep where need cries out to need
and people come to seek where breakers, crashes, waves
and souls that make are made polished rocks to save.

I have quit the test.

2011-10-09T00:14:00.000-04:00

I will not allow this test to determine my social interactions any more. I will no longer subject my friends to the tyranny of a four letter categorization, as scientific and methodological as it may have been. Did you know that people use to say things like, "Oh, if you don't have the right four letters, Cadengo won't be your friend"? Was I so obvious?!

Hahaha, that was a joke. I really would befriend anyone. Or try to. Regardless of their letters. But it is true that I usually am obvious about how I feel about many things. And so, from this day forth, let it be plain that I choose my friends because of love for God and love for His people, and not for any other reason, be it compatibility, or anything else.

Today, I take the training wheels off my bike and I ride.

Nerds will know the reference.

2011-10-06T15:19:00.001-04:00

[It is] best to confuse only one issue at a time.

— K&R

For Loved Ones.

2011-09-30T05:32:00.000-04:00

J: I think it requires bloody, and sweaty, and earnest, and prayer.

Lord, please save my parents, my brother. Sometimes that's all I can think about. And other times, I fail them so miserably. Lord, love them. Forgive me, and love them.

Resonance.

2011-09-26T05:15:00.000-04:00

A source of constant sorrow.

That a person would be left unloved because she is unlovely. That love would be distributed like wages to workers, withheld like grain in a time of famine.

A source of constant renewal.

That we love because He first loved us. That God shows His love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

I've decided.

2011-09-26T03:50:00.001-04:00

The Lucid Dream

2011-09-22T13:59:00.000-04:00

I had a dream this morning about my extended family. We used to get together a few times every month, but in my dream this get together was different. People were sitting at dinner tables, saying grace, singing praise, and loving each other. My uncle, who had come up to me last Thanksgiving after I gave a short testimony, devotional, prayer at my cousin's debut and asked me about Jesus, led the time of prayer. The song they were singing, and it was so loud it was all I could hear in my dream, was, "Be glorified." And it was so beautiful, that it woke me up.

The Seven Deadly Axioms: Part Four.

2011-09-21T17:02:00.000-04:00

VII. Anosognosia. Def. To have a disability, but be unaware of its existence. Ex. A man has lost his right arm in the war. He is asked to hold a tray. A person without a right arm who is aware of his disability will place his left hand beneath the center of the tray in order to balance it. A person suffering anosognosia will grab the left end of the tray, as if he had two hands with which to grab and be unable to balance it. The tray will fall. The doctor will ask, "Why did you drop the tray?" The anosognosic will come up with a rationalization, "Oh, I'm so clumsy. Please forgive me!" Or "Wow, today just must be an off day, I'm sorry!" But he will never come near to the truth that he has lost his right arm in the war, and that the tray was unbalanced because he only has one hand with which to grab.

Claim. We are all anosognosics to one degree or another. There are some things that we know we don't know. I don't know who the 23rd President of the United States is [6], for example. But then there are things that we don't even know that we don't know. We can call them the unknown unknowns. For Man to be separated from God, for example, and not know that his deepest need is to be reconciled to God is a form of anosognosia. And how would Man have any way of finding this out? Considering that we don't know what we don't know, the best we can hope for then is to know what we know very well, and to assume all else is unknown. That is, the best we can hope for is faith [7]. To put it one way, faith is the acceptance of a set of axioms—these axioms being a revelation of a few, certain, self-evident truths—and the courage to reason from there.

But what about the man who lost his right arm in the war? Say it was his faith that made him think that he had kept his right arm, but his right arm could not hold up the tray because it was not there. Is his faith wrong? I would say, yes, his faith is wrong. The test of faith is how it shows up in action. The test of faith is if it works [8],

The experience that we have of our lives from within, the story we tell ourselves about ourselves in order to account for what we are doing, is fundamentally a lie—the truth lies outside, in what we do [9].

The first story that we told ourselves about ourselves in order to account for what we were doing happened at the Fall [10],

Then he said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”

The story that the woman told happened to be a lie. Most stories are. But there is one true story. It is the one told not by us or about us, but to us.

[6] A quick google search reveals that his name is Benjamin Harrison and that I know nothing about him.
[7] Cf. Hebrews 11:1, 6
[8] Cf. Matthew 12:33, James 2:14, 17
[9] Slajov Žižek
[10] Cf. Genesis 3

I am getting sick.

2011-09-21T14:17:00.001-04:00

I have noticed a pattern. My prayers are strongest when I am weakest.

Hand to the Plow.

2011-09-20T02:31:00.000-04:00

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men (Colossians 3:23).

Must focus.

Why am I holding on to this?

2011-09-20T02:29:00.000-04:00

Let go. Release. Set free.

Childhood Stories.

2011-09-16T18:32:00.000-04:00

I used to dump sand in my hair because I liked how it felt scratching it out.

I had a competition with the girl I liked in 3rd grade about who was smarter. We'd ask each other questions and I'd tell her if she was right or not.

Playground rules dictated we'd count to 100 before it was our turn on the swings. The swings were my favorite, and I hated waiting. So I figured out a faster way. I'd count to 10, ten times.

A boy once threw a rock at me, so I grabbed him and dragged him to the principal. I was the one who got in trouble though. I got a detention for grabbing another kid.

I used to pick on a kid for being poor. I regret that to this day.

A kid teased me and I told my dad. My dad told me to punch the kid next time that happens so he wouldn't mess with me anymore. I followed my dad's advice. The kid cried. Next day, we were friends.

I spent most of my childhood alone. During recess I'd go to the outskirts of the playground, to where no one wanted to go. I'd spend time near the pond, and the bullfrogs. I liked to help the teachers tend the garden, and I'd pick at the clovers all day. One day I was waiting out there alone, sitting against a wall, and a girl came up and sat down next to me. She said hi, but I didn't know what to do, I was so nervous that someone actually wanted to be my friend. So we just sat there, alone, saying nothing else for the entire recess. I had the biggest crush on her for the next four years.

Octobers were my favorite. That's when the Santa Ana winds came in and all the smog would get cleared out. One year the winds were so strong they shut down school for a few days. I'd swear they'd tell this story for generations to come, a kid was literally blown away.

Family.

2011-09-16T14:32:00.000-04:00

For a man to charge into fire once requires grit that is instinctive in few men... to go in a fourth time is to know you will die; to go in a fifth time is beyond comprehension.

— Bing West, author of The Wrong War, where he describes the actions of Marine Dakota Meyer, who was awarded the Medal of Honor Sept. 15 for charging into an enemy ambush five times and saved 38 Marines and soldiers

The Seven Deadly Axioms: Part Three.

2011-09-14T23:19:00.000-04:00

VI. Qualia. Growing up, I always wanted to be an astronaut. The vast and endless possibilities of space had captivated my imagination. The stars weren't merely light givers, they were great big burning furnaces, celestial factories, elemental fasteners, and world builders. I wanted to live out scenes from Bradbury's Chronicles. Above me, the red purple Martian sunsets, strange and exotic gradients painted upon the alien sky. Below me, the glorious, dust-filled, iron-tinged, lifeless landscape, and its endless companion, the ever wandering wind.

I wished I was one of them. The characters from his books, the Martians, the ancient, noble people who plundered away their glory, and wasted their many gifts. I'd sit atop a peak among the ranges, perched off some cliff where my people had done battle, shed blood, secured peace. My legs would dangle kilometers over dry river beds and ancient seas and I'd watch the sun set and moons rise. We'd spend the night in desolation, shadows singing over the crackle of our campfire, howling wind at our feet, danger at our doorsteps. The moons dancing with each other, choreographed to some magnificent celestial symphony, unheard by the fainthearted, wicked, and faithless.

We'd look up at the night sky, and spot some distance away a dim shining in the dark. We'd name it earth to distinguish it from all the other lights, we'd call it a planet, a wanderer. We'd wonder who'd live in such a place? What were they like? Would they accept us as we are? We'd make up stories about them to pass the time. And one day, we'd go there, to stop by and say hello. Make friends, and reunite.

“Keep moving forward.”

2011-09-14T02:39:00.000-04:00

After I explained to my great uncle, who I call Grandpa, how the people on our team went to Ivy Leagues and/or graduated magna cum laude.

B: So yeah, we have a lot of very smart people...
G: And you're one of them.

The first and great ENFP influence of my life, and my INTJ father's best friend. Dad taught me to tell stories, and Grandpa taught me to listen. :)

People don't change. Things change.

2011-09-13T04:13:00.000-04:00

Things don't change. People change.

Which is it?

Watching Lost.

2011-09-09T20:58:00.000-04:00

After watching three episodes of Season 5,

Mom: I'm the one loss.
*Walks out*

"Drive it off"

2011-09-06T22:12:00.000-04:00

I get this false sense of accomplishment, as if I had run a mile or two, after driving for thirty minutes after I eat a big meal.

Cheesiest Movie Ever Award

2011-09-06T22:02:00.000-04:00

Just watched the ending of a movie where a boxer was getting pummeled and lands on the ground. The referee starts counting in slow motion while the camera cuts to a girl in the audience who passionately mouths "I love you!" Then somehow the boxer mysteriously finds the energy to get back up to fight and wins the match in an unexpected victory. The whole crowd goes crazy and the girl gets into the ring, runs into his arms, and kisses him in a loving embrace. Freeze frame. Cut scene. Roll credits.

I might be remembering this wrong, but LOL, that was too good to be true.

Finding My Voice

2011-09-05T16:16:00.000-04:00

Something I wrote years ago while high on caffeine,

Words sound so much better proceeding from my mouth than they do from my fingers. As I type, I realize the objective blandness of my thoughts--the all too real way they fall flat on the page.

Here are my thoughts. Have them. Don't want them? I throw them at you. Ha!

Sometimes all the mute need is a muse.

Everything was new again.

2011-09-04T17:06:00.000-04:00

Have you ever had a dream so powerful that it woke you up?

I fell in love with you, but I knew you were going to die. Everything we had would be cut short, so abrupt, before its time. I knew how it would all end, but I could do nothing about it. So I stayed there with you, in a time loop, spending each passing moment with you until the end, and every time I was given the chance to relive it again I'd always take it, and it'd always be different, but we'd always be together.

It was the most beautiful and sad dream I've ever had. Each time you died was the most painful, but we'd always get a another chance. You'd die, and we'd rewind, and I'd always choose you.

My Fandango deal expires in 5 days.

2011-09-04T04:23:00.001-04:00

Someone watch a movie with me!

The Seven Deadly Axioms: Part Two.

2011-09-02T15:14:00.000-04:00

IV. Correspondence Principle. It's natural for us to desire simplicity, but we must soon realize that the complexity of the world won't bend itself to our wills. Having an oversimplified cognitive model hinders our predictive power and undermines our very own purpose. How we choose to see the world and the way we believe it works mustn't be determined by what we desire, by our ideals, wants, or wishes, but rather by what is desired out of us. That is, how we choose to see the world and the way we believe it works must be determined by our calling. That is, our faith [3] must align with our calling.

V. Optimization. Pride is the big-headed man on your shoulders [4]. He isn't opposed to anyone but himself and he'll stand on both and call you giant. The great tension in the heart of a man in pursuit of humility is that between his growing awareness of pride and its simultaneous enfeeblement. The clearer you perceive the man on your shoulders, the larger he appears and the less he affects your life. There comes a point in the life of a man in pursuit of humility, a beautiful equilibrium at the intersection of a global maxima and a local minima [5], where his awareness of his own pride is so acute that it, in a most profound moment, vanishes.

[3] Believing is seeing.
[4] Childhood cartoons seem to suggest that a devil and an angel stand on either shoulder, swaying you to act in one way or another. I'd locate them and their battle elsewhere.
[5] I use these terms loosely to draw out a more literal meaning. Here global maxima is the concern one has for others at its peak, and local minima the concern one has for self at its least. An amazing singularity arises, however, in that the most selfish thing to do is actually the most selfless.

Dr. Linus

2011-08-27T21:33:00.000-04:00

Seriously, my new second favorite episode so far,

Ilana: Where will you go?
Ben: To Locke.
Ilana: Why?
Ben: Because he's the only one who'll have me.
Ilana: I'll have you.

Redemption. Forgiveness. And understanding.

Sustainability.

2011-08-25T15:33:00.001-04:00

Intimately tied to and second to humility, it is the hallmark of great leadership. And because of its great difficulty it is what most often fails to materialize,

If the company succeeds at doing that in the years ahead, it won't be evidence that Steve Jobs turned out to be replaceable. Instead, it'll be proof that he taught the company which so many fans and detractors believed was a one-man show to go on being Apple without his intensive involvement. That would be Jobs' final and finest one more thing — and right now, the odds seem decent that he'll pull it off.

I'd love to see him pull it off.

It is the most profound thing.

2011-08-22T06:23:00.000-04:00

It nearly brought me to tears saying it,

but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8).

Reconciliation means death.

The Seven Deadly Axioms: Part One.

2011-08-18T16:38:00.000-04:00

I. The Pigeonhole Principle. Although my understanding of greatness has changed over time [1], I've always held this assumption about it. That everyone wanted it and that if they tried hard enough, they could have it. But as I've grown older, I've come to see that not everyone goes on to be great, and even fewer try.

II. The Observer Effect. I've found words powerful, sometimes almost magical. They don't only seek to describe events, they shape them as well. It's as if incantation were not only our deep desire, but also our great and secret power. But if you abuse the use of words, you'll find their power shrink, diminish, nearly vanish. Because the power of words is not in their sound as they roll off your tongue, nor in their familiarity with one another as they echo the things they see, but in their bijection with reality—in the Word's one-to-one mapping with the World [2].

III. Greedy Algorithm. Why do we make the decisions that we do? Sometimes, you'd say, we make irrational decisions—and there's no explaining it, no reasoning behind it. But once you add time into the equation, and understand our perception of it, most irrational decisions transform into special case rational solutions. Given our current information, our wants and desires, and our understanding of the way the world works, we will always still have uncertainties. And the most uncertain uncertainty is, of course, time. Because we are unsure of exactly just how much time we have, we make bad decisions. We choose what's near, what we see, what's ready, and what's available. We choose to wait not; we choose the here and now. And many times, most times, almost all times—we've chosen a suboptimal solution.

[1] Cf. Matthew 23:11

[2] Technically a bijection is one-to-one and onto. But "onto" didn't fit into the sentence, and hence the observation that it is very difficult to be and to speak about being without having spoken about something else having been the what was spoken about and the who was doing the speaking. In other words, we don't escape.

Hasten me and I will falter; Hasten Him—Oh, hasten Him.

I have a hard time letting go.

2011-08-15T16:59:00.000-04:00

It is both a good thing and a bad thing. I don't easily give up, but I don't humbly surrender either.

I used to be filled with deep sorrow and painful regret when I would lose a friend or they would drift away. It was sad for me to see possibilities vanish, and probabilities collapse. It is known in game theory that as the shadow of the future diminishes, that is, as the end of the game nears, behavior changes. People act differently end game than they do mid game. Long term investing transforms to short term gain. Risk taking increases. And so do selfish actions.

I am not proud of how I've acted in the past clinging onto the last few ashes of promise among the ruins of a failed relationship. But I am still learning and I've begun to see hope,

Some indeed preach Christ from envy and rivalry, but others from good will. The latter do it out of love, knowing that I am put here for the defense of the gospel. The former proclaim Christ out of rivalry, not sincerely but thinking to afflict me in my imprisonment. What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed, and in that I rejoice (Philippians 1:15-18).

Watch as my good friend John contrasts this with Galatians 1:6-10,

What’s the difference—celebration in Philippians and cursing in Galatians? The difference is that there is no evidence in Philippians that the hypocritical preachers were saying false things when they preached the gospel. They preached the true gospel. But the preachers in Galatians were distorting the gospel.

In other words, Paul is more agitated when the gospel itself is defective than he is when the people who preach the true gospel are defective.

And where's the hope in this? That even though I am a defective witness, God can still use me. And so it is no longer about whether I have a relationship with an old friend, but that my old friend has a relationship with God. If I fail in getting along, or keeping up, or building intimacy, if my attempts to relive memories of the illusive, never as good as you remember, past fail—that is not what matters most.

What matters most is that the people we come to meet know and love Jesus, that the time we spend with them, no matter how little or how cut short, was spent pointing them to the cross. And that's where humble surrender comes in. It's not about me, or you, or us. It's bigger than that. I've got to learn to surrender to God, because He is wise, and He is good, and He has a plan. And that's what I'm learning to hope in, and pray for, and work towards.

Dear Friends,

2011-08-15T15:46:00.001-04:00

I'll be back in California from Aug 17th to Sept 3rd.

If you have the time, let's hang out! :D

I didn't go to church today.

2011-08-15T04:24:00.000-04:00

I couldn't wake up.

And I want to be a missionary?

What am I doing with my life.

You talk funny.

2011-08-14T22:07:00.000-04:00

Thinking in a British accent makes all your thoughts sound so profound.

I bet you're thinking about it right now,

aren't you?

And... in a British accent!

Amazing Grace

2011-08-14T01:30:00.000-04:00

I know how it feels to be lost. To not know where I am. To not know who I am. When I was a child I wandered off at the mall, and when the security guards found me, I was told the conversation went something like this:

G: Where are your parents?
B: Shopping.
G: What are their names?
B: Mommy. Daddy.
G: Where do you live?
B: Home.

After awhile, of course, I was found and for the first time I experienced what being found felt like. There's something beautiful about that—the power of metaphor, the meaning in contrast. If I had never been lost, I'd not know the joy of being found. If not for misery, I'd never know happiness.

On my good friend Martin.

2011-08-13T01:09:00.000-04:00

From intjforum.com,

Personally, I did not care for Dr King. I felt he conceded too much, did not press too hard, was too "PC" (before there was such a thing as "Politically Correct").

Haha. Funny. Either he doesn't know the real King, or his opinion has revealed something pivotal about his worldview.

Would someone "Politically Correct" go to jail for their beliefs? Lay down their own life for the sake of others? I think not. It's action, not talk, that determines faith. It's resolve, not force, that determines strength. And it's persistence, not terror, that determines courage.

"Real Conversations"

2011-08-12T23:27:00.000-04:00

S (the other S): You always go for the ones that wouldn't go for you.

We don't make thishup. And when we do, we tell you.

First.

2011-08-09T05:28:00.000-04:00

E: If the most important thing to me is also the most important thing for that person as well, thats whats most important.

Namedwell.

2011-08-09T03:48:00.000-04:00

S: You have to be selective, not indecisive.

1 Corinthians 9:19-27.

2011-08-08T22:54:00.000-04:00

You have many roles; you have one purpose.

That more might be saved; that God might be glorified.

Lost my voice.

2011-08-08T03:54:00.000-04:00

I have much to write, but I'm having the hardest time writing it.

Preemptive.

2011-08-07T04:15:00.000-04:00

Got my first happy early birthday today. By the doorman (the bouncer?) at the Dove, a rather quiet, empty bar with a friendly, smiling bartender lady next door to our apartment. I had to ask him twice, because I didn't hear him the first time, or I didn't believe it. He told me his birthday was the day before mine. :)

Am I the only one?

2011-08-05T16:23:00.001-04:00

Honestly, one of the first things I wanted to see when I got to New York was Tim Keller.

Harlem.

2011-08-04T17:03:00.000-04:00

I sat next to a short, round, and brown lady on the bus along 2nd Av. We were on the sideways seats, and she leaned her side on the backs of the seats to our left. She clutched a plastic bag in her hand, and every few seconds as the bus roared onwards, shifting us slightly to the right, its contents would rustle. She'd pull it out from time to time, to look at it, and admire it. She'd hold it in her hands, the toy, a Disney-Pixar's Cars bubble blower. Its price stamped in big, bold white letters on the upper right. $3.99. Recession-plagued 2011's new 99¢ gift.

But she admired it. Held it in her hands. A smile leaking from the corner of her lips. Laughter peering out. Her eyes bent into half-crescents. She had a child who would just love it. She even bought the refill bubble solution. It reminded me of my mother, and the times we spent cherishing the little things in life. It pierced my heart, for that moment, the love of a mother for her child that no matter how small her means, she would find a way to make her child happy, to bring even for a moment some relief from the burden of life and the living of it.

Chicken Tikka Masala.

2011-08-03T04:34:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I think I'm vindaloo curry.

Smh.

2011-08-03T03:06:00.000-04:00

Shaved my head.

I have a distinct memory, because it's not often that I get complimented, of being on Library Walk at UCSD and having a bald, monkish-looking man walk up to me and tell me how he liked how I looked. It was only later that I realized it was because I was bald, and looked like him, that he said that. Hahaha. Also, he offered me some Eastern Spiritualist Voodoo Black Magic Literature. I kindly declined.

Because I figured that if you saw me for who I was, it wouldn't matter. And if you didn't, it wouldn't matter.

Wanted: Writing/Reading Partner.

2011-07-31T20:51:00.000-04:00

Description: I am interested in working on my writing craft. I feel especially weak in character development, plot construction, and conflict resolution. So I'd like someone to partner with me in writing and reading by peer reviewing/editing my work, bouncing ideas back and forth, and sharing with me his/her work.

Qualifications: Friend; Avid reader who enjoys writing; Devoted, faithful person who will reliably respond within a reasonable amount of time. Preferably a non-INTJ (you guys know I love us, but I want someone to offer me a perspective I cannot see on my own) and I already have an IXFP (hello Will! :D); an ESFJ would be desired for their consistency and considerate correction, and an ENFP would be nice because of their creativity and candor. Any way, I'd need someone with good taste who is willing to point out my weaknesses by supporting his/her criticisms with good reasons.

Disclaimer: I'm only half-kidding. :D

"He is a gift of a character."

2011-07-31T16:03:00.000-04:00

It doesn't matter if people don't think you're brave. Bravery isn't about what people think.

Ch. 33

Always.

On the value of perseverance.

2011-07-27T17:03:00.000-04:00

I once watched Tavis Smiley interview Tony Danza (the guy from Who's the Boss?, the show which they had a class on in Community) on him becoming a teacher after many years of success in acting and tv show hosting. They discussed programs like Teach For America, which for all the acclaim it has received over the years has also received much criticism, where very bright, young, talented fresh out of college graduates go to tough, inner city schools and teach for a few years. They are just thrown in there without much training and the idea is to bridge the gap between the affluent and the impoverished, and to build real human connections between teachers and students, and to bring about substantive, meaningful change.

Danza seemed like a fan of the program because he is, among many other things, an advocate of teachers and teaching, but his one criticism was this: that teaching is tough, and that by the time the teachers actually get good at their job, after 2 or 3 years of teaching, and after all the failing that they go through, and all the mistakes that they make (and learn from), they end up quitting, or moving on to another field thinking that teaching isn't for them. But he said that's the one tragedy among teachers, and I'd say among all learners as well, that once they finally start getting good at something, once they finally start to firmly get the hang of things, they think that this thing is not for them, they quit, and they move on. And he said the only difference between the good teachers and these teachers, is that the good ones stick around.

Hey, you out there, struggling with whatever craft you're trying to master, whatever obstacle you're trying to overcome. Yeah, you. Don't give up.

I talk to me.

1 Corinthians 9:16.

2011-07-24T23:46:00.000-04:00

After talking with Mia and Julia today about INTJs and their inability to love, I got curious and stumbled upon a thread on intjforum.com titled, "What is love?" It killed me inside to read all the responses, which were obviously not love. It didn't kill me because these were so-called "lesser evolved INTJs" but because none had been touched in the same way as I had by the truth of the Gospel--that is, that God is love,* and that by this we know love, that Christ laid down his life for us and we ought to lay down our lives for each other.**

On another note, I found this response by a fellow INTJ hilarious/tragic, "Here come the long lines of emotionally retarded INTJ scientific answers."

-------

* 1 John 4:8

** 1 John 3:16

Hollow, haunting, resonating.

2011-07-24T22:35:00.000-04:00

On the way home today I heard someone singing Radiohead's Creep at Washington Square Park. Although I was dying to pee, I took smaller, slower steps and wafted in the music, the passionate performance of a desperate man clinging to his last, few, tiny shreds of hope. I was so tempted to stay, but I couldn't hold it any longer and dashed down the street and up the stairs. Oh that song, so perfect on a hot summer's night, in a park full of lovers, strangers, and friends. The willing assailants of that song's tragic, sharp edge.

Grappling hook.

2011-07-20T18:50:00.000-04:00

The problem with always getting what you want is that you'll never get anything better.

I don't get what I want; I am blessed.

Don't spoil it for me.

2011-07-20T18:18:00.001-04:00

I haven't seen the last movie yet, but from intjforum.com,

I think Snape probably is an INTJ, just a very misanthropic one. His overwhelming love for Lily is just, to me, a side effect of being INTJ. In other words, he wasn't great with his F, and it ruined things for him with Lily.

Sounds about right.

Prayer Meeting.

2011-07-17T23:57:00.000-04:00

I went to RWC's Wednesday night prayer meeting for the first time last week. I hadn't realized how much I had missed prayer meetings (they were my favorite part of KCM). Three people prayed over me - thank you Lord - and when they were praying I couldn't help but think, "How'd you know?" Either I'm very obvious or they had secret knowledge. And although I know I'm pretty transparent, easy to read, etc., I'd still like to think/hope that Holy Spirit gave them a little insight into my life for just that moment, just for that prayer :)

I want to watch!

2011-07-15T15:46:00.000-04:00

Now it's over. It's the real world. I feel like I have to, like, a find a job.

— Mily Mena, 23-year-old Harry Potter fan on life having to go on after the end of the film franchise with the release of final movie Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows — Part 2

Reunion.

2011-07-11T01:29:00.001-04:00

My two INTJ friends, Brian and Susan, are visiting me here in New York in August. :D I can't wait! Until then, I should get to work so that by the time they get here I'll have plenty of time to play. I'm very tempted to ignore the troubles of life by immersing myself in my work. But I shouldn't, right? I shouldn't take the easy way out, right? I've got to confront fear, to cast it out by perfect love.

Also, I don't usually like to do this but, my blog post titled, "Ray Tracing" is a reference to a technical phrase from physics, which is basically a technique for generating the shadows, lighting, and reflections in 3d images by following each ray of light as it bounces from surface to surface. As a literary allusion, however, I simply mean it as, "Reflections".

I wonder how many people attempt to solve the puzzles I leave for them, and why more people aren't as insatiably curious as I am.

Anosognosia

2011-07-11T00:49:00.001-04:00

I understand that guarding your heart is very important,

I don't understand why it's so difficult.

Ray tracing.

2011-07-06T13:00:00.000-04:00

Have you ever gone through your old journals and thought, "Wow, I wrote that?" I was looking through my Tumblr the other day, and I stumbled upon this,

And because lawlessness will be increased, the love of many will grow cold. — Matthew 24:12

There is an important relationship here being revealed between the Law and Love. As lawlessness—that is, the world’s freedom, bondage to sin, and license—increases, it inhibits the warmth—that is, the power, contagious nature, and fruition—of love. In other words, lawlessness aborts love. Lawlessness strangles love. Lawlessness suffocates love. As seeds of love are sown on lawless ground, it is like wheat trying to grow among thorns and weeds. The seeds will be choked to death. And what could have been—what should have been—will not have been.

To bear much fruit, love must be sown in grace. There, you find liberty, not license. There, love is free, not cheap.

Love is devoted. Love is faithful. Love is not about the breaking of the Law, but about Christ’s fulfillment of it. Love is not about losing all inhibitions to follow your passions, but about leaving everything behind to follow Christ. Love is neither lawless nor legalist, but lovingly obedient. Love transcends all categories of human effort by the power of the work accomplished on the cross.

Love is putting another before yourself.

Love is dying.

II.

I've had jealous thoughts lately. I do not like Jealous John. He's not a very good version of me. Jealous John looks at other people and wonders, "Why them, why not me?" And he looks at himself and thinks, "Why me, why not them?"

III.

I had a dream the other day. I was wrestling with God, and I demanded that he release me from these things keeping me from Him—from the lust, envy, and strife, from the disobedience, bitterness, and pain. I asked Him to release me from my past, all my regrets, all my mistakes. And with each request He took a jab at my hip. And with each touch of His finger, I was released. Set free. Made new.

Sometimes we are too quick to seek resolution. But I think part of wrestling means staying in that state of discomfort, uncertainty, and tension. And we wrestle, and we wrestle, and we wrestle. And God hears us, and knows us, and answers our prayers.

IV.

I didn't realize how much peace I didn't have until I started asking God for peace. And how discontent my heart was until I started asking Him to fill it.

Remember, prayer, and surrender.

2011-07-03T02:08:00.000-04:00

I'm going to be alone, more than I would like. But if I've got to be alone, then I've got to be strong. And I've got to not give up. Even though I am alone, I must always know, that really, I'm not. That's because I've got You here with me, always. And there were people like me, before me, the prophets, and apostles, and missionaries, who had callings like mine--to be alone, more than we would like, and to be strong, and most importantly, to not give up. And even if what we say pushes people away--that is, if we speak the truth and by speaking the truth alienate ourselves--we are not alone, because we've got You, and You've got us, and that is our calling. And even though it would be nice to not be alone, to have someone, to have their support and encouragement, and to always know that they'll be there for us--even though that would be nice, it's not necessary. And You give us what we need, not what we want, and You do it for the good, and not for the nice. So Lord, if I've got to be alone, then help me be strong, and help me to not give up. And remind me always, that You are there, and that really, I'm never alone.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Becoming fond of the format.

2011-07-02T16:53:00.001-04:00

I'm going to be visiting home in about a month or so. Every time I see my extended family, they always speak their minds. You think you guys have it bad? Some of my family members are the most blunt people you'll ever meet, hahaha,

: Jc, you gain weight.
: Look, you're going bald.
: Your shirt's wrinkled. You look poor.
: You need to shave your beard. You look like terrorist!

And they'll always have some secret family remedy to fix me right up,

: Can you smile? Oh, I know a good dentist who can work on your teeth for you.
: Here, try this horse shampoo. It'll grow back your hair.
: Have you ever thought about joining the Marines? It's not that bad, 12 week boot camp, they'll get you in shape real quick.

But in all my years of being fat, bald, ugly, and poor, I've never had a more funny reaction than from my cousin, around senior year of high school,

: Haha? haHA! haHAhaHA! is that a... MULLET?? Jc, you're growing out a MULLET?! HAHAHA NICE!

I wasn't trying to grow out a mullet. I just hadn't cut my hair in a long, long time, and I guess the back had been growing out faster than the top. Haha, whoops, my bad.

Rango.

2011-07-02T03:30:00.000-04:00

R: They used to call you the man with no name.

S: These days they've got a name for just about everything. Doesn't matter what they call you. It's the deeds that make the man.

R: Yeah, but my deeds just made things worse. I'm a fraud. I'm a phony. My friends believed in me, but, they need some kind of hero.

S: Then be a hero.

R: Oh no. No, no, you don't understand. I'm not even suppose to be here.

S: That's right, You came a long way to find something that isn't out here. Don't you see? It's not about you. It's about them.

R: But I can't go back.

S: Don't know that you've got a choice, son. No man can walk out on his own story.

R: Did you just see that?

A: We each see what we need to see. Beautiful, isn't it?

R: Yeah, it is.

A: Come my friend. I want to show you something.

R: No man can walk out on his own story... I'm going back.

A: But why?

R: Because that's who I am.

Things unsaid.

2011-07-01T12:18:00.000-04:00

I have published a total of 247* posts on blogspot. I have 703 unfinished drafts, all of varying substance and quality, and most of which I will never return to or read again. I wonder what value these drafts have, and why I find it nearly impossible to throw them out.

----

*248 if you count this

1.5 Feet.

2011-06-29T23:54:00.000-04:00

That's what they say is the distance between the head and the heart. The Bible makes a parallel distinction between knowing, and tasting and seeing.

I've always known the truth behind Psalm 32,

Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,
whose sin is covered.

I've always known that it is good to be forgiven, that forgiveness is a gift, that forgiveness is something to be sought after and given away freely, but to taste and see that being forgiven is a blessing? That truth has for a long time been sitting 1.5 feet away.

Forgiveness brings peace, and a deep sense of fulfillment. When we lack that, we're probably lacking forgiveness. When we long for that, we're probably longing for forgiveness. When we feel cursed, it is probably because of our sin and its shameful exposure.

But God is good, and He is quick to forgive us our sin. He is quick to lift the curse which keeps us from Him, by the blood of His own son, and bestow upon us blessing after blessing after blessing,

I acknowledged my sin to you,
and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
and you forgave the iniquity of my sin.

My good friend Piper once said that grace is not just pardon, but power. And because of the power of grace, not only are we forgiven, but we also can forgive.

Dinner Party Roast.

2011-06-27T19:57:00.000-04:00

B: "I once knew a man who left no room for the beautiful things in life (trust, love, forgiveness) because he could not stand the ugly things (hurt, pain, disappointment). That man's name was Jeremy Bentham. Jeremy Bentham everyone!"

Speaking to S.

2011-06-27T18:11:00.000-04:00

N: "We have a different kind of self discipline. You have the self discipline to be always doing something. I have the self discipline to know not to."

The Missing Piece.

2011-06-26T01:25:00.000-04:00

The first time I saw jenga pieces, I took them and built things. I thought that was how they were used. I built towers, and bridges, and houses. And then, when they ran out, I thought, wow, what a crappy kit.

Before we had grass in our backyard, we used to make rivers in the mud. We'd wait till it rained, and as water poured down the gutters, we'd redirect it by creating crevices in the earth. We created this entire new world, complete with miniature mountain ranges, intricate canyons, and jenga bridges. It scared the wits out of our parents, and we were in trouble for weeks. But I saw the power of how many tiny forces, with enough time and persistence, could change things. And how that change, many times, was mutual.

I've had trouble interacting socially since I can remember. If reverse engineering means analyzing the ways input is processed by a computer into output without access to the inner workings of the machine--then I've been reverse engineering social interactions since I was a child. I did not come hardwired with an understanding of the social protocol that most people find so easy to adhere to. I did not inherit that innate capacity for cluing in on social nuance that everyone else seems to have. I observed. And I imitated. I carried out the scientific method as best I could--forming hypotheses, conducting experiments, analyzing results. Trial and error were my best childhood friends. And I'll still call them up from time to time to catch up and whatnot.

I work with a startup; me and some friends came together and decided to build iPhone apps and stuff. We want to work with social media, social networking, etc. In a somewhat literal sense, then, I am a social engineer (and no, not the bad political kind). Yet, it is a most ironic title. Our goal is to identify some key human insight and to attempt to address that longing that we all have for something which does not exist, with something that does. If I had a key human insight, it'd be that we're not alone. And an undertaking to bring people together, in substantive, meaningful ways, would be my goal.

Three lines stick.

2011-06-24T17:55:00.000-04:00

I'm in love with this song. The lyrics are brilliant,

Do you love me enough to let me go?

The first and second persons in this sentence are ambiguous. We immediately question, who are they? Who is you? And who is me? Do the two me's point to the same person, or could they be different?

If we take this sentence in light of Jesus's words in Luke 9:23, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me." We see a new, nuanced, and complex variety of love that isn't immediately apparent. We see a love dependent on counterintuitive laws--that a person must lose himself to find himself, and that in attempting to hold onto himself, will only lose himself. And we see a love that distances itself in order to bring itself nearer.

And then it comes undone. It ravels apart. And we see: If I loved me enough, I'd let me go. The most selfless thing and the most selfish thing meet at one place--the ends you mean to accomplish while acting in self-interest turn out to be the ends that you actually accomplish when acting in the interest of others.

But every seed dies before it grows

Seeds, and death, and life are a recurring theme in Foreman's writing, an allusion to John 12:24, which itself is an allusion to Christ's death and resurrection. In this line, we encounter the passion of Calvary, the sign of Jonah, and the empty tomb. We discover the cost of discipleship, and the fruit of following Jesus. We glimpse the nature of sanctification, and the birth-pains of righteousness.

Breathe it in and let it go
Every breath you take is not yours to own

Our understanding of property and ownership in today's society is largely socially constructed. Native Americans had no concept of it, and thus, when they were first exposed to it with the arrival of European conquerers were heavily exploited. The Bible tells us a few things about property: (1) We possess both less and more than we think we do, (2) What we have we have received as gifts, and (3) We are stewards of our gifts, appointed by our Master.

One of the ways that God reminds us of these truths is by giving and taking away. The thing that he gives and takes away from us every day, tens of thousands of times a day, is the air we breathe. Every breath we take is not ours to own--but God is bigger than the air we breathe, and He is glorious.