Holiday

I enjoyed black Friday...the day after thanksgiving where the best sales are on and the city beats itself to the register to gain those great deals. The experience was quite exciting and I don't regret going.

I don't mind exuberance for Holiday.

Christians need not disrupt the process of capitalism and accumulation. For although some flailing shoppers mirror desperation and seemingly incoherent fatalism trying to find rest, some depict the excitement that monetary blessings, Thanksgiving, brisk clear air, holiday, and gladness, generate. I believe blessings can be enjoyed, even at 5:30 a.m. on a Friday morning.

I know why I celebrate. I'm not perfect and I celebrate the fact that I'm not, but that I've still been allowed to celebrate, to give thanks to enjoy birth.

Soon we'll read over and over again the Shepherd and Angels story. Then I'll lead everyone back to Revelation 12 again, comforted that a throng, an army of Angels visited that night to protect their King from the Dragon...to whisk him away and tend to Him, knowing that the beautiful Angel and his demons would not break their lines. The Shepherds had no idea that a great battle was being waged that night...they simply trembled.

But I know, and so do I.

My young one was whisked away, not that Salvation might be imparted to all, but because God willed it...she would've been about a year old and I imagined that she would enjoy the sunrise with me. I held my little nephew in the half-light of the morning and light warmed my hands filled with nappies, blankey, and he suckled on a binkey...he breathed softly in my arms and watched the sun speak. My soul enjoyed minutes. But my heart, a thing the Sun has not yet warmed, mourned a bit...

Because I know the Angels have told me not to fear, yet I do sometimes. They give and they take by God's name and I am afraid.

And so I prefer to know that Revelation tell me that a quiet scene in the hills of the Middle East, yet at the center of the world, was not a quiet scene, but one where God's voice cried out in fame and fury and power and love. He didn't send a bunch of happy angels pacing anxiously in the waiting room. He sent them full of armor and muscle...and I know that God wills...and I am fortunate to have seen it.

That is why I celebrate.

Guitaristo

I don't feel like writing much today. It's Saturday, the wind is cool, my dog is soft, the stapler is to my left and motorcycles have doors in Japan. Therefore...I'm simply going to show you a video that astounds me and shocks me into his profundity. WATCH!

Have a great day.

glumbert - Guitar never seemed so hard

The...Thingy. That. Doodad.

I like to think that I understand a lot about words. I grew up with a father who could jump into a supper-table conversation with some off-the-wall word causing great confusion amongst the ranks to his grand pleasure. We'd tempt him and goad him to tell us the meaning of the word and all he would say was "look it up!". My Dad-in-law also somewhat emphatically loves words and how and when they're used. He goes as far as to claim the title "Philologist"...one who loves words, especially in their historical, essential context. I myself have rarely been truant in my word usage. My love for words shows I've benefited from "Dad and Dad Vocabulary, Inc."

So why is it that women, including my wife seem to always be a step ahead of me? They're so good with words, they hardly have to use any, which is a bit of an oxy-moron because my wife, her mother, my mother...women love to talk. I'm in a room with Monique and her mom for instance. Monique whimsically says "I need that thingy..." I turn left and right. I look to the ceiling, I crawl on the floor looking for any kind of thingy. Mom somehow innately and gladly clutches a sweatshirt or a spatula, or a measuring cup...the very thingy Monique meant not to say, but to say...somehow.

The words ring in my head. "I want that!" "Who's got the watchamacallit?"

Me? Do I have the whatchamacallit?

Believe me a woman knows that I just might have the whatchamacallit, but she's not going to tell me whether I do or not. I'm left alone, hoping to get lucky. In fact the moment I believe I've found the whatchamacallit, she's changed it to a doodad and I'm back at square one.

It happened last weekend between my two sisters. I was there to see the miracle unfold yet again. I can't even remember the context, but Gina said, "I need the...."

huh?

I'm waiting for...no, I anticipate the great finish, she wants the...Ok, I'm ready...

Annette brings her the "the".

I have to shake my brain stem around a bit I think. Maybe some electrical pulse has shorted out.

Have a great day.

A New Day and a New age

Click the link...someone has something to tell you!

http://say.expressivo.com/lfzlx095

Soup in my Fly

I'm curious this morning, but I'll keep my curiosities brief.

Someone said recently "It's like slamming up against a brick wall with you!". My question is how do you know that? I've not slammed up against a brick wall.

Dad used to say things like "I'd rather have a fly in my soup, then soup in my fly"...really? Even cold soup?

Someone said "I ran into so-n-so today at the shopping center..." You should really be more careful. Why would you do that? Does insurance pay for that?

I heard someone say "I'm going to kick you all the way to China, if you don't cut that out!" Do you work out? How will you do that? It seems more likely that you could come to a complete stop while the earth continues to spin, and wait for China to hit you smack on your behind!

How about "You nearly poked my eye out!" How do you know that? If it were that easy why aren't there more eyeball donor hospitals out there?

For us less observant ones how about this one...? "You couldn't see a messy room if it came up and slapped you smack on the forehead!" Can it do that? That's just plain scary.

"If looks could kill"...I'd be like...so screwed.

Last but not least..."I'm going to throw you straight to the moon!" Y'know...I know the race to the moon has long since been won, but seriously...are you going to let your sibling or your spouse win your own race to the moon? C'mon! I want someone to throw ME to the moon! Wouldn't that be cool? Well...I would need a space suit first, but then throw away!

Have a good day.

Favorite Photos

Once in awhile good photos jump into our camera. I thought it would be fun to show just a few of them off. There are more...but just a snippet is sometimes good enough! Besides...I'm always so serious, it's about time we have a little fun!

Business of being

The Company called Heartland Stores, Inc. is nearly ready! I am so excited. I've still got work to do and a few details seem somewhat daunting. But we're going to get this baby off the ground. I know it. Many dreams have played into this Company and it's time!

Young Lucas gets baptized this weekend. Another person ready for whatever time allows him. I hope he's allowed to see what we've all done with our time and then follows in kind.

The last post and this one have and will contain poetry. It's my way of grasping for potential, endurance and dreams. When I am waylaid (sp) by laziness, I write and then aspire to get back to work. So it is with this poem. It tells me, amongst many things, that it's time to push Heartland into the realms of the living!

Boundaries

A young man rests against a shade tree
playing an imaginary tune on an imaginary piano
to a very real soul.

Like keys of ivory coddled by wood
from end to end.
Finite pressed creating infinite.

Music has no enemy,
except whom or that which
is unwilling to play.
Not even silence,
for in silence lies possibility.

Play a tune that leaves nothing wanting.
Play a tune and rejoice in its limitations!
Fix your eyes to a world
instigated and agitated
by endless possibility.

However, you and I can only choose one day,
one place,
one way.
Yet we assuage the heart for more
seemingly trying to conquer the boundary
that holds...
or ignore boundary's necessity.

One Ivory key sprung away from its border
functions not, even to make music.

One cannot be all things
because the world is an infinite keyboard
meant for the fingers of God.
Only the infinite can play the infinite.

So stop...engage the stillness.
Stop and listen to the young boy resting against a tree
playing a tune meant for him and nothing more.
Like a leaf carried by God's breath
from forest to field,
listen.

Listen to it and the wind that carries it.
For if the young man did not play,
their voices would cry out.
Listen to him play his tune
and be glad for him.

And then play yours.