Three-in-one

Yesterday, I joined the teeming millions of Americans who were returning Christmas gifts that did not fit, or weren't the right color, or were just the wrong thing. Similarly, I'm now catching up on this blog. The Christmas season was going to be fun. I had a series planned dealing with the Christmas season. But instead, like those after-Christmas sales, you ramblers get a three-for-one deal.

December 25th, Christmas Day

One thing I am always struck by is the amount of charity at Christmas-time. At what other point in the year is it not weird for a person to stand outside Wal-Mart, bell ringing to implore you to give to a worthy cause? At what other point in the year do Marines stop and collect toys to give to needy children? When else, do we look back at the past, let family pull our heart-strings, sing corny songs, throw parties, buy gifts?!

None other time comes close.

"For unto us this day, in the city of David, a child is born..." "And He will be called Emmanuel, 'God with us.'"

Yeah, I know the church picked this time of year to coincide with Mirtha and Saturnalia. But, whom do we celebrate? This isn't a "reason for the season" post. In fact, that's an honest question. Did you know? Black Friday is called such, because it is the day when most retail goes "in the black" for the fiscal year. Maybe we celebrate us. Our buying power. Our consumer culture. Where social standing is defined by possession. Parents put themselves in debt to satisfy their children. A pseudo-religion. The indebtedness is a near perfect analogy for the self-flagellation and sacrifice required by ancient religions. The consumer gods are satisfied by our self-inflicted wounds.

It makes me think, is the reason we are so charitable, because we feel so guilty. We empty some of our pocket change into red kettles. We buy a cheap toy so that every child can open something on Christmas morning. At Christmas, does our consumerism become so apparent, does the disparity between the haves and the have-nots become so clear, that we cannot help but be guilted into charity?

Is there hope from this cycle? Yes, because the promised gift of Christmas is freedom from the rat-race. Jesus begs us to stop shepherding, stop looking at stars, and visit a small child who will change the world.

December 26th, Feast of Stephen

You may want to listen to this during this post. Growing up, my brother and I always made fun of the day after Christmas. The calendar called it 'Boxing Day,' and it was for Canadians. I mean what are they doing hitting each other? Bwaahahahahah!

Well actually, it's the day that the poor would put out boxes and and collect alms. It is the feast day of Stephen. Stephen was one of the first deacons, charged with feeding the poor of Jerusalem. It is the day we honor his memory as martyr by continuing his work. Stephen engaged in his work so thoroughly he caught the attention of the Sanhedrin. When asked for a defense, he began with Abraham and preached the gospel to them, indicting them for working against God. He was then stoned.

When you work for peace, you will always be persecuted by someone. But in His last Beatitude, Jesus called those blessed and promised them the kingdom of Heaven. And, as Stephen's life was extinguished, Jesus stood from His throne and welcomed him.

December 28th, Feast of the Holy Innocents

The Twelve Days of Christmas is more than a silly song with a bunch of useless gifts. It's a collection of feast days of the church leading up to Epiphany on January 5th (or 6th depending on your tradition). On this day, we remember that Jesus' birth was marked by Herod killing a generation of boys. Boys whose crime was being born at the wrong time. Today, we still feel the effects of this massacre. Not necessarily Herod's, but there is a massacre of children today. Where their innocence is stolen by for them into the sex trade, or fighting wars, or gang violence.

But we can help. We can fight back. We can comfort Rachel's weeping.

"There is hope for your future, declares the LORD,

and your children shall come back to their own country."

Jeremiah 31:17

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Morton Square

Today I found out that I have a cracked and bruised tibula, bruised femur, radially torn meniscus, partially torn MCL, and a fully torn ACL. This reminds me of an old saying...

"When it rains, it pours."

It's this idea, that if one bad thing happens, a bunch of bad things happen. You know like, you never feel one raindrop. So here it is my rainstorm...

I have pretty crappy insurance, because I'm young and healthy. It pays for when I have a cough or something, not major things. It's a $3000 deductible. An MRI to tell you what's wrong with your knee cost $580 (it's not covered by my insurance). I'm going to have a brace made for my leg, and surgery to repair my ACL. I don't know how much that will cost yet.

"When it rains, it pours."

I have to wait for the bone to heal before I can have surgery. Because of the type of fracture, I'm non-weight bearing for six weeks. Otherwise, I'll crush the bone and develop arthritis. The earliest I can have the surgery is the first of February, which should get me off crutches to walk down the aisle with my bride. But, will kill any hope of the day hikes we wanted to do on our honeymoon.

"When it rains, it pours."

My Jeep has a broken oil pressure sensor, bent radiator, faulty windows, the passenger door lock is only manual, and has three blown speakers. And, its the only transportation I have, since I won't be able to ride a bike 'til June or so.

"When it rains, it pours."

This year for Christmas, I will/have received a pair of bike shoes and pedals for my mountain bike. I ordered a helmet two and a half months ago that arrived last week. I was given a nice CamelBak to ride with by a friend. And, I was finally feeling like I wasn't dying when finishing the trail that I hoped to race on it May. All of that stuff is useless now.

"When it rains, it pours."

This year, at the GCSC Halloween party, Abbie dressed as the Morton Salt girl. You know, the cute girl in a yellow slicker with an umbrella carrying an upside-down box of salt. The slogan for the Morton Salt company is, "When it rains, it pours." You see, when salt is exposed to moisture, it cakes. It forms lumps and you can't shake it on your food or pour it out of the box into the measuring spoon. Morton Salt solved this by adding an anti-clumping agent to their salt. Now whenever it rains, Morton Salt will still pour. It takes a phrase that smacks of pessimism and gives you hope. The Bible is full of salt metaphors, Elisha salting the water, salt of the earth, and so on. Maybe this is my salt, when it rains, the salt still pours.

I have a loving and supportive fiancee.

When it rains, it pours.

I have a loving and supportive family.

When it rains, it pours.

I have a loving and supportive church.

When it rains, it pours.

My future in-laws are concerned and caring.

When it rains, it pours.

I received a $500 check in the mail that will cover my MRI.

When it rains, it pours.

I received a free liturgical prayer book to boost my prayer life.

When it rains, it pours.

My fiancee has finished her degree, is looking to set up a studio for herself, and will be marrying me April 2nd.

When it rains, it pours.

I serve a risen Savior. Praise GOD from whom all blessings flow, praise Him all creatures here below, praise Him above ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

When it rains, He still pours out His blessings and my cup over flows...

with salt.

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Get Home

Had a weird experience Saturday evening.

Setting: QT in Lawerenceville 11:45

Characters: Young Minister & Anonymous Female (white, late teens-early 20's)

Young Minister gets out of vehicle

Anonymous Female approaches meekly

AF: Excuse me do you have any money? I've run out of gas.

YM: Yeah sure hang on.

AF: I hate to ask for money its so embarassing

YM: Don't worry about it.

YM hands AF a large bill (well large to the YM)

YM: Here you go.

AF: (looking astonished) Do- Do you need some change?

YM: No, get home.

AF: Ok.

AF leaves scene.

I don't know where she went. I didn't see her enter the store. I never saw her pump gas. It's possible there was no stalled gas-starved car, no home she was trying to get to, no good reason for needing money. Perhaps I should have followed up, by offering her a ride to her car or going in a paying for gas to ensure the money was used truthfully. I could have given her one of my cards, letting her know I was one of the good guys.

But maybe, this is the way GOD treats us. He gives some money when we ask Him. He tells us, "Get home." Because He knows its late and the wolves are prowling. He sees the trembling fear in our eyes. He knows the intention for our gift. So we take the money. Maybe, we put it in the tank, but don't drive home, not yet. Maybe we go next door to the McDonald's parking lot and buy whatever chemical pleasure we can afford. Few of us take the money by the gas and go home.

But still, GOD gives generously and says,

"Get home"

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Walking Alone at Eve

Went on a walk tonight by myself. Athens is suprisingly quiet at 10:30 on Thursday in 5 points. You can hear the jingle of a belled cat, the crack of falling acorns, and the din of motors on the main roads. I take these walks because I'm blessed with a predisposition to melancholy and reflection. I choose to blame genetics all the way back to County Antrium in Ireland.

Walking at night is funny. Walk away from a streetlight and your shadow stretches and grows into a giant before softly fading away. Only to repeat itself again under the next light. I once heard someone complain about when he asked someone what was wrong, the reply was "Life." Life. His discontent was centered on how ambiguous and off-putting the answer was. Yet, if I had replied the same thing the next question would have concerned school. Why? Because my life was school and if something was wrong in my life causing a state, the obvious next direction is life. The shadows of our lives stretch and grow and soon eclipse the beauty that is the world. All the sudden life is the problem. The oppressive feeling where we maintain functionality just above completely shutting down. Where every step feels like its through wet concrete, slushy snow, or chocolate pudding.

Life. So often I give the short answer because the long one requires too much digging into places I have covered over. The scraping of unhealed scabs.

"How are you?"

"Fine, yourself?"

"Fine."

I'm walking out the door and "Fine" can faintly catch up to my ear. I shouldn't ask how people are doing if I don't want the truth, or if I can't slow down to care. Perhaps I should be honest more. Frankly, I'm often not fine. My life isn't in crisis, but there are always challenges. Heck, I'm getting married in a few months. I have a job no one (including myself) understands. I experience things no one else.

"Not fine."

My life reels back and forth and I don't want to take the time to explain it all. People probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Maybe it's hubris or bravado. Maybe I don't understand myself like I should. Whatever it is, I'm going to only ask "How are you?" when I have the time to listen.

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Cold Air, Hot Shower

It's finally here.

In the name of efficiency and environmentalism (yeah right, I'm a cheapskate), we don't have any climate control in our apartment. We just open the windows. This morning the apartment was chilly. As I went to take my shower, I turned the water up to hot and prepared myself for what would happen next. That painful feeling of hot water meeting cold skin. All my nerve endings shrieked as they violently adjusted to this new sensation. Though painful my brain does not shirk away from the steaming stream, but forces me into this little spinning dance to quickly warm my body with the water so that it adjust to the new-found warmth.

As I've written before in my "Spiritual Dump" post, I feel the bathroom is the best place to think. (As does Daron) It's been a tough row to how the last month or so. Most of it self-inflicted. (By the way, I'm sorry I haven't posted since July. There have been so many post that I've let slip through my fingers like the proverbial sand.) I don't want to call it depression, though it did have the symptoms, because I feel those with depression deserve to call it their own and don't need whiny brats like me to claim their condition when it's really just me not doing what I'm here to do. Back to the shower. This morning my mind began to warm up with my body.

I've missed blogging, more specifically writing. Writing is a very intelligent thing, especially this free-flowing kind that is recently coming back into favor with the advent of blogs, yet being destroyed by the frenetic twitter. It's also cliche because I want to sit in Jittery Joe's typing, just so people know I'm writing (very conceited and snobbish, I know).

So here it is on the eve of the eve of All Hallow's Eve, I want to recommit to this offbeat blog. (Get it because, its beats 2 and 4 ... haha... groan) But, I don't want to recommit without support. So get out the vote. Comment away. Let me know what you think. Invite other people to read. Yeah, there might be stuff you don't agree with. There's stuff on this blog I'm not proud of. I will not delete it because I want you to see my mistakes and flawed logic. The controversy creates conversation. There's no guarantee it will be daily, or should it? Help me make this a blog people want to read. Do you want pissed-off ramblings? Journal entries? Daily devotional thoughts? All the above? Let me know.

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Is that Bill Shakespeare!?

Ok, so this is me thinking through some of Donald Miller's book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. In the first line of chapter 12 Don writes, "If the point of life is the is the same as the point of story, the point of life is character transformation."

Now you can break down stories into two big categories: tragedies and comedies. Earlier in the book, Don says the easiest way to tell the difference in Shakespeare is; tragedies end in a funeral whereas comedies end with a wedding. I also think there is another way to define the difference, character development.

My two favorite Shakespearian plays are "Hamlet" and "The Taming of the Shrew," a tragedy and a comedy. I think in tragedies such as "Hamlet" and "East of Eden," the character development is almost bell shaped. As Hamlet and Cal progress through their stories, they change until an event brings them plummeting back to where they began. In essence an unchanged being. Katherina, however, is much more amiable at the end of play and marries Petruchio (or if you've seen 10 Things I Hate About You, July Stiles dates Heath Ledger). The character changes, and change promotes a positive moving story.

Also from film, in "Stranger Than Fiction," Will Ferrell's character is instructed to look for clues to if his story is a tragedy or a comedy. Dismally, he realizes the tragedy of his story.

Whether you accept it or not, we are all living a story. Yours may be a history (dry, dull, boring), a tragedy (exciting, but woeful), or a comedy (strife, change, reward). Whatever it is, you can change it. Comedies are hard because of the change part. But at the end of all comedies is a wedding or a date with Heath Ledger (RIP) or Maggie Gyllenhall.

"One of the things that gives me hope is that, even with all the tragedy that happens in the world, the Bible says when we all get to Heaven, there will be a wedding and there will be drinking and there will be dancing.

namaste

vaya con DIOS

What do you think?

Think on this: "How you treat the creation, reflects how you view the creator."