Friday, September 19, 2008

I shall call this post Martin

Sing a beautiful song, you star of the morning.
Sing to your maker a song
that is lost to us
across the rich soundless border of space

Praise the Lord, you ants
work hard and prepare for winter
the leaves are not far from turning
and He didn't make the Sabbath for you

Fly away you butterflies
follow the paths he has drawn in your skies
lines unseen and unknown
but still, you never get lost

Wait to praise Him, you rocks
Wait until the last one of us falls dead
or gives up the hope
by which we live

And I, I will wait until morning
and watch for the beauty inside me
placed as one might place a piece of art
in a private collection to which I have been invited.


On a different note... Maybe Evolutionists aren't that stupid after all

I was playing a game called Bunco that has to do with rolling three dice, trying to get a specific number. If I got three of a kind of the number I was going for, then that would be a Bunco. I got three Buncos. According to statistics, the chances of that are 1 out of 218 times. I didn't roll the dice 218 times, but if I did, then I gues I wouldn't have gotten another one. On the other had, someone got four Buncos, so I didn't win the prize. So I kept rolling to see if chance would be consistant with the math or would decide on a different path, and as I was rolling, one of the dice, through some sort of genetic mutation, had a side with seven dots on it. As I picked it up to examine it, it bit me. Of course, I dropped it and it sprouted a leg and multiplied. So there I was, sitting dumbfounded with a hoarde of mutated seven dotted one legged dice moving around the table. I decided that I couldn't let the evolutionists win and I took my shoe off and started killing them. Most of them tried to push themselves away from the shoe with their one foot. This proved futile. I easily smashed them down to their six dot max ancesters. Some, however, figured out how to hop and I chased them all around the room to well past midnight. I think I got them all. But if this were a horror movie, once I walked off and turned out the light, there would be one close to the camera in a dark corner of the room, the seven dots glowing red and the screen faded to black and the credits rolled. It would hint at a sequel in the rare case that people like stupid horror movies about evolving dice with teeth and one foot...

I miss writing. I have determined to... well... I dno't want to tell you abou tit this way... let's have some fun with it. I've been dabbling a little in ancient history lately. We'll use that as a vehicle.

I have not yet been conqured by sleep.
As the sun climbed tot he peak of its invisable mountain
I have driven sleep from inside my walls
This barbarian tribe stays behind the tree line
waiting again to strike
I laugh at them - HA
My gates are still open
Trade is still going forth
Ideas going out and coming in
That is the trade and bounty of my city.
Caffeine is my sentry, watching from my high walls for the mounting attack
Sleep wants my ideas to fuel the dreams
which it thrives on
Dreams of emotion, terror, delight, freedom
It wants dreams to live in
to provide entertainment for its weary soldiers
I say no.
I shall stand and fight until every last man is overcome.
I shall proceed with the trade I know
Ideas shall pour forth as water from a rock at the hand of God
There shall be no end until everyone is satisfied
There is a rustle in the trees
Arrows float in the sky
My sentries fall.
The battle is here
TO ARMS!!! TO ARMS!!!
CLOSE THE GATE!!!
Ah... I am struck
I can feel numbness from my wound where there should be pain
My sword becomes heavy, my knees weak
I have fallen
Zzzzzz

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Work, Dreams, and well... I don't know... we'll call her Silvia

Sunday night, I sat down about midnight to get some work done, and I worked straight until 5:30 am. There was so much to do. My roommate got up and commented that I was up early. I told him I was up late. So I slept for a few hours, worked a little more, went to a safety meeting, worked some more, napped a bit, worked some more (these mores are not very long, but Mondays are the busiest days) ate dinner, read a bit, worked more, took the dog for a walk, watched a movie and worked until now. Mostly, I worked, but in little bits here and there which I prefer.

I've noticed that I like to take things a little bit at a time. I cut my food small, chew it to pieces, read my books a chapter at a time (then switch books). I like to switch what I'm doing every few minutes. I wonder if that's bad.

The movie I watched was called, "The Legend of 1900" and was about a man who spent his whole life on a cruise ship, from birth to death, and was the most amazing piano player ever. It's a great movie and I recommend it, but there is a bit of swearing. It makes me want to write something creative... I haven't written creatively in a long time... I daresay years... I did write a book in February... so I guess that counts, but I focused more or less on non-fiction... so I guess that statement I made about not writing creatively is a falsehood. I didn't mean to lie. I just don't have a great comprehension of time passing. I know it passes and I know how to measure it. I even know where time goes. It goes to the past where it congregates to either haunt us or praise us, depending on how kind we were to it as it was passing.

Sometimes I think that I'm too normal. I'm trapped in my body which is not really my own. The limitations put on by my flesh are mourned by my mind. I have dreams which should disturb me, but I watch them as if they were a movie. Last week, I had a dream that someone cut and peeled my skin off. I could feel the scalpel cutting the skin and it hurt, but I did not cry out in pain. I could feel the cool air rush inside me and between my organs and I could feel the flesh, trying to stay together. It wasn't all cut off. I was topless on the table and the doctor (I don't know if it actually was a doctor) just cut a big rectangle from just below my next, down my sides and finished it off under my belly button. He was looking for fat cells and he found some. I, being fully conscious (inside my dream) was more concerned about the fat cells he was finding than the fact that he was cutting my skin off. And as weird and disgusting as this dream was, I can write it with emotional detachment, as if I were discussing something trivial like pancake batter. I have killed and been killed in dreams before. I wish not to remember the dreams in which I have killed, but I do remember running away from someone... I think it was the mafia... and I was "winning." The people chasing me were falling for my tricks and I was turning running for my life into a sport. In the end, I got cocky and tripped over something meaningless, and they caught up with me and shot my head off. The second they did, I was hovering over my body looking down, thinking to myself... that was a fun game, even though I lost. I have had weird dreams where I lived in a barrel with a wife and two daughters, been kidnapped by aliens and became an intergalactic fighter pilot, woke up from a trance to find myself on a subway in a car full of hypnotized people guarded by fish men. All sorts of weird ones. The last emotional one I've had, waking up with tears in my eyes, was another one where I was running. I had tricked the cops into thinking I had left town when I hadn't. I waited a week and they gave up the search. I don't remember what I did, or why I was running, but whatever it was, I wasn't denying that I did it. When I thought the coast was clear, I snuck out of my hiding place and walked along the road at night. Up ahead, it just so happened, that one of the policemen was walking one of the search dogs. What horribly luck. I dove behind a bush knowing it was useless. The dog sure enough, picked up on my scent and found me. So I was caught. I congratulated the officer on his good fortune and gave up. What made it emotional was at that very moment, people I knew started walking by. My Sunday School kids and friends from Shoreline Clavary Chapel. The cop was nice and let me talk to them and explain what was going on. He didn't cuff me in front of them. I kept a smiling face as I explained to them that I was going to prison because I did something wrong (I knew what it was at the time. I jsut can't remember now) and that I was going to miss them. My heart was breaking inside of me and I dare not show it. There were so many questions and everytime I got done explaining, someone else would come by. I was so ashamed. I don't know why I'm writing my dreams down here, but I should end with a fun one. The night before that dream, I dreamt that I discovered a talent I had. I could throw forks and stick them into walls. I grabbed a bunch and threw them everywhere, even into someone's sandwhich as he held it to his mouth. (he wasbn't hurt, and we all had a good laugh.)

And sometimes, when I'm awake, my head feels like it's trying to think too fast and I can't get anything legible out of it. When that happens, it's like part of me is paralized. (not physically) I can see and hear and function, but nothing really seems to register. It's like I'm thinking of everything at once and I freeze up like a computer. If I were, I would ctrl-alt-delete, but I can't in real life. It tickles too much.

All this writing because I wanted to write something creative. Well... here goes...

She stands alone in the first rays of morning. The waves crash on the rocks below her as she stands upon the cliffs edge. Tears slip down her face, over freckles and rosy cheeks. Her hair hides her face from the ocean as if trying to save her the embarrassment. Her wet blue eyes stare out at a blurry sea. She hugs herself in the morning chill and whispers to the last fading memories of night. She vows to never return. She then kicks a rock over the edge as if to seal the deal, and turns into the rising sun with a smile that carries with it an air of determination. Today is a new day, she tells herself. And this day will last forever.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Discipleship. Historians, and Jesus

So I was at Worship Generation tonight and had a few new ideas for ministries. They are not fully formed yet, but one of them is D&D. Discipleship and Dinner. I haven't discipled anyone for a few years now and I miss it. On the bike ride home and the walk with Snaps afterward, I wrote this in my head.

Thoughts on Discipleship

The most difficult thing about discipleship is getting over your own pride. It's a constant battle that needs to be fought and won every time you meet. As a discipler, it's easy to think that you are a very spiritual person and are doing things right because this person is following you and taking what you say to heart. Disciples follow and become like those who disciple them. It's like trying to mold your heart to look like the one you are following. That being so, it is easy to give worldly advice disguised as Godly advice because you feel good about this person trying to be like you, so you say what you would do. That's wrong.

Jesus told His disciples to make disciples of all the world. Paul said to follow me as I follow Christ and that is exactly what they need to see. The aim of my discipleship is to help my disciples listen to God directly. Once they can do that, they don't need me anymore. That doesn't mean we can't be friends, but after that, all I can say is... did you pray about it yet? What did God say? You should do that. That should be the goal of all discipleship, that the disciples would learn to follow Christ and the way they do that is by watching us follow Christ.

So I was thinking of offering my dinnertimes on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays to anyone (guy) who wants to be discipled. (If you are a girl and want to be discipled, I can help you fine one. If you want, I'll come up with a list of questions to ask people and what the answers should be. (That sounds like a fun exercise. If you don't see it up here soon, ask me about it.)) As for dinners, we will eat in or go out. Whatever. I like food. If you're interested, leave a comment and I will email you.

So I was eating dinner in Taco Bell earlier and as I ate, I wrote this in my head:

Why I don't trust Historians.

Historians are like gossipers, but the people they gossip about are usually dead. Also, no historian is ever fully trusted. The old greek historians like Herdotus get their stories from other people (Greeks or Persians) who have passed down these stories from oral tradition. Now I like stories, but in reading history books, I've learned that historians do nothing but quote other historians. He said that he said that this other guy said that he heard this story once. First hand accounts are hard to find for the ancient world, and even those have a spin put on them becasue they are written with a bias. I read in this history book about a Sumaritan king who withdrew from battle because the Goddess he was fighting for felt sorry for his opponents and didn't want them distroyed. So even first hands accounts can't really be trusted. Is it that impossible to find out what really happened? Who knows what is true when the only thing that survives the centuries are clay tablets from people that no one even remembers. Archeologests and palentologists do their best to deduce what things were like from the clues they find, but they are just guessing. It's like getting thousands of puzzle pieces from different puzzles that are all mixed together and trying to make a picture when you don't even know what it is supposed to be like. So what they do, along with the help of historians, is make up what they think happened, and see if all the pieces fit somewhere in that theory. (Same type of reasoning with Evolution.)

So historians pick and choose what parts of other historical books can be trusted and publish it in their own books so other people can do the same to them. The difference between those history books and the Bible is that the Bible is all written either first hand or second hand. If the person writing the book wasn't actually there, then God told them what to write. (We see this in some of the Prophetic books where God commands the writer not to write something down. We read the command, but not what was not supposed to be written.) That's how we know that God created the world, because He told us. We dont' have to prove it or argue for it. We know it to be true and if anyone wants to believe something else, it's like a dog chasing after his own tail. (My dog doesn't do this, mostly because she only has a nub back there.) It looks silly, accomplishes nothing except makes the dog tired, and everyone gets a good laugh at the futility. This doesn't mean I'm going to stop reading history. I still think that the stories are entertaining and at least help me get an idea of what might have happened, but I'm not putting my trust in those "facts." I will just trust the Bible.

So I had a lot of thinking time today. It came after a lot of church. Last night, I sat in on a Kindergarten-1st grade class on the Armor of God. This morning, Pastor Sam taught the letter to Ephesus in the book of Revelation. Then I went into the 4th -6th grade class for a lesson from 1 Samuel about the ark being captured. 3rd service was spent in the High School class on Hebrews 1. The teacher teaching 1 Samuel said it would be wrong to trust in a Guardian Angel as a substitute for having a relationship with Jesus. I was thinking that I have a Guardian Jesus.

I love my God.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Bicycles, The Scottish Games, and the San Francisco Zoo

So I found out that I'm horribly out of shape today. I thought I was fit, walking my dog every night and playing soccer with High Schoolers on Wednesdays and Elementary Schoolers on Sundays, but boy was I wrong. I know this because I went to visit my parents for a week and came back with a bicycle that has sat in their garage for the past six years or so. It was my brother's bike, but I don't think he rode it since he started driving. It was a cheap one, and the years didn't add any value. The tires were flat, so I walked it 1.6 miles to a Safeway gas station to fill up the tires. The air pump cost 75 cents, but just turned on by itself when I got close. Whether God was just blessing me miraculously, or the attendant saw me from the convenience store, I will never know, but I still credit the act to God. I put some air in, rode in a circle and put some more in the back tire. I then went to the thrift store looking for a bicycle light. I didn't see one, but I did see a $6 skateboard, and about $6 more dollars worth of stuff that I wanted... including a lamp and shade for my room and a bowl for the river rocks I've been gathering. I didn't buy anything since I was on my bike and when I came back later with my car, the store was closed. I guess I'll just go tomorrow. Then I biked 4 miles to Bidwell Park, put my feet in the public pool and read the rest of the intro to Herdotus, the Father of History. I'll start the actual text tomorrow. I hope I like it. Then it was an easy half mile to Rite Aid (where I bought a bike light and lock) and to my mailbox around the corner. The trip back was 3.5 miles and I was sweaty, tired, and sweaty... I had to wipe the sweat that kept rolling down my nose every few pumps and my legs felt like jello. The idea is to ride to church 3 times a week instead of driving which is 5.8 miles... each way... granted it won't be 98 degrees outside in the mornings or evenings, but I don't know about that. I think I need to work my way up to that trek. Well... anyway, the back wheel is misaligned because it comes really close to the bar on one side and has lots of space on the other. Also, it's a mountain bike, which is nice for trail riding, but not as nice for city riding. I did get a light so I can ride at night... now I just need batteries.

On Tuesday, two of my brothers and I went to the San Francisco Zoo (nice transition, huh?) We saw lions and tigers and bears and even took pictures. Here are a few of my favorites.











The reason I went to see my parents was for the Scottish Games on Labor Day Weekend. I extended my trip a few days on either end of the weekend to avoid traffic and to eat their food longer. (They eat better food than I do) But the Scottish Games are fun. It's the same every year. We work in the information booth and I missed last year and still could answer questions. My brother Matt missed the last five years and could answer them too. We've been working that booth since the Games moved to Pleasanton in 1994. We have pictures of the Games too.






Of course there weren't just games. There were lots of Bagpipes and dancers and Scottish foods and all sorts of stuff labeled Scottish








And there were animals too





All in all it's a good time. I would recommend making it at least once in your life. If you do, come by the information booth under the GrandStand. Chances are, I'll be there.