ah, there you are. i've missed you.
yes, i've been away. i'm sorry. are you very angry?
angry! no. but i'm glad that you are back.
(silence)
something is troubling you, my friend. what is it?
too many things.
do you want to talk about it?
yes. no.
i see.
(short pause)
i was angry at you.
i know.
but i missed you while i was gone. i couldn't stay away. that's why i came back. i still feel angry sometimes, though. i don't want to, but i can't help it. i'm not very nice, you know.
(laughing) nice!
i know it sounds silly, but--
i hurt my hands. see?
oh! these wounds are deep! (pause) i wish you hadn't.
i don't. come, you are tired. rest awhile, with me.
if only i could!
why can't you?
i don't know how.
the night is falling, my love, but you will be safe with me.
promise?
i promise. when the sun rises, you'll find me wide awake, at your side... and waiting for you to awaken too.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Deep
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
but I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection.
Why should I gain from his reward?
I cannot give an answer.
But this I know with all my heart:
His wounds have paid my ransom.
--by Stuart Townsend
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
but I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection.
Why should I gain from his reward?
I cannot give an answer.
But this I know with all my heart:
His wounds have paid my ransom.
--by Stuart Townsend
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Home Again
Woundedbug came home on Thursday, after a year in Morocco. It's good to have him back.
The other night we sat on the porch late at night, smoking cigars, drinking tea (well, what can you do when you don't have any cognac) and talking about love, life, and whatever else came to mind.
It really doesn't seem like a year that he's been away. Then again, it doesn't seem like a year that I've been back.
Someone asked me today, out of the blue, "So when are you going back to New Zealand?" I don't know. But sometimes I think a part of me never left. (I know, Andi, I know! Don't say it!)
Travel does funny things to a person. It's hard to know where home really is, after awhile. If it's where the heart is, I'm in trouble, because my heart is in about three different places, at the very least! Hmmmm.
But I can't think about it anymore tonight. I'm late already. Have a great weekend...I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours! Until next time, ciao.
The other night we sat on the porch late at night, smoking cigars, drinking tea (well, what can you do when you don't have any cognac) and talking about love, life, and whatever else came to mind.
It really doesn't seem like a year that he's been away. Then again, it doesn't seem like a year that I've been back.
Someone asked me today, out of the blue, "So when are you going back to New Zealand?" I don't know. But sometimes I think a part of me never left. (I know, Andi, I know! Don't say it!)
Travel does funny things to a person. It's hard to know where home really is, after awhile. If it's where the heart is, I'm in trouble, because my heart is in about three different places, at the very least! Hmmmm.
But I can't think about it anymore tonight. I'm late already. Have a great weekend...I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours! Until next time, ciao.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Mystery Blogger
ha ha ha ha. i have broken into the frog files. i am the mystery blogger. i am the best...well, it's Just that think i am...anyway, this is my first pOSt as the mystery blogger. cHeck back frequently to see my posts.
-mystery blogger
-mystery blogger
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Profession/Confession
God save us from a church that has become indistinguishable from corporations.
Megachurches, Megabusinesses
I've said it before, and I will say it again, and again, and again. If Jesus isn't at the center of a church's teaching; if the cross has faded into the background or does nothing more than prettily decorate the front of a sanctuary; if pastors and church leaders are more interested in getting people into a building than they are in getting people in touch with the living God, then we deserve the scorn of a world that knows deep down that we are supposed to be other than what we show ourselves to be.
We aren't here to tickle people's ears and tell them what they want to hear. Our job isn't to make the Gospel of Christ palatable. If it is the true Gospel, it won't be. It can't be. The Gospel is offensive, frustrating. It gets under your skin and keeps you awake at night. You may try to leave it, but it won't leave you. It is uncompromising and gives no quarter to compromisers. It is beautiful, terrible, rich and devastating all at the same time.
If it is not, it is no Gospel.
Was it palatable in Jesus' time? Did it go down easy like smooth red wine? Did it give people the warm fuzzies? Why certainly. So much so that it led to the crucifixion of Jesus himself. Isn't that cozy, now.
How is it that we keep forgetting?
Maybe because no one tells us anymore. Our leaders are too busy crafting success seminars, writing self-help books, recording blockbuster worship albums, and marketing keychains with the prayer of Jabez inscribed on them.
God forgive and help us.
And yet...I have written all this, knowing it is true. But I would be unfair and a liar if I didn't say that I myself deserve scorn for misrepresenting Christ in my own life, especially when it is wilful (and oh, it so often is). Every time I pass a homeless person without a glance, every time I keep silent when I should speak out, every time I refuse to get close to another person who is hurting because I'm afraid of getting hurt myself, every time I withhold forgiveness from someone who is no more perfect than I am, I make a mockery and worse of my own convictions.
I'm not really any better than those Christian pastor-preneurs I despise so thoroughly. And oh! that is a blow to my arrogance and pride!
But not enough of one, or it wouldn't have cost me so little to write all this.
So at the last, may God forgive and help me too.
"When I fall, I will arise..." Micah 7:7
Megachurches, Megabusinesses
I've said it before, and I will say it again, and again, and again. If Jesus isn't at the center of a church's teaching; if the cross has faded into the background or does nothing more than prettily decorate the front of a sanctuary; if pastors and church leaders are more interested in getting people into a building than they are in getting people in touch with the living God, then we deserve the scorn of a world that knows deep down that we are supposed to be other than what we show ourselves to be.
We aren't here to tickle people's ears and tell them what they want to hear. Our job isn't to make the Gospel of Christ palatable. If it is the true Gospel, it won't be. It can't be. The Gospel is offensive, frustrating. It gets under your skin and keeps you awake at night. You may try to leave it, but it won't leave you. It is uncompromising and gives no quarter to compromisers. It is beautiful, terrible, rich and devastating all at the same time.
If it is not, it is no Gospel.
Was it palatable in Jesus' time? Did it go down easy like smooth red wine? Did it give people the warm fuzzies? Why certainly. So much so that it led to the crucifixion of Jesus himself. Isn't that cozy, now.
How is it that we keep forgetting?
Maybe because no one tells us anymore. Our leaders are too busy crafting success seminars, writing self-help books, recording blockbuster worship albums, and marketing keychains with the prayer of Jabez inscribed on them.
God forgive and help us.
And yet...I have written all this, knowing it is true. But I would be unfair and a liar if I didn't say that I myself deserve scorn for misrepresenting Christ in my own life, especially when it is wilful (and oh, it so often is). Every time I pass a homeless person without a glance, every time I keep silent when I should speak out, every time I refuse to get close to another person who is hurting because I'm afraid of getting hurt myself, every time I withhold forgiveness from someone who is no more perfect than I am, I make a mockery and worse of my own convictions.
I'm not really any better than those Christian pastor-preneurs I despise so thoroughly. And oh! that is a blow to my arrogance and pride!
But not enough of one, or it wouldn't have cost me so little to write all this.
So at the last, may God forgive and help me too.
"When I fall, I will arise..." Micah 7:7
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
No Pain, No Gain
Last week, on a whim, a friend of mine and I signed up to participate in a half-marathon at the end of October, in San Francisco.
Since then, I have successfully avoided beginning any sort of fitness regime, and have also successfully eaten too much several days running.
This is going to be interesting.
I can dimly remember my early twenties, when I went through a period of being almost addicted to exercise. Perhaps it had something to do with the free membership at the YMCA, which is where I worked at the time, as a day camp counselor. Anyway, I worked out five days a week, like clockwork: an hour of cardio every day and an hour of weights added on to that every other day. I didn't have a six-pack or anything, but I believe I could boast a very respectable four-pack, and that wasn't too bad.
(I think I still have the four-pack, actually, it's just a little harder to find these days.)
One time I overdid it: in fitness terms, I "maxed out." (Is that still a fitness term? I don't know.) Anyway, I was focusing on the arm muscles that day, and I worked out so hard, that when I went home I could barely eat my dinner, because I was having trouble lifting the spoon to my mouth. My arms were literally shaking, and they hurt. It was not "the good kind of burn," either. It was awful.
And of course the next day we were taking the YMCA kids to an overnight camping experience (right behind a cemetery no less, but that's another story), which meant that we had to load up all their luggage on the bus. I think I almost cried. I mean, the night before I could barely eat soup because the spoon felt too heavy, and now they were asking me to THROW heavy SUITCASES into a bus?? The assistant director for the camp (who was also my occasional workout partner) thought my plight was hilarious, and kept poking me in the triceps, which of course is where most of my pain was concentrated. I would have hit him, but my arms wouldn't move.
The final, crowning insult of that entire experience happened when we got to the campground, and the first activity slated for my group was a hike in the hills. I was still feeling utterly miserable, and was not thrilled that I had to do yet more physical activity. So in my despairing mood, I didn't see the rope stretched across the beginning of the trailhead. I tripped over it and fell, cutting my chin open on a rock. Of course, the only bandages anyone had available were kid-friendly bandages, meaning they had funny little cartoon characters all over them. In other words, they were not remotely inconspicuous. So for the rest of the day I got to hear jokes like, "What happened? Did you cut yourself shaving?" Ha ha.
So anyway, it's been a long time since I've been truly excited about getting in shape, but maybe this half-marathon will kick things back into gear. I can hope, I guess. Of course, the fact that I woke up late and then spent the morning writing this post rather than going for the walk around the Rose Bowl that I had originally planned does not bode well for my athletic future. (Neither does my propensity for chocolate.)
Since then, I have successfully avoided beginning any sort of fitness regime, and have also successfully eaten too much several days running.
This is going to be interesting.
I can dimly remember my early twenties, when I went through a period of being almost addicted to exercise. Perhaps it had something to do with the free membership at the YMCA, which is where I worked at the time, as a day camp counselor. Anyway, I worked out five days a week, like clockwork: an hour of cardio every day and an hour of weights added on to that every other day. I didn't have a six-pack or anything, but I believe I could boast a very respectable four-pack, and that wasn't too bad.
(I think I still have the four-pack, actually, it's just a little harder to find these days.)
One time I overdid it: in fitness terms, I "maxed out." (Is that still a fitness term? I don't know.) Anyway, I was focusing on the arm muscles that day, and I worked out so hard, that when I went home I could barely eat my dinner, because I was having trouble lifting the spoon to my mouth. My arms were literally shaking, and they hurt. It was not "the good kind of burn," either. It was awful.
And of course the next day we were taking the YMCA kids to an overnight camping experience (right behind a cemetery no less, but that's another story), which meant that we had to load up all their luggage on the bus. I think I almost cried. I mean, the night before I could barely eat soup because the spoon felt too heavy, and now they were asking me to THROW heavy SUITCASES into a bus?? The assistant director for the camp (who was also my occasional workout partner) thought my plight was hilarious, and kept poking me in the triceps, which of course is where most of my pain was concentrated. I would have hit him, but my arms wouldn't move.
The final, crowning insult of that entire experience happened when we got to the campground, and the first activity slated for my group was a hike in the hills. I was still feeling utterly miserable, and was not thrilled that I had to do yet more physical activity. So in my despairing mood, I didn't see the rope stretched across the beginning of the trailhead. I tripped over it and fell, cutting my chin open on a rock. Of course, the only bandages anyone had available were kid-friendly bandages, meaning they had funny little cartoon characters all over them. In other words, they were not remotely inconspicuous. So for the rest of the day I got to hear jokes like, "What happened? Did you cut yourself shaving?" Ha ha.
So anyway, it's been a long time since I've been truly excited about getting in shape, but maybe this half-marathon will kick things back into gear. I can hope, I guess. Of course, the fact that I woke up late and then spent the morning writing this post rather than going for the walk around the Rose Bowl that I had originally planned does not bode well for my athletic future. (Neither does my propensity for chocolate.)
Monday, July 04, 2005
Happy July 4th!
I'm working today, which doesn't really bother me because I get time and a half, but for some reason it bugs me that our store is actually kind of busy. It is such a beautiful day out, and it almost offends me that people are spending their time in a shopping mall instead of out bbq'ing with friends, having picnics, volleyball games at the beach, and so on. that's what the fourth of july is FOR, for goodness' sake. Celebrate your freedom!!
If you are reading this and there is still daylight left outside, I say STOP reading and go do something fun! Please! And then tell me about what you did, I'd love to hear about your day.
I'll be going over to a friend's house after work. We'll bbq for dinner, then watch the fireworks while lying on blankets on her front lawn and enjoying some homemade ice cream. Mmmmmm.
I really love the fourth of July, and I especially love fireworks. I don't think they will ever bore me, no matter how old I get. At least, I hope not.
Happy July 4th!!
If you are reading this and there is still daylight left outside, I say STOP reading and go do something fun! Please! And then tell me about what you did, I'd love to hear about your day.
I'll be going over to a friend's house after work. We'll bbq for dinner, then watch the fireworks while lying on blankets on her front lawn and enjoying some homemade ice cream. Mmmmmm.
I really love the fourth of July, and I especially love fireworks. I don't think they will ever bore me, no matter how old I get. At least, I hope not.
Happy July 4th!!
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