I keep encountering lists lately ... and not simply lists of things to do and tasks at hand, but lists of all kinds. Lately, one of my favorite ways to procrastinate at work is to get onto EW.com and click through their ridiculous assortment of pop culture lists (50 Greatest Movie Villains, 20 Scariest Movies, 30 Television Shows You Wish Someone Would Bring Back, etc.). It has taken me a while, but it is strange how many lists sit around my desk. There's a church movie night list, and next to that a two page legal tablet scribbling of the dates of all the Biblical kings and political upheavels, and then there's a post-it with a bunch of names of different Holocaust and World War II historians. Tacked on the bulliten board wall of my desk is a list I compiled in green ink during my last lay-committee meeting with some of the wonderful people at DaySpring Baptist Church in which they imparted to me the kind of things they like to see in a pastor. Not far from this is pinned a list of members of the UBA Student Work Team, and now that I look at it more closely, I see it is from 2006, which means I probably should get an updated version at the next meeting this Thursday...
So, as an ode to all these lists, and because no blog would be complete without a blatant ripoff of another blog, I've decided to compile my own random list, much like the one a friend of mine compiled not long ago on his own blog, which I recently found myself surfing back to in my mid-afternoon boredom.
50 Things...
1) The fingernail on my right index finger cracked over a year ago and still hasn't healed. It's pretty gross.
2) Calvin and Hobbes comic strips constituted around 67% of the comedy I indulged in during my middle school years.
3) I have been yelled at and threatened by a member of Border Patrol.
4) I think I could be friends with Jonathan Papelbon, the Red Sox closer, if given the chance.
5) It often takes me several fluffing cycles before I get around to taking out a load of laundry.
6) I have a black belt in Kung Jung Mu Sul martial arts.
7) I am not a fan of big cities, which makes my current dwelling place a difficult experience.
8) There exists within the American Airlines company a security file on me, and I was once banned from flying with them for six months.
9) In my four and a half years of college, I had four different BSM directors.
10) My oldest friend, who I still keep in touch with, is Lisa (Davis) Snow from 9th grade.
11) I have lived in three different cities in Massachusetts.
12) I was once frisked in front of police officers with hands on holsters, but I have never been arrested.
13) The worst movie I have ever seen is Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey.
14) The greatest beer in the world is Guinness.
15) I am a state champion German Folk Dancer.
16) I once pretended to be stalked by a lunatic to impress a girlfriend.
17) I have never had stitches.
18) I named by boy dog after Huckleberry Finn and my girl dog after the name on the pound's adoption sheet.
19) I am currently reading the Harry Potter series and am ensorcelled by it.
20) I have more than 15 Christian music singing tracks in my possession, and have sung to many of them in public.
21) I learned the difference between the word "cynical" and the word "sardonic" from a stubborn roommate with a dictionary.
22) I have never - NEVER - walked out on a movie in the theater.
23) Three of the best books I have ever read are Gilead, The Brothers K, and The Oath.
24) If I had not met my wife, I would have seriously considered becoming a monk.
25) I had a Michael Jordan/Bugs Bunny poster in my room when I was a teenager. Next to it was a Bartman poster.
26) My sister died while on a Christmas-caroling hayride when I was 8 years old.
27) On my desk stands a troll doll that has been in my possession for over 15 years.
28) My greatest Christmas memory is when I was five and received the entire Voltron robot set. There is a video of my awe-struck reaction.
29) I have never seen the movies Chicago, Casablanca, Pulp Fiction, or It's a Wonderful Life.
30) I am fascinated by The Food Network.
31) I think Field of Dreams, Dead Poet's Society, and The Village are three of the most spiritual films ever made.
32) I loathe going to malls.
33) I once pulled a fire alarm in 8th grade.
34) I've ordered black pudding in Ireland thinking I was getting chocolate Jell-O.
35) My first kiss was on a school bus in that little seat in the rear.
36) The best piece of fruit is a pear.
37) My guilty pleasure is watching South Park and laughing hysterically.
38) Three movies I could watch over and over again are: Anchorman, Wonder Boys, and The Insider.
39) I've had Shingles.
40) I've sipped coffee and people-watched outside a cafe in Paris.
41) I was a member of a state champion Polka Band.
42) I have been a two-time award winner in the category of "Dance."
43) My first kiss with my wife was on the Brooklyn Bridge.
43) I think, in a few years, the term "theology" will be considered a subversive term in some denominations.
44) My two most outlandish goals are to hike the Appalachian Trail in its entirety, and win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.
45) My best friend, Stevie, is a pharmacist, and I feel guilty when I call him for medicine advice.
46) I can't remember the last time I vomited.
47) My mother has out-read me in books by at least 10-1, and this is just in the last five years.
48) I get extremely self-conscious when I try to dance with someone.
49) I have to go to the bathroom.
50) I hate iceburg lettuce.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Good Words I Didn't Write
My intention for this blog is to remind myself and its readers of the wonder of God, and the issues that might determine our awareness of God's will in our lives and the lives of others. Therefore, many of the things I write, I hope, are understood to be the musings of a man who is turning truth over and over in his hands, inspecting it, pondering it, trying to get a better feel for it. If some of my posts persuade, I hope that they do so with all gentleness.
Yet it is not my intention to persuade you so much with this post, but rather to remind you of the importance of a spiritual awareness, and how this can affect our present lives as well as the country in which we live. You may have your mind made up on who to vote for in the upcoming presidential elections, and it is not my desire to debate the merit of your choice. Mine is merely a desire to challenge - to remember, if you are a person of faith, what is important in such a time as this. After much personal consideration, below is both the candidate I am currently resolved to vote for, as well as the speech that persuaded me. I encourage you to watch it, not that you might be drawn into a specific political camp, but rather to be reminded of the role of faith and religion in this country. It is about 40 minutes long, but I do hope you will view it, even if you have to return to it a couple of times to hear it all. Even if you are already not interested in this candidate, please know that there is no mention of the current campaign, but only the issue of faith and politics. Whoever you choose to vote for, this speech is definitely worth hearing.
Yet it is not my intention to persuade you so much with this post, but rather to remind you of the importance of a spiritual awareness, and how this can affect our present lives as well as the country in which we live. You may have your mind made up on who to vote for in the upcoming presidential elections, and it is not my desire to debate the merit of your choice. Mine is merely a desire to challenge - to remember, if you are a person of faith, what is important in such a time as this. After much personal consideration, below is both the candidate I am currently resolved to vote for, as well as the speech that persuaded me. I encourage you to watch it, not that you might be drawn into a specific political camp, but rather to be reminded of the role of faith and religion in this country. It is about 40 minutes long, but I do hope you will view it, even if you have to return to it a couple of times to hear it all. Even if you are already not interested in this candidate, please know that there is no mention of the current campaign, but only the issue of faith and politics. Whoever you choose to vote for, this speech is definitely worth hearing.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
The Maker of Dust
In celebration of Ash Wednesday...
In the quiet dark of the chapel, he reaches to unfold the kneeler and his tired legs bend, weary bones popping. His elbows find the back of the pew. His worn, wrinkled hands clasp. His crumpled frame genuflects in prayer. Were he able to pick himself up from such a position, he would have chosen to prostrate himself, right there in the aisle - to melt away into the thin, dusty carpet, become nothing more than that. And this is what he prays as he kneels. That he is dust, and to dust he shall return.
His hands hold a tremor, and his shoulders shiver from the awkward position while his parched lips speak in silence, confessions of sins long forgotten by all but him and the One to which he prays. Pleading in penitence. Vowing repentance, then stilling his soundless words when he remembers not to be hasty before God with a vow. So, slowly, in few words, he changes his vow to a desperate hope. This, after all, is the nature of his prayers.
There is a depth to the little room that he has not noticed before. A spaciousness in it that the quiet has brought out. He feels small. There in the chapel, he feels he is shrinking. Eroding. Dissipating dust. Let me retain only that which is essential, he prays. Only that which is pure and vital ... and if there is nothing, let me cease to be. Let me disintegrate to dust, and let me be captured up in you.
Not even dust escapes through Your fingers. He is comforted by this thought, and a thin smile, hardly noticeable behind the penitent grimace, curves his mouth. He looks down at his clasped hands, sees the dirt and grime of the world upon them, the blood and the death. He sees these things there behind the skin, where soap and water does not reach. He sees them there, corruption soaked into dust, and squeezing his eyes tighter, he prays all the more.
He hears the minister speak, but does not move. The voice echoes in the room that has grown so large. Still, he wonders if it is large enough to hold his sins. Yet even as the quiet wraps around him, shrinking him into nothing, the words find his hungry ears. "In returning and rest you shall be saved. In quietness and confidence shall be your strength."
And it happens that he realizes the cavern-like chapel, gaping larger than he has ever known it, is not to serve as a storehouse for sin, but a palace of peace. The yawning space around him is not empty, but has stretched and grown to accommodate something much grander. He opens his eyes again to view his hands, and there, perched before him, elbows on the pew, they suddenly appear clean, even beneath the skin.
He understands now that he is not shrinking, not dissipating away, but changing, becoming something new, something still composed of dust, but possessing a wind-like strength that comforts his weary knees and stills his trembling hands. He now feels a spaciousness within, filled with a billowing, peaceful whisper, words he cannot fully recognize, but residing inside, repeating encouragement he will carry with him like a blanket. And the largeness of the room, like a gaping mouth, is most certainly filled with something like a breath, gentle and sweet, capturing him, the minister, and all other mendicants up in a rest that floods over them like true love in the heart.
Again, he prays that he is dust, and to dust he shall return. Yet he takes joy in this, for within the quiet about him, and the whisper within, he feels the presence of the Maker of dust.
In the quiet dark of the chapel, he reaches to unfold the kneeler and his tired legs bend, weary bones popping. His elbows find the back of the pew. His worn, wrinkled hands clasp. His crumpled frame genuflects in prayer. Were he able to pick himself up from such a position, he would have chosen to prostrate himself, right there in the aisle - to melt away into the thin, dusty carpet, become nothing more than that. And this is what he prays as he kneels. That he is dust, and to dust he shall return.
His hands hold a tremor, and his shoulders shiver from the awkward position while his parched lips speak in silence, confessions of sins long forgotten by all but him and the One to which he prays. Pleading in penitence. Vowing repentance, then stilling his soundless words when he remembers not to be hasty before God with a vow. So, slowly, in few words, he changes his vow to a desperate hope. This, after all, is the nature of his prayers.
There is a depth to the little room that he has not noticed before. A spaciousness in it that the quiet has brought out. He feels small. There in the chapel, he feels he is shrinking. Eroding. Dissipating dust. Let me retain only that which is essential, he prays. Only that which is pure and vital ... and if there is nothing, let me cease to be. Let me disintegrate to dust, and let me be captured up in you.
Not even dust escapes through Your fingers. He is comforted by this thought, and a thin smile, hardly noticeable behind the penitent grimace, curves his mouth. He looks down at his clasped hands, sees the dirt and grime of the world upon them, the blood and the death. He sees these things there behind the skin, where soap and water does not reach. He sees them there, corruption soaked into dust, and squeezing his eyes tighter, he prays all the more.
He hears the minister speak, but does not move. The voice echoes in the room that has grown so large. Still, he wonders if it is large enough to hold his sins. Yet even as the quiet wraps around him, shrinking him into nothing, the words find his hungry ears. "In returning and rest you shall be saved. In quietness and confidence shall be your strength."
And it happens that he realizes the cavern-like chapel, gaping larger than he has ever known it, is not to serve as a storehouse for sin, but a palace of peace. The yawning space around him is not empty, but has stretched and grown to accommodate something much grander. He opens his eyes again to view his hands, and there, perched before him, elbows on the pew, they suddenly appear clean, even beneath the skin.
He understands now that he is not shrinking, not dissipating away, but changing, becoming something new, something still composed of dust, but possessing a wind-like strength that comforts his weary knees and stills his trembling hands. He now feels a spaciousness within, filled with a billowing, peaceful whisper, words he cannot fully recognize, but residing inside, repeating encouragement he will carry with him like a blanket. And the largeness of the room, like a gaping mouth, is most certainly filled with something like a breath, gentle and sweet, capturing him, the minister, and all other mendicants up in a rest that floods over them like true love in the heart.
Again, he prays that he is dust, and to dust he shall return. Yet he takes joy in this, for within the quiet about him, and the whisper within, he feels the presence of the Maker of dust.
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