The Fear of Fire

Since the Tinman-episode, I have been slowly dealing with passion issues inside. Precisely its absence in my life. My wife does not like it, but it is all she has known me to be. I think I see in her eyes a desire for a less wet blanket. How does one play with fire?

My Bible hero David was a passionate man. He lived from his heart. That fire led him to plenty good and plenty evil. I am not condoning wickedness in the name of passion, but there is a little something that can be said for a pinch of carelessness.

I could pull off the shepherd stuff. I never enjoyed my chores. Yet when I did them, I was able to inject a level of whimsy that made them bearable. When observers noticed I was whistling, smiling or going on with myself they thought I enjoyed the task and so it came back to me. After a while I just got used to it and the task was mechanised. I could carry it out without an real effect on my affect. I can do the dirty lowly work.

I do not know delight though, David delighted in the Lord and in His Law. I cannot relate. The things I enjoy are a delight until I start doing them and notice how horrid I am at them, then I just want to stop. My victory is persisting. I am not an amazing athlete, but I long to be good at tennis, running and maybe play rugby again. I am pretty bad at my favourite video games, I love movies but I have watched so many I am too critical to enjoy most of them. I love to read, I do not remember much it seems, we can go on with writing, academics, public speaking, music, rock climbing. I think the thing I enjoy most with the least recoil is cooking, oh then there are dishes to be done. Yes, I am a tad perfectionist, still, how much can one enjoy something they do badly?

I do not go all out on anything, I can never follow through with love (or lust) the way David did with Bathsheba. I could never go to another man and say give me back my wife like he did Michal. I would be surely hard pressed to send word to Abigail. I could never get into worship, to dance before the Lord (and not before the church) I do not know what my 'all' in anything would look like. I keep a lot in reserve. All I touch turns to half baked, be it good or evil, and it does no one any good. That frustrates me the most. I am afraid of the fire. It is like my biking turns; too slow because I am afraid of falling; yet if I do not keep the bike gassed I will fall!

I want Your fire, yet I am afraid that it will burn. So do I really want fire or a picture of fire?

The Tinman email

For a long time I considered myself like the Tinman in The wizard of Oz - heartless. I have seen the evidence of this in that much of what I have done is done out of duty and propriety. Life is so very mechanical and robotic; standard responses to even the most searching questions. Telling people what I think they want to hear without lying. In a word; heartless.

Before I left work today, the Spirit impressed it upon me to go home and spend time in study and prayer. I was going to start a new study through Psalms. I read the Bible daily with my wife, but since the youth group 'died' my personal study has been more spotty than usual. It was easier when others depended upon me to study (duty and propriety.) I got home and instead of digging into the Psalms I listened to a teaching by Sandy Adams from one of the Calvary Chapel youth workers' conferences. He taught from 1 Sam 16:1-13, when Samuel went to Bethlehem to anoint David. The key point for me was that (according to Sandy) Saul's actions had outward motivators, in contrast David will ever be known as a man driven by his heart. In response to this I sat down to pray, asked the Lord to search my heart and tell me things I need to know. He brought up two things: my heart needs healing, and my heart is frozen in fear. I do not know when/where the hurt was, but He pointed out my need for healing and my unwillingness to ask even though He wants to heal me. I read Ezek 37, and felt the Lord saying as He spoke life into a valley of dry bones, He wants to revive my heart which I had reckoned dead, dried up, non-existent. I do not like stagnation, hence changing jobs, going back to school blah blah; the Lord pointed out my heart is stagnant from fear. This fear has resulted in me being closed up. I will not let people in, even people I know and love. I am not open to internal change, I have preferred to leave many things as they are. The few things that have changed were bad things, but there are good things that should get better. In fear I am unwilling to trust the Lord to effect change in my life. So I keep my old clothes, even though being the (prodigal's) Father he gave the command and a new robe has been brought out for me.

I hope this does not sound too weird. I know I heard from the Lord! For the first time in a long time too. And I decided to share it with you that you would pray for me specifically for the healing of my heart and the removal of fear. I have asked God over and over why my life is empty and vain. Now I think it is because He changed my heart when I gave my life to Him and I have since shut it down from hurt and fear. I knew I was heartless, I did not know why. In my lack of heart I felt 'inadequate' speaking life into the death, so I am asking you to help me pray that the Lord would do this work. I believe but help my unbelief.

Thanks. It is Ok to say nothing in response.

She came

One night a long time ago I fell ill. I got some viral rhinitis, cough, fever and all that jazz. I was miserable. I do not necessarily like to be taken care of, I left home because of independence issues. My parents decided so much of my life I was a little crippled alone. But, snapped out of it.

So...ill, was dating this gorgeous lady at the time. A girl so great she shocked me at almost every meeting. I called her for help. She was not 'scheduled' to visit that day.
"Hey, I need some cough medicine would you please pick some up for me?"
"Sure. What kind?"
"Just ask for cough suppressant"
"Ok, I will get it."

An hour later, she smiled into my place with some soup from her mom and cough syrup that literally tickled my brain after 30 minutes. I felt an actual finger in my cerebellum. It was hideous; that is besides the point.

The point is she drove 45 minutes, made at least two stops in the cold for me. I want to remember that always. When it is my turn to serve her, I want her to feel this blest.

The Birthday

The young boy stood up and walked slowly to the podium as his father introduced him to the people as their next leader. Like clockwork he arrived directly as his name is called out. Applause is sparse, until the guards turn their guns and encourage the scared crowd. Very few came here of their own volition. Most were forced out of their homes and boarded on buses at gunpoint. These birthday celebrations were once inundated with voluntary supporters. Not any more, those days are so far gone few remember them.

"Good evening my fellow countrymen. My fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. My comrades in the struggle. I salute you this night." He pauses for effect and begins to tell his story. He introduces the first lady as his mother, the despotic leader as his father. He speaks of them as they tucked him in to bed, picked him up from his falls and banished his fears. I for one do not believe my ears, but some of nature's most ruthless creatures are doting parents. He continues and proves to be a compelling orator.

Jas snaps me back to the task at hand, with effort I stop listening - is this how snakes feel before a charmer? We review our tools and go over the skeleton plan. Jas is a gambling man, a comprehensive plan is a rare luxury in his line of work. He checks his Beretta, drops it into the holster under his arm and relishes the familiar imperceptible weight of its comforting presence. "Jas, I have yet to see you use that thing."
"It is still good to have it around. When one needs it one absolutely needs it," he replies
His look closes further discussion. He is tense and I cannot handle the intensity in his face. "You know what you have to do right?"
"Yes sir, I do." I am nervous, but exhilarated.

"I would like to take this opportunity to introduce to you my sister, my wife. Please stand my dear." I looked up and saw the boy's betrothed, my stomach fell. She was young, smiling, gazing at him with pride and love. She was his sister, his own mother's child, like the kings of old he said. His father wore a devious, maniacal smile that made me more determined to carry out my task.

Ministers and party officials gathered at the rural mansion two hours later. Applauding each other at the success of the bash, the turnout, "Oh how the people love our noble leader!" We kept our heads down and played our parts.
"Big Top, ETA 10 minutes." Word was passed around.

Jas heard the sirens first, he looked at me, his hand went for the Beretta and he grinned, his scarred face a portrait of cold delight. "It's time," he roared and one by one the ministers fell never to rise again. I took the small group of guards, so at home they sat away from their weapons. "Idiots wanted him dead, wish granted." I thought.

My hand burned before I felt the pain. I dropped the heavy gun. Time slowed as the pain bore down upon my senses and screamed in my mind to blend with my own scream. Jas ran quickly to my side and we took cover. He quickly located the source of the shot. The advance guard was quickly put to peace.

They came and barred our exit, the two trucks, the remaining motorcycle and police cruiser. We had more firepower than we could use with 3 hands. Bullets whined and ricocheted all around. Jas was grinning like a boy on Christmas morning, his hands bloody from attending to my wound. I was stone faced, reacting, my brain was locked away. I was a drone doing my duty.

I got the boy! His little wife ran to his side as he coughed up blood and she grew a third unseeing eye. Their mother had been downed by Jas, but we could not find their father. The nanny covered the children with her body; her last act of kindness.
"Jas! He's in the driver's seat." I yelled. He was trying to make off with my quarry. I forgot caution and ran after the open vehicle shooting as I ran. I saw his shoulder fly. He slumped over the wheel. The car kept going.
"Is he dead?"
"I don't know."
"Is he dead man?"
"I don't know. He is hit, I know that."
"Blast!"

We stood alone, surrounded by corpses, yet our job might not have been completed.
"What now?"
"You get up and get to work."
"What?"

And I awoke.

Vanity

Vain;
1 : having no real value , idle, worthless
2 : marked by futility or ineffectualness, unsuccessful, useless

"Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher. Vanity of vanities. It is all vanity" - Ecc 1: 2 So whats a guy to do in light of this? How does one respond to the vanity, the futility, the resounding emptiness that Life is/was/can or will be?

Nothing. We hear the news, we see all this, we live through it and our hands hang limp. There is nothing we can do, if there was then it would not be futile then would it. So we give up?
Yes. I give up. I give up and let the Lord take it. He made it, He saw this whole mess and knows it from end to beginning. I will let Him have it. In the mean while I don't know what I will do with all the time and resources now at my disposal. SO the vanity persists, but with smaller issues this time.

Ha. Vanity of vanities. That Solomon was onto something there.

Why I run

It hurts.

I ran 10 miles today and it hurts, tomorrow is going to be interesting. The day after tomorrow is the worst, and it is my next training run. I run because I can. I run because it is something I am able to do, and I do OK at. Running pushes me to do more. That whole harder, better, faster (yes Daft Punk) thing. How will I find my boundaries if I do not go out and look for the fence?

Its fun. I do enjoy it, I would have stopped if I didn't. I can not put my finger on the fun part of it. The idea is fun, how do I define me - runner is one of my words. I like that. Not sure why.

I run for the same reason I went up the mountain. Ego. I like to do things that most people around me do not, cannot or will not do. Oh, I also like the health benefits. Its mostly ego and pain. The day after tomorrow I will do it again.

Because I can.

Loners

People will/should never be classified. We do not fit neatly in boxes like books or cigars. Slave ships tried stacking humans and killed quite a lot of them in the process. We need room, odd shaped spaces in which to live and stretch and be.

I tend to like to be alone. When not alone I would like to be surrounded by a select group, that selection may vary with my mood. I do not like crowds. I faced that fear by public speaking. I still do not like crowds. I do not easily attach to people, so most new to me would say I am aloof. I concur. It takes a lot to get close to me, mostly because I do not know how to be close. I am great at being emotionally vague and unaffected. It is easier. When I do attach I do not like the distance that time will surely bring, talked about this before.

It has come up because an old flame is recently engaged. I am thrilled for her, and the lucky dude. Why does part of me say with Ray, "It should have been me?" I rejected her - too little too late in the day I said to her. And prayed that she would love, really love. And here she has and I want a party invite, a place of honour and...what the..?

It is easier to be distant. Easier to be aloof. Easier not to care, for in caring I find unsavoury things.

One day I went to look for myself, what I found was disturbing.

Simple Things

I think I have learnt to express myself better in writing than in person-to-person interaction. That impression of my interpersonal skills that you are right now developing...keep to yourself. The implication is this: my innermost thoughts are usually written somewhere before they are ever vocalised.

At another time I wrote someplace that I want to be a simple pleasures guy. I was reminded of that longing today. I was driving from work and my shuffled 90s Ext playlist landed on Bob Marley and Lauryn Hill, Turn your lights down low. And in the opening minute is this low volume but very heavy bass that rattles my innards and gives me goosebumps. I thought at that moment, "Would it not be great if between this, Avatar, Calvin and Hobbes, hiking, jigsaw puzzles, microbiology, physics, cooking, eating etc where all my heart's desires?" Seriously, that song turned me on! I played it all the way home and keep playing the remainder of the custom playlist of songs I 'grew' up listening to, stuff from my Sanktifyd days and a little beyond.

I would love to have nothing to hide, a WYSIWYG individual. My hated catholic school's motto was Esse Quam Videri. We translated that, 'Be what you are', some say it means 'To be and not to seem.' At the end of the day, it's Latin for "BE REAL!"

"I get goosebumps when the bass line thumps, so fat they calling me Professor Klump..." -JD(upree.) I want to relish the joy of a good piece of music, my wife's gentle kiss, a great unashaming book or movie, the feel of the pavement when I run, grass (at times mud) between my toes, sunsets I try to look at until they are branded in my memory, my 6 friends, cartoons, and even video games. Not the shit I play in sometimes. I know it stinks yet I keep oinking, bending over and taking in more, so that when I am finally drunk I feel like I just ingested a load of shit and I am empty and repulsive.

"It's the simple things that make you smile..." -Dirty Vegas. Maybe I will smile after all.

Fast Car

I am contemplating buying a newer car. There is nothing wrong with the old one. I LOVE my Grand Viagra! It has been much more than I expected.

I had an opportunity to buy a Nissan Z (when I bought the Vitara,) I turned it down because I was sure I would kill myself on a mountain road. Yet here I am thinking of buying a roadster. I don't need it, I just want one. The more I think about it the more I want it. I have a picture of its relative on my computer. Whenever I drive I dream of shifting into 6th. I have got it bad.

I am always one to ask why, so why? Because I can, because I think I am able, because whenever I pray about it I think I think I hear God saying, "Challenge me, I dare you." Is it the voice of God, or is it the voice of my Lust impersonating God and speaking when I want God to? I do not know. I do know He has provided, and I am convinced He will continue to. Yes, I have issues to work out. I know He still looks with favour upon me, in spite of myself. God is to be the center of my life, I long for that so much. That all things about me would revolve about Him. Though I will not agonise over the colour of car, the type of car et cetera, I know I ask Him for a car and I acquire what He enables. I have learnt this about stuff. Now to apply it to everything else...

Picture me rolling...

The Boy and his Man

I enjoy watching and/or reading Bleach, the story of a teenage death god-substitute. I love (and long) for problems that can be solved with a sword. I have never held one, would not know the first thing to do with it. This desire can be boiled down to this: I wish I could punch out personifications of my vices. If instead of 'battling' Insidious Lies, he would be a dude who comes to bother me during my stogie break or something and I can go bankai on his jaw!

Like all good characters, the main player in this story has his (fighting) duality - an honourable warrior, and a bloodthirsty fiend. All this is contained in his hot tempered, but very likable exterior.

I have spoken some of my upbringing. I was an ever a little scared boy who never felt up to snuff. Everyday I awoke and hoped I would make it through without getting spanked or worse scolded or derided. It never happened; yes I went to bed happy but I missed this mark with flying colours. The Boy often slept in tears.

One fine day I left home and slowly cast that off, proved myself to be hardworking and good at the few things I put my hand to. Women told me I was handsome and fun. Men told me I was impressive and witty. I was intelligent, intriguing, wise sometimes and so much more. Now I walk with my spine straight, there may even be a slight swagger. The Man knows his place and it is a good one.

Every once in a while Life rears up and blasts the smirk off my face. I end up that little scared boy walking on eggshells. In the shadow of days like that both my lives from the other's perspective seem like a dream. And whoever I am at that moment can look at the other and laugh. I long to Man out and furiously lash at Life, but it is an immaterial collection of moments! I can not turn my wrath on the people in the room with me, that would not be fair...what do I do? I am left an affronted Boy and confident Man with nothing to confront but myself. So I pout, I sleep and hope to wake up to a better day. Usually takes two, but the world always gets back to normal.

The Boy returns to the quiet closet he loves, indulges in all forms of fantasy and fancy. The Man goes back to work and keeps a straight smiling face until bedtime. And Life goes on.

Ego drove me up a Mountain

I went camping. For the first time, I went real camping. In our late-night-round-the-fire talks; we determined there was a distinct difference between real camping and almost camping. We went real camping...

My brother and his girlfriend visited. While they were here we went hiking, overnight camping and hiked back. It was...an adventure. Firstly we started off late, so when we got on the mountain we were in quite a rush. We got on and started walking and walk we did. I have hiked before. Many times. I have done some long hikes too, never with a pack though. We went up Bald Ridge, a trail rated difficult. We made it slowly up and it was dark by the time we got to our planned campsite. We set up camp under torchlight and started a fire with sterile gauze, a pay stub, receipts and a tampon!

We sat down for dinner, talked a bit and started nodding off. The deer would not leave us alone, I get the impression they are so used to people they are part tame. I could not sleep! Oh how I tried, I love to sleep - the ground is uncomfortable sure but I could not sleep because every strange sound woke me up. When these strange sounds started the deer moved closer to the fire. I was sure they felt safer with us, so whatever was out there could have eaten me too - would you sleep?

I woke up every hour to feed the fire, make sure the carnivores stay away, keep me warm (oh I had a 'summer' sleeping bag and I was cold.) I would check the woods for non-deer eyes too and try to sleep. Never happened. I have never longed for sunrise sooo much.

Finally...the sun came up. I went and found more wood, fed the fire and tried to sleep but it did not come so I sat up and watched the deer that kept coming closer and closer. It was strange fun to have them so close. The rest of the party woke up, cleaned up and we started going down. We were tired, hungry, the plants stung and my throat was scratchy. But there was DQ to look forward to.

Four hours later we made it to the car, half an hour to DQ and then home. Aaah.

While hiking we asked why we did this, she liked doing stuff like that, he is ego driven, so am I. We do what we do so that people talk about us, call us crazy. I also do it for the challenge, for in this I am victorious, so many other battles I lose. I can run 15 miles, I can walk that long with a light pack...I wish all my battles were that manner of physical, I would win a few more.

Ego drove me up a mountain, and I made it back down. It was an adventure...I will do it again.

"Analysis of competition" by A. Loser

In many ecosystems, huge herds of grazing animals of various species stick together- wildebeest, zebra, elephant, antelope, sometimes with buffalo, ostrich and giraffe thrown in there. We summed this up in the statement 'safety in numbers,' I am sure the individual that is dinner tonight disagrees, but truth is there is a measure of safety there. Consider a lion in the midst of a stampeding herd, it should be difficult to focus on one animal when they are a swirling mass of movement and pounding hooves in addition to the noise and dust. It confuses the predator when they all move at once (which is why predators try to separate one from the herd).

Being top of the food chain and all, we big-head-round-ears-two-legs-upright creatures need not worry too much about predation. Yet we live as though someone/something is going to eat us up if we relax. We live in a dog eat dog world, the rat race others would say. We are very conscious of competition, external and (more deadly) internal. It is rarely a life or death situation, yet it is a big deal. Molehill I say, others say mountain, sometimes I think BIG mountain. We born and trained to outdo everyone around us; at home, school, work, (even) in religion we are set against each other. Most of the things we do for 'fun' are a form of competition - who can defeat and defend the largest fictional empire, who can make the most fake money, who can go the fastest in a vehicle that only exists as bits and pixels and so on. Competition with others is supposedly healthy, because it helps to create a platform for setting one's value (I am all that because I am better than you), but before I digress into psychobabble...

Internal competition, contest with oneself, strife toward your ideal you, and (sometimes unfortunately) strife to conform to others' ideals; this gets fierce! I have a point coming, I can feel it: I hate competition. Partly because I am always a player, rarely a winner, because of this reality I was taught and once believed I am a disappointment. Though I find it difficult to purge so many injurious things from my childhood, this I work hard on: one school term I worked to the bone to get good grades. Since we are pitted against another, it mattered most how my grades stood in comparison with my peers. I was 3rd in my class! Brilliant! I got home and my best efforts were not good enough. I have thus decided, it only matters that I am good enough for me! I have since become my competition, every once in a while I want to run faster than him or her, but when I go to bed, it is me I want to beat.

Competition thwarts laziness. Now that I have no races scheduled I do not run as much. I have no tests, I am not teaching, I do not study as much. That is all I need out of competition - the drive to be better than Me, forget the rest of my class, though I want to be impressive, but I do not need that. I want to say next year, "I am doing better than this time last year" and if I am not, I do not want to feel like I did that day.

"I see no Changes"

One of my favouritest church words is "justified." I have understood it for mere moments at a time, until a visiting pastor taught that when one is justified, it is 'just as if they never sinned' and it stuck. I comprehend the word, yet its meaning in everyday life I find so much more complex. The thing I love about Jesus is this; He is and says so much seeming contradiction yet it is not, because it all fits. See for us at certain times He is this or that, but it fits on Him all the time. I wonder how John's head felt when he saw then wrote about the Lion that looked like a slain Lamb standing before the throne of God(Rev 5: 5-6), not to mention this Lion/dead Lamb guy IS God...In a world were most things can be explained, I love a God beyond my total comprehension.

The Son of God (who is too God) came that mankind may have life in abundance (John 10: 10). He came to free us from our bondage to sin and self, that we would be children of God, like He is, and we would love and serve others (like He loved and served us (Matt 20: 27-28, John 15: 12-13) He said, "When the son sets you free, you are free indeed!"(John 8: 36) It is also written elsewhere, "Behold you are a new creation, the old is gone and the new has come!" (2 Cor 5: 17)- exclamations mine, because I love these words!!

But I see 'no' changes, the new came, but the old is still here. I see him every day. I am free but I am still bound. How come? Did Jesus lie? Did GOD LIE? I have heard defenders say He did not lie, we just cannot attain some of the things He spoke of. So God told us we could be something He knew we could not do? I thought part of the reason He became a Man was so that He could be, "...tested in every way" like we are and, "...still did not sin" like we should do (Heb 4: 15). He came to set an example(Mark 10: 21). So what's the deal? I still see 'no' change!

Paul teaches us to reckon the old man dead (Rom 6: 4-7,11), so he is still there. We have victory in Christ (1 Jn 5: 4-5), but we are still fighting our foe(Eph 6: 12). I think our life now is lived in a process of change. Unfortunately in changing form we are trying to swim upstream. It is more difficult, many times we tap out when it is too much, the old ways are easier or more enjoyable so we turn tail and swim downstream, but we realise our error and we are free in Him to re-turn to Christ - upstream. This is were that word comes in... He looks from the waterfall and sees us (by His blood) just-as-if-we-never-turned-tail! In our judgmental eyes there is no change, we keep flip-flopping. But in His Gracious eyes we are changed, the old is dead and the new (by His blood) is all that there is. Finally, at the end of our lives we make it to the head of the stream, there is nowhere left to swim, like Paul we have swam the course set before us, (2 Tim 4: 6-7) that change that started is completed. As our bodies die, so does our fight against the old. For in His here-after the old is gone gone baby gone. The new is all there is, and we are (totally!) free indeed!

Yes I am excited. This is part of the down payment of Salvation, this is the deposit, the earnest on the Promise of Eternity.

Running Stories 3

It was my first 'big' race, attended by thousands, I have never before seen so many people in one place. They were all runners too, there was a spot were I could see about 2 miles up the road and it was packed with people running. I ran my 10mi race on the 26th. I completed it in my best time - 1:23:31. Previous record was 1:30. I am very pleased. Here come the tales...

We started the race, there were so many people it took about 5 minutes for the whole procession to start running. Within the first mile, (mostly) ladies were pulling off tights and skorts behind trees and bushes, some way too close the the road. Yes, running chics pee in the woods! HA! A mile or two later I saw the first wave of guys, then the port-a-pottie queues. There was still a long way to go.

By mile 3 it was getting hot, even the non-sweaters had wet spots on their apparel, I am glad we (runners) mostly do not care, because some of those sweat stains form the most well...'NO WAY' kind of stains on clothes. I did not stay long, I passed them.

I ran behind a skort so short it was sucked up in the runners orifice her bum was hanging out, and she plugged on. I had to pass her.

I ran behind a wildly swinging leg in 'you-shan't-miss-this' yellow shoes. I had to pass her, I could not focus.

I ran behind a strangely bobbing ponytail I wanted to yank it, thankfully I restrained myself. I focused on my feet and passed her too.

I will say little of the snorting guy, (that may have been me), the guy whose sweat constantly flew off his body, the many women I called 'Sports bra meets Almost Shorts' and all the unnamed gaits after I ran out of names; most memorable being (several) High Steppers, Hot Pavement, Wanna Dance?, Mile long Strider and Oh this hurts!

I enjoy running alone much better. I can fully enjoy my run, touch all the guardrail posts without feeling crazy, yell to my war movie music when appropriate without scaring anyone and I can run backwards and sideways. Running with a group so huge I could not break away from the crowd had me straining to attain that impossible feat. I picked off interesting runners to pass and I finished the race. My cheer squad said I was smiling. I am glad I have perfected my grimace of pain.

13.1mi in two weeks, I'll rest my soles for another day or two.

Heroes

Many years ago I was a competitive public speaker in a high school circuit from a land far far away. I loved it! I was a lot more shy then , but I could talk to a crowd. Sometimes they got me, sometimes I lost them, I enjoyed both. One contest my prepared speech was entitled "Heroes" I deplored the worship of music, movie and TV celebrities. Praised Nelson Mandela, Steve Biko (yes I was in Africa!) and such - people who not only lived for something, but where willing to die for others' benefit.

I was reminded last weekend of this revolutionary way of living, being others centered. As I read a story book written on this man's experiences I long to see what will be the end of my days. Life is what you make it. Everyday; but the view at the end is (hopefully) fuller and more picturesque. Right now I am seeing only a part of the fractal, it looks like Chaos, but Oh to see the whole...Right now there is the longing to live all to Christ usually overwhelmed by the desire to feed the dogs, cater to me and wallow in never realised good intentions. Yet still I rise see. I look forward to the end because with every swirl of my darkness is a splash of Light and Love brighter than the last. The darkness will drown.

I read his stories and I know from experience, all our heroes learned through pain, fell to failure but did not stay down. That is what makes a good story, the guy would not stay down, until it killed him, and his Light burned brighter still. His story is told everywhere. I will not stay down.

Running Stories 2

I like animals, until I started living with two cats. One of them smells horrid, he pukes too for no apparent reason. It is a bad situation. The other is not bad, I could actually like her. I had dogs all my life, I like dogs; big active monsters. I grew up in a place where our dogs were guards. You did not pet a neighbour's dog lest they bite off your hand. I have not adjusted to the 'friendly' Valley dogs. Yes, because they are so socialised, we told them if they attacked people they would be put down and being the understanding demi-humans they are they comprehended every word.

Beware of farm dogs when you run! They are sneaky beasts. On one run I saw a dog in a horse. I knew it would make it out of the pen so I slowed down. Doggy ran and barked until I stopped running, then it stopped and walked with me. I patted its head and it headed to the lawn. I decided to keep running - doggy did not like it, barked me to a stop. I walked past and ran when it turned its head. Whew.

On another run I was running in farmland listening to music. I heard nothing out of the ordinary, saw nothing I just turned and saw a black dog in full sprint headed to me. His shoulder hair was raised (he was serious about this) and he started growling, teeth bared as he bore down on me. I stopped and stood with my arms at akimbo, (I figure it makes me look bigger, bearded lizards do it and get away with it!) He 'screeched' to a halt and turned and returned home. I shudder to think what would have happened if I had not seen him. I am sure his owners know he is a friendly dog.

I do not want to fight some kid's dog! So I will continue to keep away from your friendly farm dogs. I am contemplating pepper spray...bwahahahaa!

Forever

I attended 3 boarding schools between 5th grade and high school. As mentioned in prior musements I loved some and hated one. I am listening to a song on radio, on point with my plan for this note - uncanny. I love moments like this. In boarding school I lived with my parents' sacrifice in mind most of the time. They reminded me of it enough, every letter I read from them spoke of the financial strain my schooling was. I was told to work hard and do well. When I went home for weekends or holidays I heard (and saw) this more. I attended one school in particular where I ate better than I ever would at home, servants cleaned up after me, after lunch rest and more! Yet in all this, it was not home. I was there, I enjoyed it, but I did not belong and I knew it.

My recurrent reference to death has led some to label me suicidal, I am not. I am too scared to hurt myself. If I were to come up with a suicide plan, it will have to be foolproof - above that I have been told from a trusted source my death is not an individual event. It will hurt people I love, people I do not want to hurt anymore than I do or have done to this point.

I will live forever. My last breath will be as one waking from a dream - separate worlds, but alive in both. One more real than the other, but both valid and important. My knowledge of the next life and my desire to live it keeps me longing for its beginning. If there is no eternity, then what we do now is all important, but to no end. If there is nothing but darkness beyond, then why bother? If there is eternity, then our life now means less than we make it out to be. 80 next to a thousand is small, 80 next to a million is tiny, next to a thousand million is not worth mentioning, next to eternity... really why bother? Why should we go on?

This is when boarding school hit me; while at school my work prepared for my time at home. I worked hard to please my parents, if I had failed they would love me still, but would be displeased. We worked hard at school for our return home, that was our focus. When I cleaned toilets I thought to myself, "I do this in my mother's house out of love. I do it now because I am forced, once this term is done, I am going to my mother's house. She will hug me in the hallway to welcome me home. Just a little longer, I will not clean these hated toilets."

I hope I have not lost you. Boarding school is this life. It is not my favourite place because I know when this is done I will experience better. Home is Heaven, where I long to see my Father smile and say, "Well done, good and faithful servant, come in to my joy." If I slack in this life, my Father still loves me, still welcomes me home, but with nothing to show Him for it. I want more than anything to see Him smile.

I speak of and long for death because life stinks here. And so I will keep my eyes peeled for the next life. So that as long as I live this life I am striding towards victory now for later, for my Father's pleasure, and His gift forever.

Running Stories 1

I ran today, the longest distance I have ever run. I saw so much, let my mind inhale the fresh country air (which means cow and turkey poop! HA!) I live proximal to many old order Mennonites. Look them up, because all I know is hearsay - they believe technology is hell bound, though some of them have amazing farm machinery (not sure if they are the no-car guys.) Blast! I spilled the beans; they do not drive cars. Those that do drive (another sect of the denomination) will only drive 'black bumper' cars i.e. no chrome. So this Mennonite girl I love drives a BMW!

Anyway, old order Mennonites get around on bicycles and horse drawn buggies. I saw today, an old old lady riding a full size tricycle in her yard. I figured/fancied that she is now too old to get far on the road, but because she has ridden all her life she will not let her age stop her. I smiled.

Many times it seems that aging takes away our ability to do the things we love most in life. Runners with bad knees, cyclists losing their sense of balance, quilters with arthritis, bibliophiles with diminished sight (oh and hearing too, in case they decide to get books on tape!) And thinkers getting Alzheimer's or something. Iris was a good, but sad movie on that note, a brilliant witty teacher (and I think author) slowly losing her brain...literally.

I want to be like the old old old order Mennonite lady, to find a way to continue doing the things I love as long as I can. We all desire to stop on our own terms. Life will not allow it, that's just how Life is. I hope I can live in my head and constantly try to run away from it, only to miss it on the rare occasions I succeed. I hope I continue to be physically active in my autumn, still read good books, listen to music, watch movies and love the people I am in the 'room' with.

STOP! in the name of Love

OH the cheese! Sickening, absolutely blugh. I have never heard this song, it has been referred to many times. It makes sense, not in the way I think the song means; I am coming from the 'restraint in the name of love' perspective.

I need to talk to my wife, there is much I have to say to her. We have been married a year, it has been a good year I think. Challenging, I never wanted to marry the Bermuda Beach. I sought the North Sea. I am forced to look upon my self centered-ness for another's sake. I am compelled to live more each day, for my life is not about me anymore, it grows more into the 'we' being built in our little apartment.

The honeymoon stops after a year, I think because you come to a place were the real things have to come out. There have been few lies here. I have just put my best foot forward repeatedly, I can't hop about her 'til death do us part. In order to keep growing in trusting and loving, she needs to see the foot with the twisted ankle and gnarly toenails.
'She loves me though. It is not like she will run away'
I just do not see the conversation ending well. I pre-play and then replay such talks in my head. I have found no words that will bring about a good outcome, so I wait for something. In my mind I am protecting her from this unfavourable outcome. Yet, inside, I am sure keeping her from it does 'we' no good, for we barely talk about anything real. I can not wait for much longer. If the honeymoon ends here, I am convinced it must. The fiend must come out, the ass who has been peeking every now and again, but held back needs to be seen.

It is unfortunate those we love the most see our utter brokenness. Yes, it grows trust and love, being able to show scars and all, it just tends toward us holding these beloved, long suffering darlings for granted. What I mean is thinking/saying, "Now she knows I am a jerk I can let him all hang out."

I restrain myself from showing all of me. For loves sake. More honourably I hope to restrain my asinine traits for loves sake. So there...STOP...at least hold back. Life is messy enough.

My Secret

I am bored (by life) and boring. I hope no one ever finds out. It IS vanity, the whole thing. Now is nothing in comparison with eternity, yet now's actions determine eternity. Then without now is like winning a medal for a race you did not run. Now without then is running fast to nowhere. I say I look forward to eternity, yet I do not run the race to win, the winner is one who finishes, else there would only be one.

I find life vain and boring. Don't tell...

It's Stogie Season!

Ahh, it's almost smoke season. HA! As the flowers release their sweet scent to the crushing boot and shredding mower, I sit on my apartment block porch and fill the air with Honduran smoke.

I started the solo season today...I barely burnt an inch off half a JR! I do not like JR's. Why did I buy it? To answer that with a question, why is it the last in my humidor? Solo season is like watching an action blockbuster on a tiny screen, fun but could be a world better. Stogie smoking is a group activity. Lone smoking makes me pensive. As much as I like deep thought, I also like a break every now and again. My team...never mind.

I said I would quit after my humidor was empty. It is. Am I am man of my word? Or (some of) my words are smoke in the spring-summer breeze?

SCREAM!

In retrospect yesterday's strangeness lines up. I had a usual Sunday. Went to church even though I did not want to, enjoyed it more than I thought I would. (I never regret going). I left the crowd for my car and book, read while wifey finished her stuff. We went home and I 'rocked' Enya and cooked all day until we left and went to Uth.

I was asked my God-dream once. Teaching the Word was first. I have only always taught things I understood. With the Word, it is a little different. You teach not because you get it all. My favourite moments are when revelation comes during the teaching. With the Uth, I have them share too and I learn a lot from them. Their ride was late, so we had time to hang out. That is when I felt it - I needed to scream, I couldn't. I had something bugging me, I could not place my finger on it, so I ran the other way and settled in Goofy.

Ever feel the need to scream? What do you do? If I can, I let it out. I find the voice to carry it without irritating my vocal chords. If I can I go and run, play Need for Speed or watch something violent - Blade Trinity, Unleashed, Resident Evil...something... like that. If I am driving I honk when no one is close. Loooong and drawn out, like my pent up what-ever-is-eating-me. I resorted to that while we were driving home, I was still in Goofy because the alternative was...well, you will see but I needed the scream, I didn't want to share the why and stuff ( I usually do not. That should change). So I honked...and I was shut down!

I went the other way, got home, straight to sleep. The only way I have found to shut off my brain is with a sledgehammer. Instead of facing me, sometimes I run and hide.

Trusting Love

A fellow introvert asked how I got married, in a manner only a friend does, "How did you get married?" Like me he finds he has flaws and crazies best shared slowly except when clearing a room (or life) is the intention.

It is a pertinent issue in my personal relationships, and with God; it is impossible to love without trusting first, yet trust without love suffers the same fate - non existence. The two have to come together. The first steps of love are hilarious to recall. When you start to love and trust someone you sit across from them, yearning, aching even to touch them. Yet you know they (like you) have claws so you stay away. With time you draw closer and closer until the magical first contact. You slide from there and lose control of the claws in the fray - blood is drawn! Do you go on or go away? Do you trust or you love?

I think of myself as a snail - everything is instantly retractable, and after one scare it is increasingly difficult to coax me out, most people are not so patient. After there is love and trust built then there is a house fire - I do not rebuild on a whim; part of the reason to my lack of many and close friends is all the burnt houses I am/was unwilling to give another shot. I do rebuild, more timidly to start. Most people are not that patient, but once we get where we were used to I go along happily.

My wife and I talked about my trust issues. I had told her she has the most potential to eviscerate me. In order to love her I have to trust her enough to open more doors than I would with others, she will know intimate things, painful things, even shameful things about me. If she so desires she can expose them all! She can use my insecurities against me and surely leave me crippled. I can do the same to her. There is no loving us without taking that huge risk.

He says He loves us unconditionally, our spouses, families and friends are more conditional, but they love us to great lengths too. Unless we trust these expressions of love, we can never dive and soak in that love, we thus make every questionable act suspect of malice. Cannot trust until you know who loves you. Cannot love until you know to trust them. Is it a catch-22?

The reason I don't trust Your love is because I have a hard time grasping that You (or anyone) would love me. You and I know where and whom I have been. You and I know how unlovely I (still) am despite how far I have come. I do accept your love, and hope to loose my reservation so I can luxuriate in it. I don't trust their love because I know what they are capable of, I have the same 'talent'. Yes, I don't trust me too.

Do porcupines spoon?

Of squirrels and men

Since being told I could do anything I set my mind to, I did just that. I set my mind on certain things and have worked towards them with my best effort. I may have missed several cues though:
'Now or never'
'Too big, bail. Bail THIS instant!'
'Alaska is that way...dingus'
'Not in a millennia with a million!' et cetera
Here I am before the end of preparation, the beginning of the start and I am increasingly convinced that statement needs a disclaimer. It would go something like this; "You can do anything you set your mind to, as long as it is within national, financial, mental, and/or spatial reach within the time allotted to you though you will be mostly blind to the emergence of this time slot, proper financial climate, and/or your mental capacity in relation to your aspirations and any other extraneous details/roadblocks that may/will arise when/if they do/do not arise." Not as snappy as, "Carpe diem/noctem!" Seems truer.

How did all the other squirrels grab their nuts? Do tell...

HiStory

I have left all my childhood friends through various circumstances beyond my control. I always wonder who I was, what I was like at 3, 5, 10, 13 (ugh teenage) even 18; for my memory of all these times is like all mankind limited and biased. I long for the outsider view of friends. Oh well...I say I do not care, but inside I do. I am not one to have many deep relationships, I am choosy, liking people with whom I can drop and pick up companionship almost on a whim.

I dreamt a while ago of an old school I attended. I was in boarding school since 5th grade, all through high school then went away to college. From 8th to 11th grade I attended a Catholic school at my father's order. It had a great reputation and... that's all he had, we could barely afford it most of the time. I hated it! I met the most amoral, hateful children I have ever known. Admittedly, I am not beyond blame. I was uppity, I felt I was forced to be one with people 'below my standards' for I came from a high tier grade school than most of them. Here I was, stuck at a mission school that had no workers. The students did most of the work. It was horrible! The food was worse for the money we paid, I will leave the sordid living facilities out of it. I found the whole 4 years an odyssey. I wished and prayed to leave at the first chance I could. Thank God I did.

I made good friends who helped me through. I was miserable there. I did meet the man who told me to write, and write I did. I met a man who taught me 2 years of Mathematics in one weekend (Got a B in the 4 year final!) There were several other great people. Oh and I met James Bond. Those are the slivers of glory I carry with me still, found in that wretched place. I also learned to be humble, invisible and quietly long suffering.

When I am stressed, I dream of this school. I awake in fear. It is there that I first learnt fear, and the convolution that marks human relations. What doesn't kill you right...hmm. Something died, I wonder sometimes was its death a loss? For in 'its' place lives this melodramatic cynic. My present nature had its beginnings in this place I hate so much.

Ironic.

Sunshine and Rain

It is written that He makes His sun to shine on the good and the wicked alike. He lets the rain fall on the fields of them both. From a scientific stance, it is inevitable, it will eventually rain. Because of the presence of water on the Earth, it will evaporate and get heavy enough to fall. And the sun shines, it has enough fusion going on to power us for several million years. From a spiritual point of view, all of it was set in motion out of His favour, His love, His grace. Be it rain or shine, each is a blessing. A good gift, given freely to all. None deserve these gifts. That is why they are gifts.

My sister married a man who was her friend. He still is a great friend for her. Not so hot in the husband department, but I am biased. My marriage is not amazing, far from it. Yet the problems she has I have not had in that intensity. I was told during a trying part of my life, the Lord allows hardship on those He trusts to shine through the trials. I said then He trusted me too much. I have been given a respite, and my sister is in the thick of it.

Even though we are raised in a competitive, 'earn your salt', 'prove you are worth it', eat or be eaten world; we need to understand grace. Free favour. Just take it and say, no shout,"Thank you!" I have done nothing to deserve the life I have. I am not a better person than my sister, or anyone else. I am pretty rotten. It is a gift, that I am here and she is there. I am basking in the spring sunshine and she is fighting summer downpours. My time will come. And as I am there for her now, she will be there for me. Her love, again, a gift of trust she has given me. So much entitlement in our lives. When we just ought to take what is given and shout, "Thank you!"

Personally, I like rain. It rained on my wedding day. I loved the gray skies and the way the green on the trees just popped. White looks really white under gray skies. It was a gorgeous day, she is gorgeous. I'll take the rain when it comes. It is a blessing, as blessed as sunshine. Thank you, rather...THANK YOU!

Forgetting

In the movie Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts plays Vivian Ward a strangely (for Hollywood) self respecting, frank prostitute, an immoral woman with a heart of gold, not so much a heart for gold. She said, "People put you down enough, you start to believe it...The bad stuff is easier to believe" Remember "Sticks and stone might break my bones but words will never hurt me?" I have concluded that to be the sour grapes response of a very very injured person. I would rather have had my bones broken.

I was raised by a good (seemingly mismatched) pair of parents, but what child does not think that? My mother is a mostly quiet, lovely, cute little woman. She was strict, has high expectations, works hard and picks her battles. She fights endlessly for her family against staggering odds and stands by her man, stood by him even when everyone told her to leave him. My dad was a type A, short tempered, cute little man. He too was strict, still has high expectations. He likes things just right and when they were not so one learnt how short his fuse was. His explosions were loud and damaging, they got the desired response though; people did what he wanted how he wanted. He loved money and all it could buy. Picked more battles than she and fought them with fierce determination, tenacious as a bulldog. Fair and ruthless in his dealings. They both knew poverty well. Money was a big deal for them. They valued hard work and results above everything (my opinionated view). Then Jesus found them.

I left home eight years ago. When I left my parents were becoming older, mellower people whom God was teaching not to provoke their children, but to nurture them in the fear of the Lord (Ephesians 6:4). They were not yet there, so my memories are filled by pain tainted images of malformed people. I had begun to notice the change that was occurring in their persons and in their union, and I missed out because I chose not to trust in it. It is easier to keep away those that hurt you than to believe and embrace their change. The man who at one time spent Sunday nursing a hangover after an early morning home rousing row now spent the afternoon in the yard with his wife a liter of Coke and biscuits (cookies...may I add, they giggled a LOT!) Money was still very important, and it was all I spoke to my father about. When I called home, I talked to mom about life and people, I talked to dad about grades and earnings. Until one summer I called and told them I would not go looking for a 'steady' job, I would keep doing odd jobs. Their response was, "Do what makes you happy, your joy and peace of mind are most important to us." I was shocked! Now, six years later my parents say they love me and though I feel a tad awkward, I tell them I love them too. They love and cherish my wife like (more than!) their own child.

They rarely provoke us (my siblings and I), we speak now of our childhood as of bad dreams. It still hurts when we think of the pain, oh how it hurts. It does not hurt all the time though, it used to, but not anymore. The bad stuff is easier to believe. Easier to remember. And because trust is slow to build, we sometimes treat them like ghouls, but quickly repent. They have changed, and so should I.

I will keep forgetting.